English Re-interpretation Project
Rajesh Swaminathan
Block C
27/11/2003

One hour in the life of Ivan Denisovich
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It was a hot summer afternoon. The weather was at its peak during the
extremely boiling summer month of July. The camp-wide alarm was sounded. We
were woken up by angry voices from the outside room. Those fools won't let us
rest a second more.

"Get up you mongrels; don't you see what time it is? We have loads of work
for you today. You bet you're going to have some fun. We're running low on
food supplies this month. Anyone who fails to obey the chief will happily
spend the night with empty stomachs," the gate guard shouted from between the
hall-way.

Everyone knew the gate guard. He was infamous for his soft voice and kind
attitude. But what he really had in mind was harsh. According to him, "to
have fun", had an entirely different meaning. And we all knew what that
meant.

It was about 9 in the morning. Most of them were already up on their
feet. But I hadn't slept a single minute the entire night. Fear was keeping
me up, and I felt that if I let my eyelids close up for a moment, I would go
to sleep, and thus send all my plans to the trash. I spent the night pacing
to and fro around my bunk, and ducking down immediately if I heard any
distant sound, so as not be seen by the night guards. I was immensely
tensed. I was about to attempt something unprecedented in the history of this
camp.

Here in our cell, they let us sleep until 9. We were, to some extent,
fortunate for that. But they made us work until 2 in the morning the previous
night. Our job was to dig a well, so that we could make use of the little
ground water that was available. I was exhausted from yesterday's work. They
don't even let us use the machinery, and all work had to be done by hand. In
such a hot country like ours, it was impossible to carry out too much work
during daylight hours. The temperature could quite easily cross 50 degrees
Celsius during the mid-noon hours. But our camp chief never announced the
true temperature. He always made certain that the announced temperature was
around 48 or 49 degrees. It became a national holiday if the temperature
exceeded 50 degrees. He was one chief who had not pity on any of us. He made
us do all the work he liked, and we had to work like slave-dogs on his
orders.

I was tired with all this work. Why was I made to do all this work, when
others were enjoying a peaceful and content life outside? And they put me in
for a crime I hadn't even committed. We don't even get paid well. And they
feed us less than what chickens ate for breakfast!. Have I got no life?

I finally found the courage, after nearly 2 years of hard labour. I have been
planning my escape route for nearly 6 months now. I was fortunate as I had a
few friends who decided to help me escape. At first, they laughed on their
bellies when I revealed my plans to them. They made fun of me and let me know
what a total jerk I was. But they finally came to understand my
seriousness. They believed it was a plan that might actually work. I
convinced them to help me execute my plan.

But, I knew the consequences. If I made it, I would be free for ever. I could
happily live with my girlfriend who was waiting for me in the neighbouring
city. We were planning to immigrate to another country to live a peaceful
life. But, if I was caught escaping, I knew my fate would end right
there. The painful part was that the ruthless Arab chiefs don't believe in
sentencing death. They love to watch us suffering. This was their prime
recreation activity, I guess. They'd torture me until I virtually lost my
senses. I had heard stories of how prisoners who had attempted escape were
tortured. Thinking about it even now made a chill run through the back of my
spine. But what could our chiefs do? They were pressured by the country's
Sheikhs to get more work done. The more work they got done through us, the
more they were paid. And what did we get? Nothing! Not even a decent square
meal!

The Sheikhs were stinking rich. They had all the money they liked and all the
pleasures in the world. Their oil business had turned them into millionaires
overnight. And who did all the work for them? Refusal to do work was a quick
way to get oneself into trouble. The sheikhs always contend us by telling us
that if we did all the work that our chiefs assigned to us, without slugging,
they would let us go within a year. Hell they will! I tried that for 2 years,
and not a sign of release to be seen. Last week, one of the many prosperous
sheikhs visited our camp. He was full of smiles. Why wouldn't he be? He's got
everything in the world, and there were 10 people behind him to execute
anything he ordered. As if this weren't enough, he had 6 wives to keep him
happy! The smiling sheikhs were the ones to be most precautious about. The
more they smiled, the worse their punishments were. Ahhh, I just can't wait
to escape from this dreadful place. That's why I devised a plan for escape. I
truly believed my plan would work. Why shouldn't it? There was no reason for
it to fail. It was such an ingenious idea that had struck me. But I needed
the help of my friends.

