The ImMOrTal Of VanITy(Rex Raman Rajkumar) Not everyone was happy, except for some, with the false anticipation that their village would then be under the footprint of the world map. Expectantly there was some hue and cry but it was not too shrill to have the impact they thought it would. The political interferences were something they might have never dreamt of, but then it was India, where every possible road was owned by a politician. And eventually a month later the construction was embarked upon, in a time that’s soon going to mark a period in history. Eventually the cunning fox with its cunning tricks started playing the part bit by bit.

Exactly a year later in 1982 it was the then Prime Minister who forced a clean drive of the village. He wanted every loom to be broken down, every window to be shredded; he wanted everything to be turned to fine particles of the dusts. Who would have heard the cries and the wounds of the helpless? And as ever they were again under the rotten feet of another barefaced political accomplished.

But that very time and out of the blues one was ready to hear the cries and the woes. He was ready to make a deal. It was then the hero of the helpless was born. Little did they know that it would come with another big price, a price that would only be paid in terms of land. And that was how in August 11th 1982 a village was born, ‘The VANITY”. And establishing its base over this very land, the accomplishment of the construction, which embarked its journey a year back, was marked. And within just a year of its launch, The C-Vanity (a carbide factory) had employed more than 1000 laborers.

To many of the villagers the carbide factory had come to their rescue from the incessant hunger and starvation. Every two of four men in a family were employed in the factory. Many were uneducated, some foolish and some ignorant. They had been starting to lead a life which they had never dreamt of. Two meals a day, a breakfast, clothes to wear and a hut to dwell in were made affordable to each and every family of the village. It was a miracle and this guy was their Hero, they had thought.

Life was finally at its normal pace. The sisters of the brothers and the daughters of the parents were happily married off with bulk dowries. And so as when the ruling parties denied allegations of the early years made by the villagers for having taken over their lands illegally, they had made only the slightest whimper, “we are satisfied”, they had said.

And so it went on to become the country’s largest carbide factory in just a year. There was no haste, no obstacles, and the company had indeed been running smoothly. Smoothly under the strict yet loose vigilance of the government.

Regular medical check-up camps were organized. Free medicines were provided. Necessary protective equipments were regularly changed. Being preventive is better than the cure, they had known, owing to the risk of any accidental mishaps.

Everything was perfect. Nothing could go wrong, until that day.

Outside the Central Tower of the factory, children of the workers were playing. The workers were getting packed up ready to head back home. Another shift was soon to be starting, and few had already started rolling in. In the midst, a young man not more than 25 came running out of the tower and halted the workers from coming further. And they were told to head back home.

There was a moment of chaos and confusion, but then minutes later everybody headed home.

At the topmost floor of the tower, a man was standing – the HERO of the villagers. He stood there and watched as the workers headed home. He knew they were fools but then he wasn’t sure for how long would he be able to fool them. The doctor who had examined the families was standing behind him, holding a report and reciting it to the Man.

“They are all infected. If they continue to live in the open environment, indulge with the normal people, there’s a risk that they might risk the life of others. They have to be secluded immediately.”

He stood silent, still staring at the grounds as the workers left the place.

“Keep it a secret” he had told him.

The doctor nodded and sleazily went out of the room.

The workshops in the Central Tower were temporarily shut down and the workers were shifted to the other three supporting towers.

Meanwhile, the infected families were secluded from the social groups. They were provided permanent shelters within the vicinity of the Central Tower. These provided them the ability to closely monitor the ill-health of the families, if any. And the tower was located at such a place that it was the perfect way to keep them secluded from the rest.

It was an upgraded version of the slum they had been dwelling in, and far better. They had an easy access to all the sanitation being provided to the early residents of the Central Tower, food supplies were never to run out, water was not a problem, it was an easy living.

In a wake to keep them blindfolded, they were told that it was a step to cut the costs and incur the few losses they had in those few months. They could have provided shelter to not more than ten families and let them work closely with the main production workshop. Much to the negligence of the workers, they hadn’t asked ‘is that all?’

Much was back to normal.

A few months passed, there were minor hiccups in their health. Nothing more than a high fever, the doctor had said.

“Any sign of the chemical residues within their body?”

The doctor was stern, “No.”

He continued. “The medicines are working. Except for the few common illnesses, there were none that had been reported so far.”

They breathed a sigh of relief.

A year had passed since the detection, regular medical checkups were still on, life was moving in the normal pace, the air had a sense of discipline, there was no uproar, no union activities and gladly they hadn’t monitored any changes neither in the health nor in the physical appearances of those infected family members.

The night for a peaceful sleep had then been arriving, and they were soon to launch a new project, GET SET GO, a drive to recruit another 1000 that would be populated in the Central Tower. The family members were to be sacked off their huts, a unanimous agreement within the board members was then sealed.

