The boat docked across the Kirtonkhola River. The Leader got out, followed by the four men. The others exchanged puzzled looks as the Leader flagged down a carriage already waiting at the Ghat.
“Where are we going?” This time, Jatin asked. He was the youngest in the group.
“Jessore.” The Leader said between his teeth. “We are setting up new hideouts.”
“Jessore will be the intermediate between Calcutta and Dhaka.” Jatin nodded. “But so is Khulna.”
“Khulna is already under their watchful eyes.” The Leader shook his head.
“Will we be abandoning the old one?” Another asked. “But that is closer to home.”
“Exactly.” The man got into the carriage, followed by the others.
It was almost noon by the position of the sun in the sky. After some hours, when the sun was about to set, they reached another riverside. Here, no other humans could be seen except a boatman with a boat. He bowed to the Leader and, without any words exchanged, he rowed the boat upstream through the dense mangrove and occasional paddy fields that lay on either side. A kerosene lamp burned on the boat, and soon darkness engulfed them as the boat rowed on, the water from the stream being the only sound that followed them constantly, with the rustling of leaves and occasional hooting of owls.
When the boatman stopped, they could see a bullock cart on the shore. The man in his lungi and shirt sleeping inside the cart seemed to be alerted by the boat and footsteps as he got up and ran down the broken stairs of the Ghat to help the men out of the boat. They were then sitting on the cart as it drove them towards the village. The bells on the neck of the bulls jingled.
Bonomali was a city man. He had come to a village for the first time. The struggle for him to keep his back straight on the bullock cart made the others smile in amusement. The leader eyed him.
“If you want something easier…”
“I have not vowed to fight this battle easily, Leader Sir. I will learn. Jatin will help.” Jatin nodded at Bonomali, who had become quite a favourite of his. The leader shook his head.
“During the day, you live your dedicated lives, work and go home. You don’t know each other.” He instructed firmly. “Never be seen together or indulge in a conversation. If you are introduced, just say Namoshkar and move on.”
It was almost midnight when they reached a village. The fields of paddy on either side of the road were dark with fireflies sparkling around the grass covers. The only light visible was at the Shiva Temple at the crossroad right in the middle of the village, where a torch was lit. The village was in slumber. The carriage stopped beside the temple premises. The Leader folded his hands and prayed. The men watched. The Carriage driver got down from the seat and unlocked a chamber below the seats. He took out two bundles and handed them to the confused men.
“We did not have luggage with us.” Jatin stopped at the Leader’s gesture to take it. The men could feel the metal pipes within the wrapped cloth bundles as soon as they took them. The carriage driver smiled with his paan-stained teeth.
They followed the leader silently through the narrow roads leading from the Shiva Mandir and walked past the Banyan tree to the broken Ghat nearby. The Bhairav River meandered there. The Leader lit a smoke as the men explored the abandoned ruins.
“This village is called Itna. The Jomidar is a secret rebel against the Raj. He has promised to help.” He made the men nod. “I will have to leave tomorrow, but you get to work. We need to set up a network. Jatin will work at the local grocery store as Naren Das’s assistant. Bonomali will be part of the Panchayat. Vrijesh will work for the local flour mill. Munshi will try for a post as a teacher in the school. You know the rest, right?”
They did. No false moves. The task was to sit and observe. Select potential members and interested networks. Blend in with the villagers and befriend them. School boys, young girls, pregnant women, teachers, Widows, old men… the most vulnerable-looking people could be given a purpose in life to serve the motherland and help their network. They are the least suspected by the Imperial Police. Jatin also suggested knowing the in charge of the Thana nearby. Always good to know the enemy.
“We will contact Kabir and Meera once they are settled in Narayanganj. The case will be raised in the Dhaka court where Benu’s son is imprisoned. They will provide us with information about the bombing case, which our Barrister can use to defend Benu’s son. If he goes Scott-free, not only do we have a moral win, but the people will start doubting the Imperial police’s ability to stop what they call terrorism. There will be unrest and protests.” The Leader spoke as he puffed the last bit of his cigarette and discarded the butt. “Also, if we find Bina, wherever she is, she has to be saved from them.”
“We thought you knew that.” Jatin gasped. The Leader shook his head.
“I hope she is alive, and we can only do a little to retrace her path with the police lurking around. The wounds of the attack on Superintendent Mukhopadhyay are still fresh. Especially because it got out of hand. They are looking for the culprits.” The Leader sighed. “We should have refrained from taking Benu and his brother. I forgot they were hungry for revenge.”
“Yes, killing his sons was a wrong message. Everyone whose husband and sons work in the Government now is scared. At first, they thought only the British officers were unsafe.” Bonomali nodded. Vrijesh cleared his throat.
“Umm… how safe… I mean…”
“They are looking at things from the wrong angles.” The Leader seemed oddly calm. “The last I heard, they were going through all the cases he had personally handled and looking for those who were let go. They are, in a way, sure Bina was not involved.” The men exchanged unsure glances.