I quickly went through my plan once again, while we were lining up to receive
our breakfasts. Our work supervisor gave us a 10 minute break after every 50
minute work period. During this time, the guards usually slack off, and spend
the time to chit-chat about the latest gossip in the city. I knew this was my
only opportunity to slip past them. But I had to keep myself from
shivering. I was in deep fear. The guards could very quickly recognize a
shivering prisoner. And they also knew the shivering was because the prisoner
was afraid of something. It was obvious to the guards that shivering person
was up to something mischievous, and put him into solitary confinement until
he blabbered in his speech about what he had planned. The solitary
confinement was the worst torture that could be sentenced to any prisoner.

It was terribly hot. All of us were drenched with sweat from top to
bottom. They were no fans or air-conditioners to keep us cool. It was usual
to see at least two or three, out of the sixty-five prisoners in our camp,
faint every day. I wasn't in the least bothered. I had seen all this happen
every day in the 2 years of my stay here. I had worse things to worry
about. I knew there was only one way to keep myself from shivering in this
hot, humid weather. I bit my tongue as hard as I could. The pain was so
vigorous, I didn't even know if my tongue was bleeding or not. All the pain
took away my fear, and so I stopped shivering.

I quickly grabbed my bowl of porridge from the counter, and moved forward to
get myself a seat in a corner, where I could be alone. A few of my mates were
staring at me, probably with jealousy in their eyes. When I caught their
glance, I motioned them to look away from me, so as to avoid suspicion. I
hurriedly gobbled up my breakfast and focussed on my next plan of action.

After about 15 minutes, we were ordered to form a line and march out to the
field where we had to continue digging the well. There were a couple of
outsiders already inspecting the well. They appeared to be engineers. A few
of them were taking measurements, and the others were deciding on how much
farther to keep digging. Either way, it meant more work for me. This was
unfair! I had to spend my day digging this forsaken well, which didn't even
have much water. What water do the stupid engineers expect to see in a barren
desert like this! No! This kind of life wasn't for me. I visualized myself
living happily with my girl-friend, raising my own family, and eating
whatever delicious food I liked.

My mates and I worked on the well for about 40 minutes, when I began to get
tensed again. The time had finally come. In another five minutes, we would
get our 10 minute break. The guards would take it a bit easy during that
period, and I sincerely hoped they would get back to their chit-chatting once
again. This was very contrary to my usual behaviour, as during my 2 year stay
here, not one day had passed without me swearing at the guards for slacking
off when we were the ones who had to do all the work. Today was a Tuesday,
and this was the day when the laundry man came in with his huge van to the
camp grounds to collect the week's laundry. One of my mates had told me that
he would have it arranged so that the laundry man would help me hide with the
pile of clothes at the back of the van. All I had to do now was to sneak past
the guards. If I was caught and questioned, which I hope shouldn't happen, I
had a ready excuse. Until now, I've been in the good books of the guards, so
I hoped for the best. I couldn't tell them that I was going to the bathroom,
as it was well-known to all prisoners that the bathrooms were locked during
work periods. One could use the bathrooms only during the allocated times in
the afternoons.

The seconds ticked by, and my heart thumped twice as fast. Finally the chief
guard, who was supervising us, looked at his time-piece and announced the
break. It was a 10 minute break after which we had to work for another half
hour and return back to our bunks. The heat became unbearable by then. We
then had to return back to work during the early hours of the evening. Work,
work, work was all we did all day. No recreation was provided in the
least. What hit me the most was the fact that I was in here in this camp for
a crime I hadn't committed at all. I wasn't sure. I think I was mistaken for
someone else, or someone had deliberately planted my finger prints on some
crime spot. I had no idea. Here in this country, they didn't listen to what
you had to say. Nor would they tell you the reason for punishing you. The
police believed they were always right. If you tried to argue with them, they
would simply listen to you, smile (as always), and double your sentence.

When we began to disperse to enjoy our short break, I took shade under a
tree, waiting for the right moment. I was thrilled to see the two guards walk
toward each other. They were apparently going to have their chat again. I
listened from the distance.

"Assalam Mohammad, how are you doing today?" asked one of the guards.

"Wailakum assalam, I'm doing great today. It's a bit hot this afternoon,
don't you think so?" the other guard replied.

