B2B 06 – Make Her Bleed!

In a land of men, there were others who were … not men. They were the Others, looked upon as different, treated and mis-treated differently too.

They were not ape-men, bear-men or demon-men. Not even vulture-men.

These Others were the Mothers. These Others were the Sisters, the Daughters, the Companions of Men and Demons. Though sometimes the way they were treated, made you think no one remembered this. That each one of them was someone – a mother, a daughter, a companion… a person.

We find ourselves (again) in this happening land. Where a battle had just gotten over and a war was still not over.

There were no ape-men yet in the story (remember we are going back in time each time we rejoin this narrative).

There were those who considered themselves gods amongst men – who had won the battle.  And there were those whom the victors considered demons – who had lost the battle.

And then there were those who were not men. The winning side had almost none of them, as a travelling army depends on the conquered land for their hunger, of all kinds, to put it delicately. The losing side had quite a few of them – as this had been their land, and was still their home. One of them – The One of Sharp Nails – had been known as an able administrator, and a fierce warrior and reportedly a blood relative to the most celebrated warriors of the land.

She had fought in the battle just concluded, and lost. She lived on in the stories told by both sides. These stories differed from each other. Some were spoken in hushed tones. Some were guffawed over innuendo laden speech over shared liquor. We know not which one of them is true. Only that she fought, she lost, and everyone (save a few) tried to forget what happened to her after she lost.

Forgotten by her people, derided by her foes,

Forgotten who she was before the war, the attack.

Remembered in song, just that she lost her nose,          

Or as they say in the vernacular, “kaise kati uski naak”.

She may have been beautiful; she may not have been so,          

She may have fought expertly; or just passably well,

She may have called someone or another as “bro”,         

That had not stopped “men” to make her suffer hell.

FADE IN

We are in what looks like an army camp. There are tents, and hastily erected temporary structures. As there is no battle going on, though the war is far from over, the army is attending to the routine work required to prepare for future battles. The wounded are being tended to. The tools of the trade – arms and battle armour – are being repaired, and in some cases remade.

As is usual, some of the soldiers are just lazing around, with more food than they had access to during the battles, and far, far more liquor than they were allowed when fighting was on. This not being a dimly lit tavern, so we sidle along the dark patches, trying hard not to get noticed by these grizzled veterans. Frankly given how out-of-place our attires are, and the constant ringing of the ubiquitous cellular phones some of you have (mine is on “silent”, and I would request that you do the same to yours), it’s a wonder we are not spotted right-away. May be that’s what comes from “creative license”. Taking this illogicality in our collective strides, we walk brazenly near a group of carousing men-at-arms.

They are all much fairer than the locals who serve them. These dark-pigmented unfortunates, with dejected expressions on their faces, are scrubbing, polishing, cleaning, and serving food and liquor to their melanin-deprived victors. Most unfortunate of them are the one’s ironically called the Fairer Sex. The younger of them are being grabbed, pinched and otherwise treated by the lounging soldiers.

As we watch in horror, a red-eyed drunken lout of a soldier grabs one of the serving wenches, and half carries, half drags her away towards a nearby tent. A few of his mates whistle, and gesture in approval. The ineffectual attempts, that the girl makes to escape his clutches, seem all the more tragic, as given the state of her dress, this may not be the first time this has happened to her, nor given the hungry looks of the other soldiers, the last.

We tear our eyes away from the sorry scene, and single out a group different than the rest.

We espy a non-combatant, sitting with the soldiers, unmolested. He is an albino, so it is difficult to place him. Is he one of the Pinker Victors, or member of the Browner Victims? All we can garner, as of now, is his sartorial choice. Though close enough to the Victors, it is different enough, in the comfort level, to sow some seeds of doubt. Whether it is his normal dress or a clever disguise? Enough said, we strain our ears to eavesdrop on the conversation. One of the soldiers – seems like the Captain of this group – is addressing the outsider.

CAPTAIN: Well met, my trader friend. Hope your consignment had something that the quartermaster was interested in. Or all this trip would earn you are the few pitchers of drink you share with us.

TRADER: Thankfully, the treated leather and skins I brought were considered good enough by him to buy. The price, he so expertly negotiated for them with me, makes me wonder if I will make enough profit that I can afford these drinks.

JUNIOR SOLDIER: (slurs) Don’t worry, White Browed Man, we citizens of the Unassailable City are known for our open hearts. If not profit, you at least have the good fortune to sit in camaraderie with the future lords of your people.

CAPTAIN: The soldiers who serve the lords. John, you seem to have had enough for today if you cannot differentiate between the Lords and us.

JUNIOR SOLDIER (JOHN): If you say so, Captain Paul. But it was me that the Younger Lord single out after the end of the battle. Or do you forget?

PAUL (CAPTAIN): That’s enough. You have had enough, and that’s an order. Go back to the platoon tent and sleep it off. Jim, make sure he makes it to the tent.

