Locked Down And Quarantined

Chapter-1

To the surprise of everyone, only three people died when the government took swift and decisive action and quarantined the whole city. No one had ever seen this kind of promptness from the government. It was very praiseworthy. Even other countries praised India for containing the virus on time.
“India has come quite far since independence,” wrote the New York Times. “Should not be taken lightly.”
Later, a team of epidemiologists tried to trace back the events. It was around December 1979, and patient zero was present in that wedding shop of Hazratganj. But whether it was the man behind the desk – Ajit – the owner, or the couple who went there to shop, they could not say. What Ajit ate on the previous days is unknown, but the couple enjoyed the last few days of their unmarried life. They went to a different diner almost every day.
It was speculated that they might have eaten slightly undercooked meat from somewhere. It did not matter – it was already too late – both died within a week.
And Ajit had caught the fever too. He was a man in his mid-forties, well respected by everyone for his punctuality. He opened his shop before everyone else – at precisely 9:30 am and closed at 11 pm, even though he did not get much business during those late hours.
Ajit fell severely ill. He did not speak a word from the day he caught the bed. His wife, Nisha, was showing symptoms too, but not of the virus – of schizophrenia, her old mental illness. Their son Dhruv, only nine, was not worried about his mother. He had seen her talking to herself, hearing voices, thinking someone was conspiring against her. From an early age, he understood this was nothing to worry about. Either her mother has stopped taking the meds, or it is time to increase the doses. And he was supposed to call his grandparents in such conditions. Ajit would bring the medicines, but still, she needed to be under the supervision of an adult for a couple of days.
Dhruv was more worried about his father. He was getting weaker by the day. The man they hired to do the home errands – left the work, and no doctor was ready to visit the patients with symptoms of SARS.
Fifteen days into quarantine, Dhruv could not arrange the medicines for either of his parents. His grandparents lived in Kanpur. They could not come on time. They called a chemist to go to their house and give them the medicines, but everyone was too scared to go out. All the responsibility fell on the shoulders of Dhruv. Everything was closed, and the food they stored was almost over. So he decided to go to the supply area where the military was distributing food and essential medicines. He read in the newspaper – the closest one was ten kilometers from his house. It was too far away, especially for a kid on his bicycle, but he needed to choose between going out and starving to death.
***

An eerie silence scattered on ghostly roads. Streets filled with morning fog. His head froze with the chills coming from his eye sockets. He could not see past ten meters, his fingers were frosty from piercing cold, and he was already regretting not wearing gloves.
Hajratganj was never so quiet. The stillness spooked him – he speeded up and crossed it hurriedly. His limbs froze just after a few hundred meters, so he stopped at his school. All the schools were closed for two weeks. There was a lock on its main gate, an unusual sight, he felt. The building hid behind the cloud of mist, just above the playground. The grass inside could touch his ankles. The ground looked damp. Probably due to the morning dew or because of water sprayers that were still spraying into the mist. He remembered the day they told them to go home, abruptly, in the middle of the day. And the kids were so happy about early leave. No one was interested in knowing why.
Dhruv was just about to leave when he heard a growl. A black figure emerged from the white mist. He knew what it was, Kallu, the dog they used to play with during recess. No one knew where it came from, but it seemed it was always around. It was a black dog of how much age, he could not say. It came closer. It seemed to have changed. Seeing Dhruv, it stopped ten feet away and began snarling. Most of its furs were gone. White patches on its skin made it look like a wild diseased animal, which it was, but it never seemed so gnarled. Its back bent and tail bowed to the ground. For a few seconds, it kept growling at Dhruv, and finally, when it recognized him, its ears went back, tail struggled to move. It seemed tired and unenthusiastic. Seeing the animal come closer, Dhruv repulsed intuitively. It was not that cute dog anymore.
The fog started to subside, but the winds were still chilly. Dhruv had crossed three kilometers. Needles pierced under his cheeks, and he wished to warm his limbs with fire. He did not bring matchsticks. Freezing winds accelerated by the bridge in front were biting his skin. He decided to cross the bridge on foot. Stopping at the top, he saw a glimpse of the back of a cemetery. The cemetery was half a kilometer from the bridge, and you could see where funeral pyres were burned. Four pyres were burning there, and a big pile of something colorful was nearby. Three men stood around the mound – one with a green canister. They reminded him of the people who came to his home when his mother stopped taking her meds. Another man in a white apron came with a one-wheeled trolley and threw its contents on the pile. He heard a rumor in his school – if you hear a loud crackle from the pyre, it means the skull has burst, and if you keep staring at the fire after that, you might see the ghost going up in the smoke.
After five minutes of walking, he sat on his bicycle and drove down the bridge, but still, he could not stop himself from looking back in that direction. A cloud of black smoke started, where the men in white aprons stood. Not the pyres, he knew – they do not burn so loud.