The unethical decision was soon to reach the inhabitants. But would it be too late when the news reached them?

A healthy child had been born to one of the families, and there were celebrations. Eunuchs were invited so that the child would be blessed. They had sung, had danced and had been paid as a sign of obligation for having blessed the child.

As a part of Indian tradition, it was considered to be an auspicious sign if the child was blessed by the eunuchs.

The child had been growing up, had been starting to crawl, had been learning to mutter something. But it would not be for another five months, when they would finally be aware of it. Words flew into the ears of their Hero, and he was immediately concerned.

At the pretext of mandatory medical check-up to every new born child, doctors administered medicines. Few samples were scraped off the child. And the reports soon followed up.

The doctored returned a few weeks after, wearing a look of worry on his face. He looked swollen and very much hyped, “Sir, the result came back from the lab. The chemical residue has been found within his blood and being this the only channel through which oxygen can be provided, it happens to run at each part and corner of the body. The course of the blood took a toll on the genes. The DNA was exposed to the residue as the immediate effect. Although it did no harm to the source body in an appearance, it did no good either. The exposure has left the DNA incapable of further replication but only duplication. The meiotic and the mitotic divisions of the cells are also invaded. The divisions are now happening in a very much rapid rate. And the chemical residue, though less in quantity in the child, duplicated among the strands of the DNA, it came transferred from his father. The female counterparts are saved though, thanks to their aggressive double homogametic chromosomes. The mother or the daughter would in no way be the carrier of this residue. Sir, in plain words, the son is the exact duplication of the father. And aging of the body would take half the pace as it should have taken.”

The doctor took a deep breath as he almost completed his narration of the report, “And sir, this would take a hit on the next generation and the next lest the residue is almost nullified. And the exposure has left them close to impotency. This is not much of the issue as of consideration right now, but moving on with this chemical inside the body will leave them crippled as they add up years to the body, and the body will speed up the process of aging, eventually speeding up their disability. And sir, if I have to speak in terms of legal binding, if this issue comes to the knowledge of the mass public, a huge amount of compensation will be demanded. An amount that may force the company to shut down."

The doctor looked at the boss who had stood by the window puffing the cigar. He stood motionless as if he had no appropriate expressions to show. He stood there gazing down at the central field, where his villagers waited for him and the hope. The Hero with a very wiry smile, who some days back had decided to sack the huts off the families, had a change in his mind. “Is there a way out?”

“Let me see what I can do.”

The doctor administered another medicine to the child, a few more weeks he survived and then he died a natural death.

After a decade, it would be discovered that the doctor had used Cyastranine* (a mixture of Arsenic, Strychnine and Cyanide), a poison to slow death. The medicine served as anti-chemical devoiding or delaying the chemical's adverse effect to the body, giving the victim a close to healthy life of around 35 years which by then will be eaten up by the recurring effect of the medicine, a perfect improvisation to the slow and natural death.

They might have found the trigger against the problem but little did they realize that their actions would have a complicated rippled effect.

An epidemic had hit the village, a humanly created inhuman epidemic, one that neither can be cured nor can be questioned. The castes had been dignified. The infected families soon became the untouchables to the rest of the villagers. The disease or the curse, as the villagers spoke of, would spread if they touch or help them, the curse for having favored a nicer place, greed; when the rest had led not so lavish life a in the slums. A hymn was preached all over the village, God has punished them for their greed.

There were mourners everywhere. The children hadn’t survived a year. Efforts of the doctors were going in vain. Doctors wouldn’t be able to help them anymore; they were not Gods nor were they connected to Gods. Superstitions had finally baffled them. The thirst of another generation was killing them, and they were losing hope. Prayers, hawan (exorcism), were performed; maybe that would drive away the evil spirits and rid them of the curses.

Doctors were no longer their saviors, and they had resorted to the ancient form of treatment – black magic. Offerings were made, donations were done, and sacrifice had to be made. Make the Baba (the one who performed the black magic) happy, satisfied, and in return he would rid them of all the curses.

Meanwhile in the background conspiracy still persisted. Sorcerers were paid double the price they had asked for and with that they had been accompanied a packet of Cyastrinine. The very same medicine that was administered to every new born child that had killed them a slow death. "Crushed this into fine powder, and give it out in the form of Vibhuti**”. The Baba nodded in agreement and much to his greediness he accepted the packet and the price offered to him.

“Sir, it’s been taken care of.” Associates of the Hero had confirmed.

He was still concerned though. Was he to pay the price at the last? Would he lose everything that’s been his all that while? He couldn’t have afforded another mistake. He couldn’t have, at all.

“I hope I can take your words for final this time, I am counting on you. Do not screw up this time.”

Having heard what he had been told, he left the room, comforting the once so called Hero that there would be no room for mistake anymore. It looked like it had indeed been taken care of.