A soldier sitting nearby helps JOHN on to his feet, and leads him away. PAUL looks in the direction with an expression of distaste on his face. The albino trader, in turn, watched PAUL with a quizzical expression. Soon, PAUL settles back and orders another round.

TRADER: Much obliged, Captain. What did our friend JOHN mean when he said he was singled out by the Younger Lord. JOHN looked too young, and too inexperienced, for what he boasted about. And you too experienced, to grudge the glory of your subordinates.

Another Soldier (let’s call him GEOFFREY) pipes in before PAUL can answer.

GEOFFREY: He was boasting not of his deeds on the battle-field, but his misdeed on the field after the battle was done.

TRADER: (looks disgusted) Was he one of those who….

PAUL: Yes, my pale friend. When the battle was won at last, when their last leader, the Lady known as the Long Nailed One, had been disarmed and overpowered , the Younger Lord, the half-brother of the Exalted One, in a fit of anger – no doubt due to the heavy casualty caused by the Lady’s troop, even after the Kings had fallen – had addressed the team of soldiers restraining the female warrior and said, “This Woman has caused enough suffering and bleeding. Make her suffer. Make her bleed”, and stormed off. And then…

GEOFFREY: And then, our godforsaken comrades-in-arm, translated that order the most literal way. There and then, on a bed of blood spilled in war, they … they made her suffer. The way only members of her sex can be made to suffer. They took turns. In fact, JOHN who is still too young to have married, used his weapons in a way I am too disgusted to put in words. And by the time they judged that they had fulfilled the Lord’s command…

PAUL: Enough! What they did was wrong, we all agree. But what is happening even after that is not less abhorrent. Don’t tell me you do not notice the way, any woman who takes the fancy of one our soldiers, is treated. What do you think SAMUEL is doing to the young girl who served us the last round?

In the meantime, unnoticed by them all, JOHN is back. He looks more angry than ashamed.

JOHN: You guys think what we do is wrong. How do you think that amongst these people dark as the night, there are some who are fairer than most? These demons must have carried out raids across the borders, and kidnapped the fair damsels from our lands. What if one of those helpless damsels was your wife? Would you have still been such a bleeding-heart? This is revenge, and all is fair.

GEOFFREY walks up and cuffs JOHN hard. It takes quite a few men to tear them apart. JOHN, bleeding from his mouth, is taken away.

PAUL: I expected more from you, Geoffrey. This kind of indiscipline cannot be tolerated. I will have to report you for disciplinary action, even though you are my own sister’s son.

GEOFFREY: Do what you must, Uncle. I do believe punishment is in order. Not for losing out my temper now. But of being a coward, and not stopping these monsters that day. Becoming such an animal that I let such a thing to happen, and that even now, it is me who is expected to be punished, and not JOHN and his gang. Or even the Younger Lord, for giving such a loosely worded command.

PAUL: Enough! [TO THE TRADER] My friend it would be better if you made your way to an inn nearby. It would be better you forget all you saw and heard today.

The soldiers walk away, still visibly worked up and arguing amongst themselves. The albino trader waits till they are out of earshot, and turns to us. I know, this is unheard of. So let me handle all the talking for the time-being. If you have anything to say, please do so in the “Comments” section.

TRADER: So who are you people.

@randomidem: Just a group of outsiders, my pale friend. We heard there was a war here, so we travelled here to find out more. Who are you? I don’t think you are what you said you are.

TRADER: Well spotted, Mr Non-Specific But the Same. You can call me The High Chinned One, or Hughie if you want. That’s what my people call me, at least when I am around. When I am not, I am called many other names – some wise, some otherwise. Our land is to the south east of this place. I too came to find out more on behalf of my Chief.

R: Who that may be, Mr. Hughie?

H: In our land we have always have had two kings. One – The King of the High Places – my employer. Another – The King of the Low Places – his Name Brother. Seeing what happened to this kingdom much stronger than ours, I would be suggesting that my King ally himself with the Princes from North.

A: Hmm. What about his Name Brother? The King of Low Places.

H: He may not agree. But there is a way out. In our people, single combat of the leaders is acceptable substitute to all-out war. I think that would save my people.

A: Save your people from what?

HUGHIE (visibly angry now): From what happened to the Long Nailed One. I don’t want the animals among these men to make our women “bleed”!

A: True. Just a question. I have always wondered. Are you married, Mr. H?

H: (surprised) How does that matter? Even if I was vowed to Life-Long Celibacy, what I feel about this would not change. But just to make sure, I believe JOHN, and a few of his friends, are going to suffer from a spurt of unfortunate “accidents”. That will assuage my conscience for asking my Chief to ally with these people.

A: But, JOE, looks like a juvenile. Does he deserve the same punishment as the grown-ups?

H: If he was old enough to do what he did, he deserves the same punishment. Anyone amongst you who disagrees?

FADE OUT