"Yes, what more do you expect from a desert? Cold air?" said the first guard
grumpily.

"No, I know. Hey listen. Did you know that our Sheikh has married yet another
beautiful young girl from the royal family?"

"Yes, Fasil told me that today. Which one is this? Eighth, ninth? I can't
keep track."

"I think it's the sixth. The Sheikh is lucky. The pretty girls are lured to
his wealth."

"I know, those bitches. I wish I could marry one of them myself and settle
down comfortably."

"Yeah, me too. I'm tired with this monotonous life. Maybe we should seduce
the Sheikh's first wife?" said the guard with a streak of smile on his
face. He instinctively lowered his voice, so as not to be heard by the
others.

"Insha-allah. If God wishes," replied the other guard.

Saying so, they burst into laughter. I, on the other hand, was unmindful to
what was going on. I had better things to worry about. The guards began
chatting about something else, when I realized that this was my
opportunity. It was now or never. I took a final look around me, to make sure
nobody was watching, and slowly slipped behind the gate, which had been left
open by Laden, the laundry man. All was going according to plan. I met Laden
from behind his van, and he motioned me to jump into the back of the van. I
smiled, after several years, as I was happy to be out of this dreadful prison
after so many painful months. I got into the van, and the stench hit me. At
first, I thought I could manage it, but after about half a minute, it became
unbearable. I thought I was going to pass out. I began to concentrate on
other things so that my brain would not recognize the stench of the dirty
clothes. What's more, I had to bury myself in this unclean laundry, because I
knew the laundry van was going to be checked just before it left the main
gates. What bothered me was the fact that the guards conducted their duties
well, because their job would be at stake if they let any prisoner escape.

The engine roared into life. My pulse was beating rapidly. This was my final
go. I had already escaped the guards once. If I did it once more, I would be
free! Free for ever. I'd never have to look back again. But.., a big but that
is, if I was caught, the consequences were disastrous. There was no second
chance. My life would be done for ever. They'd probably sentence me to life
imprisonment. If I survive until then, that is. The torture they're going to
give me before that would be enough to kill me. My girl-friend would most
definitely abandon me, having no hopes to see me again. She was already under
the impression that I was a coward. If I was caught, that would be the end of
my relationship with her.

The van finally reached the main gates, where the checkups were to be
conducted. Any vehicle or box that was brought in or out of the camp was
thoroughly checked first to make sure nothing suspicious was going on. I was
sweating profusely. I was gasping for fresh air. The stench was getting worse
as the time ticked by. Instinctively, my nostril slid a bit above the
laundry. The main guard, I was told, wasn't very serious, and was heavily
drunk most of the time, even during the morning hours. I had a slight chance
with that. He usually simply opened the back door, shifted a few clothes, and
if nothing looked suspicious, he let Laden move along. No one had really
thought that someone would hide in a laundry van after all. Moreover, the
guards trusted Laden and they were sure nobody could sneak into his van
without the knowledge of Laden. Laden was instructed to always keep his van
locked within the premises of the camp. Furthermore, if someone was hiding at
the back, he could clearly be seen in the rear-view mirror, if they managed
to escape the stench in the first place.

But something at the back of my mind kept me from trusting Laden truly. What
if he gave me away? There was nothing stopping him. All he had to do was
scratch his nose when he saw the guard. This was a secret code worked out
between them. I came to know this from one of my mates.

Laden stopped his van in front of the main gate. I heard the two of them
exchange greetings. I breathed my first sigh of relief. Obviously, if Laden
had scratched his nose, they would have both been quiet. I owed a lot to
Laden. The first main guard walked over to the van. I could hear his heavy
footsteps, and his bad breath could be sensed a mile away. I began to get
tensed once again. My entire body was covered with goose bumps. No! This was
the time to stay calm. Oh Heavens! Won't you show me some pity?  Sweat was
pouring from my body. I was almost bathed with sweat.

The first guard coughed loudly and quickly opened the door. I closed my eyes
shut. The time had come. I waited silently without a single movement. I even
stopped breathing. The guard took a quick look through the entire van, and
shuffled here and there a few clothes just to make sure. He was breathing
heavily, and everything was evident from the sounds. All my senses were put
off, except for my ears. I was waiting for that exclamation to reach my ears:

"Hey, look what we have here, a prisoner trying to sneak out! Let us show him
how to get out safely from here. These fools deserve the solitary
confinement!"

The guard took one final look around the van. Even though he was fully drunk,
he had a great resistance was still steady. Just as the guard was about to
shut the van's door and give the signal to Laden, the sweat droplets on my
nose, which was sticking out of the laundry, caught his eyes.

"Hey Mustafa, can you come here for a second and re-check this van? It looks
like a nose from here. I don't know. My vision is too blurred today for some
reason, and I'm not able to see clearly," the first guard called out to the
second guard.

"Hold on, I'm filling the register. I'll be there in a second," Mustafa
grunted.

And I was there lying inside the laundry, stunned. My heart was beating
faster than ever. I didn't know what to do. My entire body lay there frozen
from what I had just heard. No! This couldn't be happening to me. Just when
all was going right. I lay there stationary, waiting to be discovered by the
two guards, and pulled out of the van with the guards dragging me with my
feet. The mere thought of solitary confinement made me insane. I couldn't
stand it any longer. I wanted to scream out, "Yes! It is me! I was trying to
escape, right. Do whatever you can fools. I don't care!" But something was
preventing me. I still believed I had a very small chance, where luck would
favour me.

I heard the slow motion of the second guard, Mustafa. Mustafa was a pretty
smart guard. He was trim and very shrewd. I was absolutely sure that if
Mustafa spotted my nose, there was no chance of escape. Mustafa was a
ruthless man, and he would treat you worse than an animal if he found you,
especially because his job was endangered by attempted get-away. He came
toward the first guard:

"What's up Khalid? What do you see?"

Just then, from out of the blues, all three of us, and perhaps even Laden,
heard a trudging sound from our right. Two of the prisoners were running,
apparently trying to escape, toward the second main gate.

"Ahaha, finally some excitement after months. Come on with me Mustafa, lets
show them what the solitary confinement looks like," shouted Khalid.

Both guards were excited all of a sudden. This was a windfall for
them. Catching both the prisoners meant a considerable increment to their
salaries. Mustafa took to his heels. Khalid ran to his post, to announce an
attempted escape of two prisoners over the telecom. In his excitement, he had
forgotten all about the sweaty nose, and hurriedly motioned Laden to exit the
gate. Laden brought on the engine, and quietly drove toward the city. He
would arrive at his shop, where all the dirty clothes would be put in the
washer.

I was lying down there, at the back of the van, aware of all that had
happened outside. I breathed a final sigh of relief. I had made it.

				 *-*-*-*-*-*

Reveille was sounded, as always, at 5 A.M. - a hammer pounding on a rail
outside camp HQ. The ringing noise came faintly on and off through the
windowpanes covered with ice more than an inch thick, and died away fast. It
was cold and the warder didn't feel like going on banging.

My comrade Kilgas yawned deeply.

"Nice beautiful day outside, isn't it Ivan Denisovich?" he remarked.

Over here, they always called people by their full names.

"Yes, indeed it is my friend. It's a very interesting day, especially after
you've had a very interesting dream the night before," replied
Shukhov. Saying so, he darted outside in haste, before Kilgas could ask him
more about the dream.

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Author's Notes
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Perhaps one of the most compulsive reasons for my choosing of such a plot was
the need to have some sort of link between my own fictitious re-write and the
original text. The small excerpt that I have included from the text serves as
an important connection. I primarily used the first-person's view in my work
to try and portray the protagonist's thoughts and feelings, which is quite
similar to my own thoughts about the protagonist in the original text at
various situations. I chose to use a very contrasting character as the
protagonist; one who was calm, quiet, and who preferred to keep his thoughts
to himself. I've tried to use a minimal number of characters to complement
the plot. I chose my plot to be an escape situation, as this allowed me to
include an element of suspense, which was otherwise absent in the original
plot. Finally, to add some colour, I chose the setting to be unalike the
original, so that I could use my own imagination in describing the
protagonist's hardships faced due to the extreme weather conditions. Hence
the cold became the hot, and 'freezing' became 'sweating'. I wasn't able to
provide as much description and detail as was in the book, as my own 'short'
story, limited to its length, has been scaled down by a factor of
twenty-four, which is evident from the title. In all other aspects, I've
tried as much to preserve the same underlying structure of the original text.

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