The Vibhuti came as a savior of next generations to the villagers. It came as a miracle to them. The women started conceiving, and the doctors who had examined their health had told them that the baby would be born very healthy. A ray of spark hit the villagers. There would soon be another occasion for celebration, they had known.

The very first child, since the epidemic, was due to birth in another month when the to-be father died a natural death. “He gradually grew weak with each day. I had thought that it was because he had been working day and night. But today, when I went to wake him up for his work, he was already dead.” The wife sobbed as she narrated. "I wish that my husband had seen his only child. Maybe this is the way it should be."

The woman was provided amnesty for months till she would be able to work and make a living through her wages. She was given all the necessary help she could have been provided with.

Few months passed and the very first child to the village was born. Born healthy, and with much care the child had survived a year. The priest who had performed the hawan, the one who had provided the Vibhuti, came and blessed the child. "The child has the eyes of his father." And then he looked into the eyes of the mother, "My child, do not be disheartened for your loss. Your husband gave a much needed sacrifice to save his bloodline. He sacrificed so that his child could come to earth. Do not be disheartened my child. Your son would be your pride. I bless him. Live long and prosper. Be blessed by GOD, my child."

And then he gave the Vibhuti to another woman who had wanted to conceive. "Take this to your husband. Give him this with a glass of morning milk. You will bear a lovely child very soon." He blessed the woman.

What started as a means to prevent and preserve the stature of the company, had taken the extreme steps. Annihilation of the males that had been infected seemed to be the very best choice back then and so they had finally resorted to one piece decision, “EUTHANAISM***”. Concealed within the dark form of Hindu religion, Euthanaism began to be practiced and it prevailed for a decade.

The sole purpose of Euthanaism was to completely obliterate the males as long as the chemical residues were visible. No female in a family would have both her husband or son/father or brother. They, in no way had wanted to take any risk. Cyastranine was serving its purpose successfully. The trigger had worked. Aiding to their criminality was the bafflement of the superstition of the Hindu and their blind belief in the religion.

As instructed, and with the sacrificial needs, a father and the son had not survived for a common day. They had won. And they had almost come to realize that. They, in their way, had the situation very much under their control. They had seemed to savor the taste of triumph.

Miles away from the Central Tower was the heart of the city connected by barren roads and a river. Educated people there had heard of the factory C-Vanity that had been functional for a few years. They were fully aware of the adverse effects that might have been led up if there was an accident and leak from the chemicals being used there. The factory had survived a decade with no foul reports, and it would survive a few more years they had thought, but much to their negligence.

Ignorance is bliss.

The Company had been in successful operation for a decade and a few months. A Fair was organized, Vanity Fair, celebrating the success of the company, though it came with hard luck and twists and turns. While they celebrated, an incident - very similar to the one recorded within the factory tower, was reported, far in the very heart of the city.



TWO YEARS LATER…



“We are covering the live reports from the Supreme Court. As you can see behind me, the agitated protesters, holding the placard ‘Save the village. Save the Vanity’, are trying to crash through the police barricades in spite of the full fledged reply from the reinforcement. In a few hours the verdict of the case would be announced.

Thirteen years back a carbide factory was installed in the city of Bhopal. Within just a year of its inaugural launch, the first report of the exposure was recorded. The director of the company, Mr. Alfred, who once the villagers had called the HERO, had instructed his associates to remove it. In an attempt to preserve the identity and the status of the company, they had planned to remove every case off the reports. Euthanaism was then given birth.

The official report confirms that thirty adults and children were killed in the so called Euthanaism in all these years. Their bodies were burnt, and their ashes were thrown into the river that connected the heart of the city, contaminating the water. The incident came into the light of the masses 11 years later when the very first report was registered from an adult who lived by the very river bank.

The toll as of present has taken a hit with three hundred patients currently under observation in various hospitals of the capital city.

The government, yesterday, in an honor to those whose lives have been lost, has announced the sites of the factory “The IMMORTALS OF VANITY” and was ordered to preserve the sites.

We are eagerly waiting for the verdict to be heard, although much seems to be on our way already.”



*********THE END*********


Disclaimer: This is a complete work of imagination inspired by the Bhopal Gas Tragedy. Through this work, I am not making any derogatory remark to any religion and its spiritual beliefs.


TERMINOLOGY:

*Cyastrinine: A fictional medicine having its chemical composition as Arsenic, Strychnine and Cyanide. A poison embroidered here in the context to give the victim a slow and natural death.

**Vibhuti: A Sacred ash which is made out of burnt woods used in the religious rituals by Hindus.

***Euthanaism: Born from the word Euthanasia, the term here in this context is being used to show the excessive usage of Cyastrinine. It refers to the practice by the doctors and the priest to kill the victims.

Baba: Sorcerers (in English)

Hawan: Exorcism (in English)

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