Swadhin found himself feeling thirsty as Abhaya splashed the water, and her face was filled with instant relief. A part of him wanted to look away, give her the little relief that she deserved. Another part of him could not. What if she made a false move or tried to run? It was always important to keep an eye on the captive. Keep an eye, Swadhin, don’t stare. She is a child. He looked away briefly, only to see her approach the shore. She stopped at waist-deep water, her saree hugging her untouched bosoms like a veil on her chastity. Her hips swayed as she walked ahead. Swadhin wondered if Abhaya was aware of her femininity yet. Whether she knew the subtlety of a man-woman relationship. He looked up at her, glancing over her shoulder at him. Was it because she was aware of his stare or aware of her prisoners? His thoughts wandered to what Kabir said. If it were true, he would take Abhaya to her fiancé himself and make sure she was settled before he left. He would not let her suffer the way she suffered at home in silence anymore. But Swadhin knew this was his irrational self-talk. He could do nothing for her now. He could do nothing for her in the future. He was a coward. A sudden thought came as he watched her get into her room to change.
“I will ask you something once you are done.” He said as she nodded at him silently. As Abhaya closed the door behind her, her cheeks flushed into a warm red. She had never been stared at, looked at with a gaze the way he did at the banks of the water body. She licked her dry lips as she undid her wet saree and put on the other one. It smelled of detergent. Her thoughts wandered at first in curiosity. Why was he looking at her like that? Why did she not feel offended by his stare? She should. Then Abhaya felt disgusted. She thought Swadhin Da was different. But what she heard the previous evening, what she saw in his eyes today. He was just like all other men. She grunted involuntarily, brushing away her wet hair to one side as she finished draping the saree over her bare shoulder. She stepped out of the threshold as he stood up, alarmed.
“What is it that you wanted to ask?” She inquired softly.
“Would you like it if we took you home?” He asked. Abhaya’s throat dried. “Home?”
Swadhin nodded. “To your would-be husband. You can get married and…” He stopped at her stare.
“Are you asking me or telling me, Swadhin Da?” She asked as he fell silent.
“If you are telling me that you would let me go to a husband I was promised to, I will be grateful to be alive and outside these premises. It is dirty here.” She inhaled. “If you are asking me…” She made him look up as his jaws tightened.
“If I am asking you?” He repeated.
Abhaya smiled a melancholy smile and shook her head.
“Then don’t toy with me. I am only a woman, Swadhin Da. Nobody asks me. People decide for me. I am sure your Meera Didi has not taught you about that.” Her last words made him look up at her as she vanished into the darkness of the room and shut the door behind her. For the first time, Swadhin felt that his respect was diminished in Abhaya’s fiery eyes.
Kalyani had become used to life at the mission. She helped clean the premises at dawn and took a dip in the pond before the others woke up. While the people meditated, she took out the beaded rosary she had tucked in her waist and said her prayers. Then she helped the cook, an older lady who was the mother of someone killed by Police torture, to prepare the food. Kalyani heard her lament in silence. She never asked what her son did to deserve such an end. She did not reveal that her father was one of them. Within weeks, she was called Didi by the children and Beti by the woman. Kalyani found that this new identity came with bits of momentary happiness. The children would bring her flowers for her worship, and the old woman would often urge her to take one of her semi-coloured clothes. Kalyani would refuse. It was perhaps one of the teachers who noticed Kalyani’s tattered clothes. She brought her a bunch of new ones. Fresh from the city. Kalyani cooked her own boiled food in a corner of the room given to her.
Every Saturday, almost religiously, Sharat would arrive with books, clothes and stationery for the children and money for the administration. The children would flock around him and hear stories. Before he left, inevitably, he would appear at her threshold, push a few Paisa in the reluctant Kalyani’s hand and ask how she was.
“Bhalo” was the only word Kalyani uttered to him, and she did not lie. She was well after a long time. The cost of her wellness sometimes did not let her sleep at night, as she wept in guilt for her family. But Kalyani did not realise that every Saturday since dawn, she would hum a tune while brooming the courtyard, put on her whitest of Thaan and keep peeping at the gates in between her prayers.
