It was in the afternoon, a few days after she argued with Abhaya, that Meera stepped into the premises of the Naat mandir in the outskirts of Lakutiya and found it empty. The cigarette butts suggested some people had just left the premises. She walked inside one of the open, ruined chambers set up for the meeting and found some water to drink. She was about to step out when she saw Swadhin walk in. At first, he was awkward at the sight of her. Meera eyed him coldly. Then he carefully walked up to her, pulled her in his embrace by the waist and tugged at the drape of her saree. Meera resisted.
“What are you doing?” She snapped.
“I am sorry for the other day.” He said, nibbling at her ears. “I thought if I could make up for it.” He lifted the saree to her knees, and she did not protest.
“Here?” She raised her eyebrows. “They might be back.”
“Baba has taken them for a day’s work.” He shook his head. “You can stay here with me and keep an eye on…” Meera stopped him from saying the name.
“And what if she hears us? She is a stone’s throw away…”
“How would she know it's us?” Swadhin seemed adamant.
There was something weird that Meera always felt with him. His glance at her had more lust and little respect every time they were together. Yet the highly self-esteemed Meera found herself being drawn to him. A sense of empowerment grew in her in the way she could make him react. Her life was sacrificed to her motherland. Being an orphan with nobody to care for her helped. Pishima, whose house she stayed in, barely even noticed her among her own fifteen children and ten grandchildren. Nimai’s mother was probably her closest associate and often covered for her. She did not care for marriage, children, or other materialistic things that tied one to society. But even then, her body had needs. Needs Swadhin to be satisfied whenever she wants. She could command him, scold him and direct him as he readily gave in. Meera liked that.
Swadhin could not make sense of his attraction towards Meera in the beginning. He tried to control staring at her and limit his interactions. But it was all in vain. Meera was older than him by five years. She had been to college, had an education with what was left of her parents’ money and lied at home about finding work when she joined the group. He had met her when she came to stay in Dhaka, and he was instructed to help her find a place. He found himself there on most evenings. She had no bindings tying her down to society, unlike all the other women around Swadhin. Her freedom of choice and a strong sense of self attracted Swadhin to her.
His early days of curiosity were fed by Meera’s willingness to accept his approach. And before he knew, before he could tell, they were entangled in a tryst he had told nobody about. Something in this unnamed relationship embarrassed him even if he would never accept so. Meera knew it. But she did not care.
Something in the day felt different. He was in a hurry to undress her, and Meera could sense the urgency in his actions. She eyed the closed door across the Naat Mandir. The figurines on the wall were inspired by the art of Kama. All across the premises of ruined glory were tales of greed, lust and passion now being enacted in a moment of whirlwind romance, a few metres away from where once the Devdasis danced for their Lord.
Abhaya could hear soft, muffled voices as she wiped away her tears and sat up, alarmed. She had gotten used to the routine of the anarchists. Nobody except the Leader and Swadhin had access to her door; nobody interacted with her, but she could now make out from the voices that there were a dozen of them, if not more. Men, women and even children. Children younger than her. Abhaya tiptoed to the door of the room and placed her ear on the wooden frame. She then stepped back, alarmed and disgusted. It was a woman moaning, a man groaning. Voices she knew and recognised, and wished she did not. The unwanted image of Swadhin Da and that fiery girl crept into her head as she drank some water, hoping the gulping and churning in her body would make her hear less of them. Were they not aware she could hear them? Or did they not care? Abhaya sat in the farthest corner of the room on her mattress and wondered. What did it feel like? The way her sisters-in-law would scare her after the day her marriage was fixed made her curious. But there was nobody to ask, nobody to tell her in detail the secrets of the body. Abhaya noticed her dirty self in the faint light of the room. She needed a bath. The moan grew louder as the act of sin reached its zenith in the shrine of rebellion, and Abhaya suddenly felt something weird, a tingling sensation in her lower abdomen. Her throat was dry, and closing her eyes and ears did not help. The image was clear in her head. The image of Swadhin Da and Meera Di.
Kabir stepped into the Naat Mandir to find Meera walking out of the room, adjusting her drape in proper pleats. Her hair was slightly dishevelled, and he could sense a glow on her face. Meera stopped as she could see him, and Swadhin appeared behind her, emerging from the room with his glasses in his hand. Abhaya could hear voices again, conversations. Kabir cleared his throat. It was never that Meera explicitly told him about her business with Swadhin. He had never asked. All he knew was that she vowed not to be married. Kabir knew it was a vow harder to keep in real life than in fiction. Kabir had witnessed his brother leave behind a family, his wife and child, for the sake of the motherland. But he had also seen his brother secretly keep a picture of his boy close and sigh at it now and then. It is for their safety if I get caught, he would often remind himself. Kabir never wanted this kind of attachment. But was that all true? He eyed Meera as Swadhin looked awkward.
“Have you told him?” He asked. Swadhin stared at Meera’s shake of a head.
“Tell me what?” he asked.
“I suppose you were too busy to,” Kabir murmured as Meera scowled at him.
“He suggested a solution.” Meera left it at that as she walked up to the threshold to see if anyone else was around. The evening hue of sunset colours was painting the sky red. Kabir filled him in on his idea.
“We can’t hand her over to that man. What will we say? Where did we find her?” Swadhin frowned.
“She found your father.” Kabir shrugged. “You have been family friends, and like good people, you want her married to the man…”
“How will that help us?” Swadhin protested. “Baba can still be…”
“We don’t think the Jomidar cares for anything else or wants to get into the mess if he gets her. Neither would the girl have a voice if she went to that house.” Meera walked up beside Kabir, who nodded. “He has intel.” Swadhin looked at them and sighed.
“Let Baba come, he can decide.” He spoke calmly. Meera agreed.
“Kabir, take me to Narayanganj tonight.” She ordered.
“You are leaving already?” Swadhin stopped at her cold stare and Kabir’s amused glance. Meera chose not to answer him. Instead, Kabir did.
“We found another person who needs a cook and a maid.” Kabir shrugged. “We are employed again, this time in the city.” Swadhin looked up at them. Kabir expected him to be concerned for Meera’s safety. Instead, Swadhin quietly walked towards the cooking area.
“I suppose you are a cook too now.” