Long and short fictions

Duck shooting

Duck shooting.


“Who indeed knows the secret of the earthly pilgrimage? Who indeed knows why there can be comfort in a world of desolation?” (Alan Paton in Cry, the beloved country)


Mr. Varma started out for hunting ducks, on nightfall. He was a widower. He had a bungalow on the outskirts of a lonely town. He maintained a cook and a house cleaner. His only son was studying abroad.


“I love trees, especially, old trees. They must have seen many kinds of birds and nests and people of many cultures. I have intuitional knowledge of big trees. Not small plants. They are feminine,” Varma told his occasional guests.


Pipe, poetry, whisky and soda were his pet hobbies. He was a fan of Victor Hugo. But his real passion was duck shooting.


Hanging his Greener’s double barreled gun on his shoulder, with a hunting suit on, he started out. After he got down the steps of his bungalow, his manservant switched the lights off in the bungalow. All around was thick darkness, the kind that was thickest before dawn. On top of the old Bunyan tree, the eagle stretched its wings noisily.


“That’s it, that’s why I like the old trees.” He said to himself.


He whistled and his hunting dog, Caesar appeared immediately.


“Come on boy, let’s go.” He patted it down. His job was to bring back the dead birds to his master.
Together they moved. This path led him to the swamp, where lived the ducks he hunted.


They walked on, crossing the fields on their edges. Soon they reached the swamp full of lotus flowers, mud and moss. In this month of November, it was full of migratory birds. Caesar started sneezing and Mr. Varma reprimanded it.


In the distance, they heard the low howls of vixen and foxes. There was thick smog all over. The dark sky was full of stars and there was a group of ducks flying across to land on the swamp.


They came across a bird catcher named Dibiri, a vagabond sleeping in a different place every night. He belonged to the bird hunting clan. They would catch different birds and sell them in the village. They ate the fox meat, their staple.


There was a crane by his side, his constant companion that helped in hunting cranes. Dibiri was about 60. His body got habituated to chill and heat. His kith and kin lived in different places and died anonymously someday in utter poverty.


The fox in the bush saw Dibiri and vanished.


He also started walking to the swamp like Mr. Varma. He took a swig from his country drink and his body warmed a bit.
It was a cool, dark night. On the shore, Mr. Varma sat in silence.


He observed something moving in the bushes. He peered into the darkness. Kyak..kyak …ducks started shouting.



Then there were gunshots…. the fall of ducks could be heard.
The smell of gunpowder had spread out.


Caesar went in to fetch the ducks. But Varma was worried for its life. He whistled for it. Caesar brought 3 ducks to Mr. Varma. He looked at the dog affectionately. He didn’t notice the birds taking off behind.



With the mingling of fog and darkness, he started shivering. He saw a bonfire lit by Dibiri. Mr. Varma approached the fire though he didn’t like talk to a cultureless man. He sat by, in spite of it.


Dibiri looked strange to Mr. Varma. Small eyes and with a face that wore a fluid expression. Wind sounded shrill.


“Which town do you belong to?”
There was a big sound, the sound of a big duck.
“You know what it is. It is the sound of a bird eating fish," said Dibiri.


“All towns are mine. The whole earth is mine.” Dibiri laughed, answering the earlier question.
Then he explained how he hunts birds.
“Did you get any?” asked Mr. Varma.
“Yes, only one or two, because many had flown away with your gunshot.”
It was as if he was blaming Varma for chasing away the birds, which were his prey.
Mr. Varma felt sorry.


Dibiri took out his bottle of toddy and took a swig. His Adam’s apple moved up and down. His eyes reddened.


He said, "Look at that side in the sky. The star changes colors. If a hunter sees the star he loses control and thinks of his woman.” He started dancing and singing to his own beat. He caught Varma’s shoulders and continued dancing.


“Is she my wife? No, my keep. She was with me till she died, she went around predicting people’s future. She was eccentric. She told neither truth nor lies. Then I intoxicated her with a poisoned drink. So I could possess her.”


“We were both equally evil. Yet had a great time together.”



“She died bitten by a mad fox.” He said and fell silent.
“I buried her under a big tree. She left me Sir... I missed her since then. I was afraid the foxes might unearth her dead body. When I went back to the place where I buried her, they had opened the buried spot. Then I made a bigger slump and reburied her, Sir.”


Dibiri spoke words from many languages.


Varma’s eyes welled. Then they heard a crane. Dibiri started swimming in the swamp to get the bird. His pet bird had given a sign of his prey as trained by him. He took his gun from his kit bag. He went into the swamp rising a little later.



Mr. Varma offered him a cigarette.
“Something is wrong with my bird. Its cry is not normal. It changed,” Dibiri observed.
Varma was amazed at Dibiri’s powerful observations.
“You have disturbed the crowd of big birds. You lighted the cigarette and the flash of your gun scared them away," he further explained.”



“What about your friend bird?” asked Mr. Varma.
Dibiri lifted the bird and caught its wings and hung it on the warm fire. The bird brought its feathers together to feel the warmth and get comfortable.


Varma asked, “doesn’t it try to fly away from you?"
“It can’t sir. I stitched off its eyes. It can’t see. It stays with me. You see Sir, if you want to hunt particular type of birds, you need to use a bird of the same kind. Only then the prey will fall into your net. It should not see the light. You hunt the birds that can see with a bird that cannot see. That is the secret and strangeness of hunting birds,” He continued.


His hunting tactics and thinking ways surprised Mr. Varma.


Dibiri started clearing the gunpowder from the barrel of his own gun.


Mr. Varma asked, “You said it is a murder gun. Did you commit any murder?”
Dibiri laughed aloud and said, “Not I, but my dad did. He killed someone with one shot.”
Then his eyes clouded, and his expression changed.


“Sir, this happened long ago when the white man was here. I was very young. I don’t know what my age was. Even now I don’t know. My mother died by then. One day my father didn’t come home. Then a neighbor told me,

‘Hey Dibiri, the police are beating your father because they suspect, he stole the rich man’s jewels. They called us and beat us too. You better go and do something about it.’”

He paused and continued.


“We were used to the police beating. They suspect us whenever there was thievery. Our clan doesn’t steal. We beg if we don’t have any hunting. Then I went to the police station to ask for the release of my father. They threw me into the cell thinking I will give information about the theft. I saw my father being hung upside down almost naked except for a loin cloth and then I heard the sound of lathi lashing on his body without discrimination.”


“Tell the truth or we will kill your son.” Saying so, they dashed my head against the wall. I fell down. They started beating me so much that I lost the feeling of pain. Then my father said out of panic, “I will tell the truth if you leave my son.”


“My fingers and mouth are sore. I couldn’t eat.”


A little later, they let us out. It was dark when we reached our house. I lit up the lamp. Asked him,


“Baba, did you do it?”
“You sleep son.”


"My father didn’t sleep at night. The police brought us tea. Afterwards, they said, 'what do you think? Shall we go?'


Then my father looked at him with a smile. But his eyes were cruel.
Police’s body shot out of the camp and then my father went to the police station and surrendered, telling them the truth.


Suddenly, I was alone. I was asked to stay in the village till the case was over.”


Dibiri started filling the gun. He restarted his story,

“Then they took me to court. They made me promise that I would tell truth. My father didn’t lose confidence. He used to tell me to eat well and build a strong body. Then I heard my father was transferred to another jail."


"One day, the police told me that my father was to be hanged and that I could go if I wanted.
People were cruel. They demanded money if want to see his hanging.


Some kind people of the village gave me money to buy the bus ticket to the town, where my father was to be hanged. But I missed the bus. It started raining. I started running to the city. I ran all night to reach the jail by the morning. I stood near the jail.


The jail warden said,
“You came late. Your father was hanged in the early hours today.”


"I lost my stability of thinking. I looked around madly. They gave me food, which they said was given by my father for me. It was his last desire. He asked for me again and again.


Then he went up to the scaffold and died on the gallows.”


Dibiri said “he was not afraid of death. He was worried about me Sir.”


Varma gave him a cigarette and lit it.


“On that evening, they buried him. I helped them to dig a slump. Then I had the food he sent sitting by his burial place. Next morning, I left. Went around to many places and then I returned to this place.”


The day was slowly brightening. He looked around.


He said, “Sir it is going to rain. I can smell it.”


Moring beauty started unveiling. The eastern sky was colorful. Birds took to wing, and wind started blowing gently.


A bird started flying. Dibiri shot it. Caesar ran to get the crane.


“Sir, go get your dog. Or it will just sink into the whirlpool.” Mr. Varma ran to do so.
Suddenly it was dark with black clouds.


Then he came ashore and was shocked to see Dibiri’s pet bird in a pool of blood.
“Why did you kill it? It is a sin,” he said to Dibiri.


“It is useless now. It served the purpose. You also kill birds. How is it if you do, it is not a sin, and if I do it is a sin. Which is sin? Tell me Sir. I need to eat it today. I don’t have anything else.” Then he started laughing again.


Now he said, “Sir, go home. We are both hunters. We are now friends. Come, give me a hug.”


Then he gave a bidi to Varma and said, “smoke it sir, you will feel better.”


Mr. Varma stood in the rain looking at Dibiri as he slowly disappeared from his view.


He came home and thought of Dibiri’s questions, powerful like gunshots. He felt ashamed.


It was raining. It was dark. Everything was dark. The whole place was enveloped in darkness.


Word Count: 1992

Submitted to WDC Official Contest What a character!