“Since when did you take up gardening?” She asked.
“Jethima taught me a long time back, but I didn’t find the time. Now the exams are over and…” Shobha shook her head.
“How do you like everything she taught you? How is it even possible?” She asked with a slight hint of doubt in her voice. Lata’s hand stopped at the pot as she smiled faintly.
“It is not about liking Shobha, I … can’t explain to you… Doing these makes me feel closer to…” She stopped at Shobha’s worried face.
“I sometimes wish you would live for yourself. And not dwell on the past, Lata.”
“I do…” Lata’s faint protest died as she spotted Kanai Da walking across the street.
“Didimoni, Didibhai has called you home.” He said. Lata immediately got up to wash her hands.
“I have to go, we can chat in the evening. Didi has asked for me.”
“See.” Shobha shrugged. “Why do you prioritise them over everyone else?”
“Because they are family to me, Shobha.” Lata smiled faintly “They are the closest I have. You won’t understand.”
Snehalata eyed her name once over the first page of the new novel Didi had gifted her. To everyone around her, she was Lata. But sometimes, like a distant story of another girl, she remembered her father, dotingly calling her Sneha instead of Lata. She remembered both her parents in bits and pieces and shed a tear or two only on Bhaifota or Rakhi. Prabhash was most missed. At first, she was probably angry with her father for leaving her like that. But then, one day, Jethaima held her close and made her understand that people reacted to tragedies in their own way and healed in their own time. She reassured her that once healed, her father would one day magically appear back for her. She had believed so for three years. Three years until Jethaima herself couldn’t heal from the tragedy and left her. Her trail of thoughts, emerging from the name Didi had written for her, was interrupted as Bibha put some more books on the floor, prompting her to look up.
“Here are all my old romance novels.” Bibha smiled, “You can read them during the holidays.”
Lata’s hand stopped at them as she remembered something.
“No, Didi.”Lata stood up “You just gave me a new one. Let me finish that.” Bibha frowned at her words.
“I know the speed at which you read, Lata. It will take you a day. Take these home.” She insisted as Lata looked unsure.
“What happened?” Bibha asked with a frown. Lata narrated her ordeal of bumping into Deb at the library. Bibha was silent for a moment, and then she laughed.
“Oh, please. What does Dada know of such things? You aren’t a child anymore.” She made Lata look up as she smiled. “Love happens exactly like it is written in books.”
“It does?” Lata tried to hide the doubt in her voice. One thing she had grown up learning was to treat Deb Da’s words as almost universal truths. He read books, he was aware, and he knew things.
“Of course it does. It is the very lingering, anticipating, jittery feeling they speak of.” Bibha blushed.
“Have you felt it, Didi?” Bibha was startled by Lata’s question. She gestured for her to lower her voice and ran to close the door. Lata frowned, sitting down on the edge of Bibha’s bed.
“Promise this stays between us,” Bibhabati spoke as she nodded.
“What?” Lata’s eyebrows were raised. “You mean our new teacher, Kalikinkar Das?” She gasped.
“Yes, last year when he joined, I was in my last few months of schooling there. We instantly connected over our love for novels. He wants to marry me.” Bibhabati blushed. “I tell you, Lata, it is just like the novels. He is like the people you read of in Tagore’s…”
“But then why are we hiding this?” Lata interrupted, a little suspiciously.
“ The world doesn’t understand.” Bibha shook her head “He says he needs to earn more than just be a temporary teacher for him to face the family and ask for my hand. His lifestyle is quite simple, and his family hails from Bardhaman. Thamma is also very staunch about caste.” Her face turned grim due to the uncertainties of the future. Lata held her hand.
“But then see how in novels, love conquers all, Didi,” Lata spoke in reassurance as Bibha smiled. “Let Kali dada find a good job, then we can talk to Deb da first, he may convince Thamma and Borda.”
“Will you help me then?” Bibha held her hand. “I will write to him and he will write back. All you have to do is slip the letters into your notebooks and hand them over to him at school. You see, ever since I stopped going out, we haven’t been communicating like before. Even when we meet in secret in the forest…”
“In the forest?” Lata gasped. “Deb da says the Naxals stay there, in hiding. It is not safe.” Bibha smiled.
“I feel safe with him. You will understand when you fall in love, Lata.” Lata’s heart skipped a beat. Fall in love? How does that happen? Like one fine day, you see someone and your heart flutters? Perhaps.
“Will you help me?” Bibha asked, almost pleading. “I have not confided in anyone else about this, not even my friends. They all know him. But I can trust only you.” Lata nodded, a little scared, a little excited. She, at fifteen, thus became a messenger of a love story. She wondered if, after years, she could perhaps take a little credit with Bibha for helping her out or even perhaps feel less guilty about hiding everything she now knew from everyone who trusted her, including Shobha and Deb Da.
