The next time Swadhin opened the door with starched rice and mashed potatoes in a bowl, he found the previous day’s food across the floor, ants feasting on it. The balm, however, had been used. His eyes fell on the darker corner of the room, and Abhaya was half sitting, her knees crouched to her chest, and her eyes closed. For a moment, Swadhin was scared. Was she breathing? He put the steaming bowl of rice down and approached her carefully. He was about to put his finger near her nose to check when his eyes involuntarily travelled to her chest, moving slightly up and down. Swadhin could breathe again. It was then that Abhaya came out of her trance to see him leaning close to her. She screamed. Her voice was muffled as Swadhin, in a reflex, put his hand over her lips.
“Don’t.” He said, alarmed. “You will be slapped again.” Her eyes were wide at his plea. She struggled to get his hand off her mouth as he said again, more firmly.
“I am letting go of the hand, but you won’t scream. I brought you food. You need to eat. Or else you will die.” He let go of her mouth as Abhaya sighed. Swadin leaned back and adjusted his spectacles.
“Then let me die. I will not eat from the hands of murderers.” She protested feebly. Swadhin could not help but look at her in admiration.
“I have neither killed anyone nor do I intend to see you starve to death.” He reached for the bowl. “I will sit here till you finish.”
“Kill me, and they will hail you.” Abhaya sat up and eyed the food as her stomach churned again. Swadhin smiled faintly.
“I will read to you while you eat.” He said as she eyed the cover of the book.
“Pather Dabi by…”
“I know what you are trying to do.” Abhaya protested again. “I won’t let you brainwash me.” Swadhin was a little taken aback at her words.
“What makes you think a novel can brainwash you?” He asked as she sat silently staring at the bowl once again.
“If you don’t survive, you can never find your family or give them justice.” His words made her look up, and a smile appeared on the corner of her lips.
“Justice?” She eyed him. “That is the last thing you want.” Swadhin closed the book he had opened to the first chapter.
“You have no idea what I want. What Bina wanted. What Benimadhob’s daughter wanted. She was barely a year older than you.” He pushed the bowl to Abhaya, who finally gave in. Her eyes asked a question her lips did not. What happened to them? Who are they?
Swadhin opened the book again, reading it aloud even when Abhaya looked uninterested. He finished a chapter and eyed the half-eaten bowl. Abhaya had stopped eating.
“I will come back tomorrow,” he said, picking up the bowl and looking around. “And I will ask someone to clean the mess before the ants feast on you.”
Abhaya was shocked at how calm and cold he was. Swadhin Da was always reading novels and poetry. Her sisters-in-law would often say he was a soft boy, and the world would eat him up. Today, she did not know the man she saw anymore.
Prison life was perhaps a greater punishment than death. That was what Nanku Patel inferred when he was sent disguised as a prisoner into the Presidency Jail. The old jailhouse was filled with inmates, most of them there because they planned something against the Raj. Nanku Patel hailed from Gujarat, but his forefathers had settled in Bengal for trade. When the young lad desired to join the Imperial forces against his widowed mother’s wishes, he thought he was serving his country. But just seven days in jail made him wonder if there were two sides to a coin. He was appointed there with a simple task before the trial started for Adhir, Benu’s son, who killed the Magistrate. If the prisoner befriended a fellow prisoner and gave away information, it would be helpful. The Imperial Police was sure that after the repeated attacks in and around Bakergunj, something big was at play. The police torture did nothing to make Adhir open his mouth against the people he worked with. Perhaps friendliness would help. For the first few days, Nanku coped with the brutal and rigorous jail routine when he worked at the cotton cloth-making workshop set up inside the jail. He was sharing a cell with Adhir, but they never spoke. Adhir was the least interested in him. He did not even bother asking where he was from. Nanku was young and determined. He needed to start a conversation at any cost.
“So Bhaya, can you tell me where we can get Bidis sneaked in from?” He asked light-heartedly to Adhir light-heartedly after watching him stare out of the ventilator above their head for thirty minutes straight. Adhir shook his head silently. “Where are you from?” He asked again. Adhir looked up at the words and finally noticed Nanku. He gave half a smile and asked, “What are you in here for?”
“I stole food because my mother can’t pay for it.”
“Oh, that’s not a major crime.” Adhir made him nod.
“Did you commit a major crime?” Nanku was unsure whether he was pushing hard.
“I did.” Adhir nodded nonchalantly. “I killed someone.” The ease with which he said it ran a shiver down Nanku’s spine. He was suddenly scared and aware that he was sharing a cell with a murderer. He had never seen one before.
“Someone you knew?” He asked as his throat went dry. Adhir shook his head.
“Angrez…” Nanku was unsure of what to say. But he managed to clear his throat.
“Are you with the Congress?” He asked. Adhir frowned at him, “How old are you?”
“Seventeen.” Nanku smiled unsurely.
“Then you are old enough to know Congress doesn’t support such acts of violence. Only the Leftist mindset…” Adhir stopped as Nanku shook his head.
“I am so sorry, Bhaya, I did not mean to offend you. I am poor and the sole breadwinner of the family. I have siblings, and I am the eldest. My mother is sick.” Nanku’s eyes shone as he suddenly missed his mother. “I have to work and steal to earn for them. I have no time for political opinions.” Adhir smiled dryly, got up and went to the door where he stood holding the rod of the cell door. As soon as his hand made its way out of the boundaries of the cell, the guard hit it with a cane hard. “Get your hands inside.” He grunted. Nanku could see Adhir's knuckles red and swollen. But he did not flinch. Instead, he sighed and turned to Nanku, “When your country is facing famine because they take away everything and ruin your crops, when your country faces loot of a prosperous future while the leeches suck blood out of Her economy and heritage, when She needs your blood and support, not having an opinion is a luxury most people cannot afford. Being apolitical when society needs your voice is cowardice.” Addhir made Nanku stare at him. In the faint light of the corridor, he could sense that Nanku was a little impressed. Adhir inhaled. “I am not part of any political party, and I need not be. I know what I believe in, and even if that ideology doesn’t readily align with any parties or sides, I will still be confident enough to speak my truth, serve my country.” His last words made Nanku look up at him. “Serve your country? But how are you here?”
“I have done my bit. My fellow Comrades will do the rest.”
“Rest? More killings?” Nanku sounded alarmed. “Do you not regret killing another human being?”
“I have nightmares every night, but do I regret it? No.” Adhir shook his head. Nanku sat quietly in a corner with his legs folded. Adhir walked up to him and knelt in front of him to whisper.
“And you know what, I will not give up intel either by coercion or force or by your sweet talk. Go tell your bosses that they may think hanging me will punish me, but it will liberate me from my sins. Go tell them that we believe in Karma and Dharma. My Dharma tells me to save my country even if my Karma expects my life to end right this minute.” Nanku was too flabbergasted to protest that he was not an informant. “How…” He managed. Adhir smiled silently.