It took him another two hours to reach there. He saw four people standing around a fire that burned inside an old rusty oil canister. His face numbed with the cold, he decided to join them. The sun shined a little. The supply point was near Amausi airport – the southwest border of Lucknow.
A barbed wire went through the middle of the road. It went along both sides, as far as the eyes could see. The houses, which were on the way, had been demolished, so the wire went uninterrupted. On the other side of the wire–soldiers strolled around. There was a playing field about a hundred meters inside the border. In the mornings and evenings, children used to play cricket on that ground. But now, several trucks were lined up there, and the military was distributing supplies from the back. These supplies were being distributed at every corner of the city, but it seemed everyone had gathered just there. Several hundred people lined up behind each supply truck. Soldiers who distributed food packages wore big, scary, black masks which covered their faces, so they communicated with hand gestures. Even when someone asked something, they would not say a word – but you could hear them swearing under their masks and beating up people when they would not comply, or when someone cut in the middle of a line. Dhruv picked the shortest single file line with no more than two hundred people.
He had reached the front and was the next to get the supply bag. They announced the truck was empty. Then again, he had to get in another line. It was eight when he finally got the supply bag. Four packs of bread and flour, four packs of pulse and a tea pack of a hundred grams, two kilograms of rice, sugar, and some leaves of common medicines like paracetamol.
When he was about to leave, some people started fighting over some issue. No one knew whose bag belonged to whom. Looking back, he saw a soldier sprinting towards them. Golden badges of Ashok Chakra sparked over his shoulders. He carried a handgun in his right hand, his hair – white from the sides. He must have been around fifty. He walked stoutly, and his mask was getting foggy from the eyes because of heavy breathing. The officer did not ask or say anything. He reached near them and shot them both. On their forehead, one after another. A shockwave of alarm and terror spread through the crowd. Some women shrieked and hid the eyes of their kids with their hands. People could not think straight for several seconds. They were already distraught, but things were worse than they were led to believe.
Half of the street lights had stopped working. He kept finding his way from one street light to another. It was a full moon. A blanket of fog covered the ground. Luckily, it was not that dense yet. He could still see the warm yellow lights coming from the lamp posts. Being tired from standing up all day, he could scarcely paddle.
It could not have been more than an hour when he felt a shove on his side. Dhruv fell to the ground. Supplies spilled all over the road. One side of his shin was chafed along with his knee, but the worst was his elbow. It landed on a sharp pebble. Standing up, he looked behind and saw a woman. A woman in her mid-twenties, wearing a maroon Kurti and white Salwar. A blue dupatta was tied around her back and stomach. Her Kurti was torn to the stomach from the side, and one of the sleeves was gone from another. Her skin was fair. She had a bruise on her upper cheekbone – it looked dark green in the yellow light of the pole. She was hiding behind the tree on the side. Oblivious of his presence, she fanatically picked up the supplies from the road. Dhruv was furious. He picked a rock from the side and was just about to hit when he heard an infant's cry. It came from the cloth tied to her back. After thinking for a few moments – he threw away the rock and started fixing the handle of his bicycle. It was bent due to the fall. He looked at her while fixing his bicycle. Keeping her fingers and palms together, she kept picking the sugar mixed with dirt and soil. And then, suddenly, she looked up. Their eyes met for the first time. She looked desperate and disheartened. She kept looking at him for a moment too long. Her expression changed from desperation to anguish, as if it was the first time she realized what she had done. Her eyes welled up, and a tear ran down her cheek.
"I'm sorry," she said as she wiped her cheek with a flick of her wrist and ran away, leaving a pack of bread behind.
***
It was around midnight when Dhruv reached home. He did not know if it was due to a shortage or technical fault, but the electricity was gone most of the time. And no one was there to fix it. Coming inside, he went straight to his father's room. A candle was lit on the middle of the window sill. Closing the window, he noticed that his father was sleeping peacefully. First time in weeks that he had seen that. Otherwise, he could always hear him gasping and struggling for breath. Ajit lost a lot of weight since he caught the bed. His jawbones stuck out of the skin of his cheeks, and his eyes went deep into the sockets. His mouth was opened most of the time. He covered his father's face with the quilt, blew the candle out, and went upstairs to his room. Nisha was in her room, still awake. She seemed to be hallucinating most of the time. Even now, at midnight, she was talking to Isaac. Dhruv did not have the energy to convince her to sleep, and he was starving. He opened the pack of bread and ate a few before going to sleep.
The next day he woke up with an anxious, uneasy, almost gloomy feeling in his gut. Like something was wrong. Like he needed to fix something, but he had forgotten about it. Like if he had some trouble buried inside. And his head was bloated with its weight. It felt like it might burst at any moment.
Still laying in his bed – he remembered something. Something about last night. Whether it was a dream or his mothers blabbering in the next room – he could not say. But he saw her talking. Talking to the void,
“I don’t understand. I am sad. This makes me so sad. I have spent twelve years with him. Twelve years!
…All those memories…I remember the time spent with him.
