I remember waking up around noon one weekend, back when I used to be a bit of a slacker—not an alcoholic, but someone who enjoyed a drink now and then. I wasn’t a regular drinker, but in our younger days, weekends were an opportunity to unwind. It was a chance to have a few drinks, throw parties, and enjoy time with friends—the only real source of entertainment we had back then. When I look back on my past, I struggle to identify any productive activities I have performed that would have been beneficial for my future.
In my opinion, teenagers who lack mentors often experience this type of uncertainty in their lives.
Well, it was the day when I witnessed the unprecedented murder that took place in our neighborhood, Papu Hill. I have spent my entire childhood living in this neighborhood. I was born here. As the name suggests, it's on the top of a hill on the outskirts of Naharlagun, 2 km away from the town. Someone once told me how it was named—
He said, ‘Papu signifies an elephant. Once, people visited this hill, and they encountered elephants here. From that time on, they named the hill: Papu Hill.’
I don't know how much truth there is in it, but still, it kind of makes sense. But again, I don’t have any idea in which dialect: Papu means an elephant. Whichever language or dialect it may be, I have decided to live with it until the truth unveils itself. However, people, no matter what, will not stop expressing their perspectives. There’s a saying, ‘In the absence of truth, opinions flourish.’
Well, trust me, this hill has witnessed numerous deaths, including my father’s. Some were natural and accidental, while others were intentional suicides. However, this instance was different; it was a homicide—a ruthless and deliberate one. A fully-planned, cold-blooded murder. You might have heard about such cold-blooded murders many times in the news, but what if they happened in your backyard? And you don’t have any idea how the dead body appeared out of nowhere, and the scariest part is that you knew the person—I mean, the corpse.
Well, in my case, it didn’t happen right in my backyard but rather in my neighborhood, roughly 200 meters from my home, where I used to go for smoking near Nyuri’s shop. It was a newly excavated area to build a house on. As I mentioned earlier, the place where I live is situated atop a hill. Now, how did I come to know about the murder? What happened when we reached the spot, and what happened after that? Will be discussed down here; stay tuned.
Let’s start from the beginning. As I have said before, it was the weekend, and I was sober for the whole week. But last night was a blast. We were having a boy’s party as usual—smoking, drinking, and dancing. Unaware that someone was murdering someone late that night. I recall a time when a friend of mine asked me to accompany him on a short walk because he wasn’t feeling well due to smoking indoors. I politely accepted, as he wasn’t a smoker and was a good friend of mine. I mean it. You’ll get to know it; keep reading the memoir.
So, it all went this way: I was dancing with a beer in my left hand and a cigarette in my right. Sang louder as much as I could. My eyes were closed, and my upper body was naked. Grooving with the flow of the music, I got lost in it. My upper body was sweating a lot due to the congested room, which was crowded with intoxicated boys. Everyone present was smoking like there was no tomorrow. I think there were mostly two types of people in the house: one, those guys who smoked two cigarettes at a time, literally, and second, those who couldn’t let go of their hand on the cigarette, the chain smokers. The party was in full swing.
I was dancing, swaying my body, and also imitating the legendary dance move of Michael Jackson's iconic moonwalk. As the night went on, I realized no one was dancing quite like me. My dance style was truly one-of-a-kind but it’s not like they couldn’t dance; they were also capable dancers in their own right. Everyone around me had their own improvised dance moves; I would rather put it this way—a unique and hilarious groove. So, everything was as it should be. Suddenly, my friend Dorje began vigorously waving his hand and pointing toward the door, signaling that he wanted me to meet him outside. Due to the loud music, his words were inaudible to me, so I went outside and waited for him to join me. After meeting him, he told me he felt suffocated inside due to the smoke, so he suggested we go for a walk to get some fresh air.
As we began our walk, I took a cigarette, held it delicately, lit it, and took a deliberate puff, reflecting on the experience. It was the beginning of the winter season, and during the night, thick fog blanketed the hill, but owing to the electricity in the area, the road and every moving object, including humans, were partially visible.
We were talking in a vacuum—a conversation without context. As I’ve previously stated, I’ve not engaged in any productive activities in the past, and the same goes for a conversation. While engaged in conversation and laughter, a sudden occurrence drew my attention: a group of approximately four to five individuals was chasing a boy, and I think that boy was Rinyo. Well, the incident happened so swiftly that I didn’t even get the chance to tell Dorje what I just saw.