“I don’t know the future of our organisation, especially with the uncertainty of funds, but as of now, we take each mission as it comes.” The Leader said firmly to his associates.
Meera looked up at the house of the prosecutor in Narayanganj through the veiled layer of her saree draped over her head like a newlywed. She had to buy vermillion from the market near the train station and Shakha Pola, and a few sarees that would help her appear like a newlywed. She was now standing at the portico of the house, with two women interrogating her.
“Padma.” The name was still unfamiliar, and Meera was alert enough to answer the call every time. “Do you have children?” She looked up at the woman asking the question. She was the prosecutor’s widowed mother, Bimala Debi, sitting on an armchair brought out just when Meera arrived by one of the servants and beside her stood her daughter-in-law and the prosecutor’s wife, Ranibala Debi. Meera was quick to deduce that Bimala was the old matriarch still running the household while Ranibala attended to her children and grandchildren. She eyed the widow, taking out a betel leaf from her silver box and putting some Supari and masala in it before putting it fully into her mouth. She wiped her hand on the white Thaaner Saree and looked up at Meera, who shook her head.
“We just got married last month. But his family did not accept me…” She made Ranibala smile awkwardly as the old lady made a sound.
“Tch tch, I have no interest in your sob story. All I need to know is whether having kids will hamper your work. The previous one ran away in her seventh month. Weak women these days. In our times…” She stopped at Meera’s silent stare. “ If having children makes you leave, then I will …”
“No, Maa Thakuron. I will be working dutifully without excuses. You are giving me a job and shelter, and I am ever grateful in times of need.” She sniffed. Ranibala leaned in towards her mother-in-law.
“She seems good. They come from a good family that has fallen into hardship. I was told so by…” Meera knew their network was working well. She needed to inform the Leader.
“Alright, alright, and your husband? How good a cook is he?” The widow spoke as Meera inhaled. “I will not pay for two people in full here. You will share a room and amenities, so maybe your salary and half of the cook’s?”
“I was thoroughly interrogated by the eldest son,” Kabir spoke as he kept the luggage down in the small room of the servant quarters and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He adjusted his dhoti and was thinking about abandoning his sweaty panjabi for the tattered vest under it when he eyed Meera, a little alarmed and decided against it. “He asked me everything from my childhood to why I am uneducated.”
“Better than asking questions on Shastra like they did last time, remember?” Meera smiled faintly.
“Yes, and I did well.” He nodded.
“Perhaps they are careful after what happened in Lakutiya,” Meera said, straightening herself and dropping the drape from over her head. “I am already tired of the Ghomta.” She furrowed her brows. “Have you met the other servants?” Kabir nodded.
“There is Brij. He is the oldest. Doesn’t hear too well anymore. There is a young boy called Kanu. He helps around the kitchen and the house. And… the maids?”
“Three of them. Two of them go home after a day’s work. Another stays with the children.” Meera nodded. “Then there are two guards, one gardener, one to look after the cars… The driver, the helper…” She stopped as Kabir was staring at her. He had perched himself on the small space on the ledge of the open window and watched her make the bed.
“You have disguised yourself well.” He said as she stared back at him. “You do look like a married woman.” His eyes involuntarily travelled to the Sindur on her hairline and the bangles that dangled as she moved her arms. “Have you done this before?”
“Been married?” Meera sounded amused.
“Pretended to be someone’s wife.” Kabir smiled. Meera shook her head.
“No. They asked me about children. We have none. We are newly married.” She said plainly.
“Noted.” He nodded. “Tomorrow I will impress the ladies with some cooking skills while you take up a dusting job.” Meera nodded. “We need to locate his office as well as keep an eye on their routines. The house is full of people.”
Kabir could not understand how easily Meera fell asleep in the unfamiliar surroundings beside him. Her breath was slow, and she looked tired. Kabir could see her face in the faint light coming from the street outside the window, and he inhaled as he sat up on the bed, careful enough not to wake her up. Two small Khatiyas joined together to act as a bed, and the mattress of coconut husk was very uncomfortable. Every time he moved even slightly, the ropes of the Khatiya would make some noise. Meera sensed the movement and opened her eyes sleepily.
“What happened?” She whispered. “Are you unwell?”
“I can’t sleep.” Kabir shook his head as he reached for a jug of water. “Your bangles make too much noise.” Meera was suddenly amused.
“Have you never slept beside a woman before?” Her words were met with a stare from Kabir.
“I have, and they are not you.” His words made Meera’s smile fade a little. She looked away as Kabir walked up to the window.
“I will shift the beds to farther corners tomorrow.” She reassured softly.
“And what if someone walked in?” Kabir shook his head. “We can’t afford suspicion. I will get used to it.” Meera silently lay back on the bed with her back to him and went back to sleep.
Words and Explanation:
Ghomta: Married Indian Women use a separate veil or the end of their sarees (like here) to place over their head and hide their faces (sometimes). It is called Ghomta in Bengali.