Abhaya sat down on the mattress as she could now hear him moving the utensils around the courtyard. She looked up at the sunlight making a pattern as it came in a tiny streak of light from the Jaali of the ventilator. She thought about the man she was promised to. Her mother had said he was a little younger than her father, but he was affluent. He could provide for her. And if, unlike his other wives, she could give him an heir, her luck would turn. People in the village would worship her. She would be her husband’s favourite wife. She would rule his heart. She would be a mother to a Jomidar. She would… Abhaya had stolen a glance at the picture left on her father’s desk when she went to clean it. The man had back-brushed hair with streaks of white on either side. His moustache was like that of the dacoits her mother talked of. She was at first amused and then scared. He was standing with his feet on the head of a tiger he had gunned down, the weapon still in his hand. Why did he choose her of all the people? Abhaya wondered if she would be allowed to write a letter or if Swadhin would take her to him directly. Would she greet him as a Babu or her husband? Would she touch his feet and those of his wives? Would they like her? Her mother was almost their age. She suddenly wondered what Swadhin would think of the man. Of her. Was she marrying him because he was rich? Was she even fit for such a match? She remembered how strongly Swadhin felt about Ram Mohan Roy’s work. She was of legal age to marry, but… Abhaya was suddenly annoyed at her thoughts. Why did she care what Swadhin thought? How did it matter? He was not a saint himself. Meera looked older than him. She was not going to marry him and settle down. Abhaya was suddenly angry at Swadhin. Did he have no voice or opinion? Was he driven only by impulse? The impulse to impress his father? The impulse to have Meera? Did the books he read teach him nothing? Abhaya inhaled as the door opened once again, and he arrived with the bowl of food and the book in hand. Abhaya sat down to eat as he started reading the third chapter. Abhaya had finished eating but was waiting for Swadhin to finish reading.
“What do you think so far?” He asked politely, removing his glasses as he wiped the sweat off his nose and forehead.
“I can understand why it is banned.” She shook her head, “They talk ill of the government.”
“They are not our people, Abhaya, they don’t care,” Swadhin spoke again after putting his glasses back on. He watched her uninterested face as she yawned. “I… will leave you to it. I will come back in the evening to check.” He said without sparing another glance at her.
“Swadhin Da.” Her words made him look up at her grimacing face. “Do you love her?” Swadhin’s heart skipped a beat at Abhaya’s words. Love? What did she know of it? He stood up and inhaled.
“I am not answerable to you.” He watched her nod.
“Then ask yourself that.” Abhaya smiled faintly. Suddenly, her sort of calmness irked Swadhin.
“You know nothing about love. You are going to marry a man twice your age.” He blurted. Abhaya’s stare pierced through his soul. “Did you ask me what I would have done if I had an option like you do?”
“What would you have done?” He asked.
“I would have studied as my brothers did. I would have worked and served my people. Not what you call serving, but the actual work of god. Take care of the downtrodden.” She stopped at his amused smile.
“What is stopping you then?” He asked. “Look around, do you see anyone stopping you?”
Abhaya smiled dryly. “I will never work with a group of terrorists.” She suddenly felt his face turn red with anger.
“You have no idea what you are saying.” He said.
“I know that your people are murderers. You burnt down houses and killed people.”
“Those people killed ours.” He shook his head.
“You took the law into your own hands.”
“The law is biased to fit their frenzy.”
“You chose the wrong path.”
“Just because you side with the government doesn’t make your path right.”
“You wronged me.” Abhaya’s eyes were teary. Swadhin was at a sudden loss for words. He inhaled and looked up at her.
“Be grateful you are with anarchists and that your respect is intact. If it were the Imperial Police…”
“The civilised society does not sin like you do.” Swadhin had had enough of Abhaya’s words. He turned to shut the door and leave. Abhaya kept staring at him.
“You are an escapist, Swadhin Da.” She said as Swadhin was about to bolt the door shut. He inhaled, placing his hand gently on the closed door.
“You have no idea what sins are, Abhaya. You have not yet learnt to unlearn things.” He murmured to himself before walking away.