It was like, "Hey! Dorje! Look! Ah! Never mind."
Again, laughing and talking, we went back to the party. There, I started showing my dance skills, but no one was interested enough to even watch.
Inside, I was silently grappling with the thought: Is that boy in danger? Are they physically harming him? If yes, then it's good to know. I have no clear explanation, but I had a strong dislike for him. He was younger than me and engaged in activities like smoking weed and other stuff that I considered unappealing. However, I found things like beer and cigarettes acceptable and even considered them cool. In my opinion, boys are naturally inclined to do notorious things, but not to that extent.
Am I being too stereotypical?
Finally, the party came to an end, and all the bachelors headed back to their homes. I was on my way back home when I had to walk past the place where I had seen that group of boys earlier. I was a bit drunk, and as I walked past the path, I couldn’t help but look in the direction they had gone. Just to ensure everything was okay, not because I was specifically concerned about that boy. The reason was that Papu Hill is my home, and I like to stay informed about anything that happens here. Nevertheless, when I turned my head to the right, I noticed something gradually approaching me, and a thought crossed my mind: ‘Is it drunk too?’ Ironically, I was the one who was drunk, and you can’t expect rational behavior from someone who is intoxicated. I stood there, curious to identify what it could be. That night was different. It remains etched in my memory as an unsettling experience, one that sends shivers down my spine whenever I recall it.
The dense fog seemed to envelop the hill in its cold, clammy grasp. And then a shadowy figure just arrived and stood like it didn’t want to appear in front of me. This dark figure stood there next to Nyuri's small bamboo-built shop. Meanwhile, I found myself standing in the middle of the road, staring straight at it. It seems I mustered the bravery to confront this mysterious, dark figure due to my intoxicated state.
I asked, ‘Who are you?'. It didn’t respond and suddenly ran away. I thought, ‘Why did it run away?’
I was drunk; I could neither walk well nor stand. But how did it disappear so fast, as if it were scared of me? However, as I pondered over this, a curious detail caught my attention: Shala (the traditional Nyishi machete) was strapped to my back. I still don’t remember how it came to me, but at times, it provokes a sense of divine protection. I don’t remember well after that, but I walked home and fell asleep without a glitch. I couldn't remember much, but at least I was home, and that's all that matters.
The next morning, I woke up to find it was already noon. As soon as I got up, I started thinking about my dream but couldn’t remember it. The dream was somewhat strange, and despite my efforts, I couldn’t recall it. "Happens all the time", I thought. With my eyes rubbed, I headed to the bathroom to refresh myself. I had a hangover. I was experiencing pain throughout my whole body. So, all of my attention shifted to my body. Specifically, my arms felt sore, as if I had fought with someone the night before. Then, suddenly, a memory flashed into my mind: Last night, I had pretended to dance like Michael Jackson, even though I can’t really dance like him. I apologize for the exaggeration; I can't dance like him, especially since I was intoxicated.
Unaware of the present scenario, while brushing my teeth, I heard people running and yelling, ‘Corpse down the hill! Corpse down the hill!’
I wasn’t sure if whatever I was listening to was true. It’s not a daily soap from an Indian television program that, now and then, has a death episode to telecast. I had no clue. I was speechless. Whatever it might be, I had to see it. So I went to see the corpse. At one point, I wondered if it could possibly be someone belonging to my friends from the previous night since we had an intense party. And again, after walking down a hill a bit and almost reaching the death spot, the place where I used to smoke, I thought, ‘What if I killed someone after blacking out?’
It seemed plausible. I remember once hitting my buddy in the face and swinging the machete against him. But I only learned about this incident from my other friends the following day: Who drank with me that night? I was totally blacked out.
When I got to the spot, I found Dorje already there. He looked surprised and seemed to have no idea what was happening. I went and stood beside him and asked him about the corpse. Dorje told me it was Rinyo. At first I thought, "One day this had to happen."
And then abruptly, I changed my mind. Empathy deeply resonated within my heart. I wasn’t in favor of the culprits; it was time to mourn instead of harboring negative feelings.
The police were there, as were the media. For the police, it was a case; for the media, it was a news; for the parents, it was a pain (a never-ending pain); and for us, it was a tragic incident. But the culprits, whoever they might be, must be having a vicious belly laugh.
