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The Convict

Published : Saturday, 15 June, 2024 at 12:00 AM  Count : 322
Shapon Hossain
“Food!” shouted a guard from the other side of the quadrangular iron-door attached to condemned cell right now I am in. The guard pushed the food through the small drift-channel under the door. It must be Abdul, the guard on the night shift. Since I was sentenced to death and turned in the condemned cell, I listen to his voice at night regularly. But never saw his face. He has a solemn voice as if he were a commander at the battle field. I wish I could talk to him for a moment. The world has shrunk to me. This cell has now been my own galaxy combining a planet measuring not more than fifteen square feet with no human, animal or alien except me. It seems that I am the last human being that exists in this planet now. Nevertheless, this last one is going to be hanged to death soon. Irony!

Foods they give here are static. You neither can eat them nor can avoid them. But your days are counting. You are drawing near to the death. You are heading towards the eternity. So, enjoy the last few days of your life with whatever you have. Eat out with full passion and satiety whatever they give you as foods. These are the things that peddle me to swallow, that peddle me to live in the present before I die in the near future.

The following day, a middle-aged guard man entered into my cell only to inform me that my day has been marked. Soon I will be taken before the Hangman. Then I will be hooded and noosed only to be strangled to death. I was stunned. The guard pulled open the door to let me be alone for the last few moment of my life. While disappearing from my view, he didn utter a single word but I could see his eyes bathed in tears. His countenance was covered with dejection and grief associated with loss and bereavement. This man has no connection with me. I find no translucent clue as to what makes him sad. But the fact that someone is sad for me unshackled the melancholic encumbrances from my heart. I started daydreaming about my life.  

"Do you know what the most terrific thing is?" asked someone with crabby but resonant and booming voice that turned my day-dream topsy-turvy. I flinched up with my traumatized physiognomy rocking to and fro with a view to looking up the voice-owner.

 After few moments, I caught sight of an old man with bizarre outlooks. I don know how he managed to enter into this cell with unbreakable security system. But I couldn think any further because the man again asked the same question with slightly poignant voice but making it crabbier than before.

I replied with throbbing voice, "No."

The bizarre man burst out laughing coarsely. He kept laughing so loudly that I felt earthquake and the whole of the cell started shaking heavily making me fear that it might fall to the ground. Then nodding his head and looking directly at my eyes, the man said simply, "oscillation."

I didn understand at first what he really wanted to say. So, I said with equivocal tone, "I don know what your point is."
Now the man smiled simply and said, "Oscillation between life and death. In other words, oscillation between ones craving for a longer life and begging for death."

In the meantime, I earned some courage and tried to make conversation with this old bizarre man. I asked him, "Do you think Im suffering from it?"

The man laughed gently and said, "I don think anything. You ask yourself."

"But you said that it is the most terrific thing. How?" I asked him with panting voice arising out of unknown exertion and excitement.

 The bizarre man sighed and taking some steps towards the southern wall said calmly, "Let me tell you a story."

I stood up slowly and taking some steps towards him put my full attention to him. The man started saying, "Once there was a convict. I mean convict with less sentence, unlike you with a death sentence. He had committed some petty crimes being obsequious by poverty. Considering the pettiness of his case, the Justice system became lenient to him and set him free putting him on probation. The man returned to his society with expectation of leading a better life. But although the justice system was lenient towards him, the social system was not. The society started laughing at him mentioning the petty crimes he had committed. The situation turned worse and he lost his strength of tolerance. He started begging for his death. At that time, a man approached him and started teasing him so badly that he happened to kill him. He couldn prove his plea and consequently was convicted with murder and sentenced to death. Now that he is rotting in the condemned cell and expecting his hanging, he is begging for his life so badly."

At that moment, the bizarre man stopped with inquisitive vision pointed at me. I felt like being dumb or felt like having my both lips stitched with hard thread. All on a sudden, the man himself asked, "What is your thought on that man?"
I tried so hard to tear apart the thread that kept my lips attached to each other making me unable to speak and after trying several times, I succeeded finally saying, "Is that story about me? Are you insinuating that Im begging for life after begging for death before?"

The man smiled gently and replied, "I insinuate nothing and even if I do, it doesn matter."

I asked, "Why do you say that?"
The man sighed with smirking face and replied, "At some point of your life, you will be in such a position that will turn everything you express or wish to express to be futile and of no effect."

I asked, "How so?"
The man stepped towards me and putting his right hand upon my left shoulder with his fingers pressing said, "Look at you. Right now from your current position, whatever you wish or express doesn matter, because your life is now being decided by somebody else. Once you are a convict, you lose your power of decision-making. In this world, as regards life, everybody is his own decision-maker except for a convict who puts his life upon the decision to be taken by another person appointed by a system built upon terms agreed to by everyone including the convict."

I flinched up and asked, "What terms?"
The man burst out laughing and simply said, "The terms you broke."

I became furious and asked again, "Did I break some terms that I don even know? When did I agree to any kind of terms?"
The man remained calm and nodding his head simply said, "I wish I could explain. But only thing that I can say is that you agreed to those terms and then broke those terms, and hence you are a convict."

Everything seemed bewildering to me. In order to make out the whole situation prevailing at this moment, I posed another question to him, "Can I make some changes in those terms, if I wish to?"
The bizarre man mutated his head and replied calmly, "Once you are convict, you lose your wish."

What happened thereafter I can recall now. But suddenly, the bizarre man disappeared without giving me a moment to put together the whole situation. I look to and fro with a view to finding him but no trace of him came into my sight. The man appeared and disappeared, but his words kept echoing into my auditory system, "Once you are convict, you lose your wish."

As a convict, now I am repeating those words while my marked day is drawing near.  


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