…He was real to me. Our love was real.
…Killing him after so many years? What kind of sick game are you playing? I will always remember what you did to me. In this world or another. I will always remember how much you made me suffer. And for what? How long do I have to stay in this world?
…No…No, please, wake me up – make it stop. I won’t even survive six months, I have suffered enough.”
Ajit died that night. Nisha was sitting beside him – glancing at the body of her husband. Like if she understands – that this is the last time she would see that face. It took him eight hours to convince Nisha that father was gone, and not even Isaac could wake him up. But she would not go to the crematorium. And he needed to make the arrangements. He did all, but people in white aprons did not let him in.
“It’s too dangerous,” they said.
He could not light up the funeral pyre as per the customs. So he decided to go and pay his respects from the bridge, where you can see the funeral pyres. The pile he saw yesterday had turned to ashes. And there laid another mound beside it. After a while, he saw someone carrying his father's body in one wheeled trolley. He threw the body into the pile.
The city was quiet, the horizon red with the setting sun. Every now and then he would hear a distant, crackling sound coming from the fire, and black smoke would fill with little sparks for a moment. A gust of cold wind entered through the holes of his woven sweater. Dhruv shuddered. But he would wait. He would wait a little longer – till the fire was still burning.
***
Either the government banned all the private supplies, or no one was willing to risk their life by coming inside. Only military trucks still came, and they came with a zero-tolerance policy. All of them followed strict protocols. It became clear that they did not have any experience handling the epidemic. And the people inside kept paying the price. As if it was not enough, the government restricted the flow of information among the citizens, probably because of the elections. Phone lines were cut off, and only those who engaged in the distribution of supplies had access to the outside world. Even inside, only one newspaper was being printed, that too, in a week.
But this did not concern Dhruv. He was not interested in knowing what was happening outside or even inside. He just wanted to know when this would end, and he would go to school and meet his friends. He liked the school and was always top of his class. And at home, he spent his time watching nature documentaries on his color television. Wild animals in the forest, searching and hunting for food. Fishes – big as a house, swimming peacefully in the ocean. Snakes and spiders, scorpions and lizards, birds and alligators – all adapted to their environment. And now it was all gone. Now he spends his time searching for food. Now he was not a mere observer – he was one of them. And he needed to adapt to his environment. Bodies kept piling up in the streets – more and more with each passing day, and you would not know if they died of the virus or if they carried some food worth dying for. The food became scarce, and most of the animals were gone too. There were rumors that some people in Aishbagh had started eating them up.
But it was just the beginning of the chaos that unfolded in the upcoming months. All the police of the city were busy guarding the supply areas. And there was no one to complain if something bad happened to you. In the next few months, Dhruv visited all the supply areas. No one was better than the other. Every supply point was filled with hungry, anguished people. And it was frequent that you would not get the supplies when you needed them the most.
Although Nisha would forget to eat, she would get more incoherent and sometimes hysterical if she stayed hungry for more than a few days. Her memory was getting weak. At times she would not even recognize Dhruv and blubber some random stories no one could make sense of.
That is why Dhruv needed a constant supply of food. The government could not be relied on, so he needed to look for other ways. People had started growing vegetables in various places, verandas, gardens, roofs, and balconies. Any place where there is some sunlight. But Dhruv had neither the knowledge nor the patience to do something like that. But he knew something most people did not – if you are in a jungle – you could be just one of the two things – either prey or predator. There is nothing in between. No other rules. Everything is justified for your right to live. And those people at the border – they tempered with the balance of the jungle. They were giving unfair advantages to the old and vulnerable. Now there was a separate line for them that was always shorter. They were enjoying the hunt without hunting.
Dhruv knew what he must do. He made a plan. He would hide behind the trees or among the crowd and quietly and patiently - he would find the most vulnerable in the herd. Just like a tiger hidden in the bushes, he will make a plan of attack before coming out. He will find where they were coming from, where they hide their hunt, when they leave their nest.
One day he noticed an old-man of about eighty. Carrying the supply bag, he was returning to his house. Dhruv followed and waited. The man lived alone. It became clear that mother nature was being disrespected. The old should step aside and make way for the new. The man was gone - Dhruv broke into the house from the back window. And there it was. The supply bag was on the dining table. His patience paid - the plan was successful. He picked it up and started returning the same way, but he had returned. The old-man stood between him and the window. Dhruv was challenged - the strong was asserting his right. The man caught him by the arm, and before the next moment, Dhruv had a hand printed on his cheek. He was stunned. He might have judged him inaccurately. The man was stronger than he looked. But Dhruv was quicker. He must use all his strength if he wants to survive. Dhruv shoves the old man with all his strength. And the old man loses his balance, stumbles, and falls to the ground. A scream came out of his mouth. Something broke in his body. He could not move. The fate of the old was sealed. His journey was concluded. Dhruv picked the bag up and went home with a heart full of pride. He has figured out how to survive in the jungle.
***