The body displayed numerous wounds, suggesting that the assailant must have used a machete. And a wire in his throat, which was probably the reason he died of suffocation. The murderer might have known him; rumors were in the air as it looked like the victim had been summoned and subsequently restrained with a rope. And ultimately took the victim’s life. There could be a million possibilities if one sat down and started to calculate. It could be me, for instance. Just kidding.
Well, looking at such a condition of a body, only one thing occurs to mind: Why so cruel?
I heard his mother weeping, saw his relatives carrying the body to the truck, and the father, who was missing that day. Someone told me that after a month, he died of a heart attack. What a tragedy!
Someone has well said, ‘God takes swiftly and without hesitation.’
I can empathize with their suffering. I can understand the emotions they are going through. It's evident that you go through such an experience when you lose someone you love. I also shed tears when my father died; my mother was senseless and couldn’t breathe; and my sister, who was very young, couldn’t understand what was going on. She simply sat quietly on a couch, and I was fourteen years old, unable to take care of my family. I don’t know how many times I have cried.
After witnessing everything, I began to walk home. Suddenly, something hit my mind: Last night, when Dorje and I went for a walk, I saw a bunch of boys chasing another boy, who strangely resembled the deceased. I mean, certainly, it was difficult to see the faces due to the dense fog at night, but indeed, it was him.
I began to feel that it was him. I saw the culprits, not their faces, but I thought I could still help the police. Perhaps I should inform the police without further delay.
While I was on my own, Taka sprinted over to me, yelling, ‘Hold on! Wait!’
I saw him waving his hand from the distance and stood still, waiting for him to join. Taka came near me and looked at me.
And asked, ‘Yesterday, why did you take my machete?’
'You tried to hit me and snatched my machete. You went back, saying—I will kill him!’
In a fearful tone, I asked, ‘And then, what happened?’
‘Nothing. You left, but I followed. You fell near Nyuri’s shop’, Taka said.
‘Do you think it was me?’, I whispered.
‘No! Of course not. You were sleeping in the gutter. I got your ass to your home.’
A big relief. I experienced immense relief after listening to Taka's words. I thanked Taka for clearing my doubts and went home, thinking I had nothing to do with this gloomy weekend.
Time swiftly flew by, with days and years passing in the blink of an eye. Nothing stays permanent; change is inevitable, and over time, the pain from this event began to heal.
After a long period of sobriety, I was with my buddy Dorje by the riverside. We were hanging out, smoking and sipping on Coke. I began discussing the amount of cruelty displayed by the murderer and talked the whole nine yards. Dorje was all ears. He wasn’t saying anything. And suddenly turned his face toward me and said, ‘Why did you leave the party early that night?’
In an anxious tone, I inquired, ‘What?’
‘You left the party early. It was nearly midnight. I also left the party, but it was almost two hours after you left. Then I saw you in the darkness, holding a machete in your hand. You seemed upset, so I chose not to speak with you. What was going through your mind?’, Dorje asked in a single breath.
'Yeah, I know. Taka told me I had his machete and fell into the gutter,’ I replied.
‘No, after that, you went off alone with the machete again. I know about you and Taka.’ Dorje told me.
‘Wait! What? How is it possible?’
‘I was there when you snatched Taka’s machete because I was the one following you home. You were drunk, and I followed you to your house when all this Taka stuff happened,’ Dorje said, frustrated. ‘Then Taka and I took you home and went back to the party.’
‘Then what happened?’, I asked.
'I saw you with the machete after leaving the party. I saw you near Nyuri’s shop; you were heading toward your house and murmuring something like, “I killed him,”’ Dorje said anxiously.
Now, everything is falling into place, connecting like dots and creating a pattern. Everything they witnessed is true because they stayed conscious throughout that night. However, they are still uncertain whether I was responsible for it. Dorje never told anyone about this. It’s been more than a decade. I told you he’s my buddy.
I’m not sure why, but there's a strong urge within me to let out a vicious belly laugh.
Why, you ask?
I lied about the forgotten dream. Remember? I said earlier, 'The dream was somewhat strange, and despite my efforts, I couldn’t recall it.'
I do remember that dream, I lied. In that dream, I killed a person very brutally: I swooped down and caught him with my bare hands, then swung a machete around his throat. He slipped and fell, weeping and begging for his life. But I showed no mercy and trapped a wire around his throat. I was so angry. And then—forget it. But it was just a dream, right? Now, tell me, does that make me a murderer?
Wait before you conclude anything. Let me apologize once again—I’m not sober. I never was.
By Lok Lapung
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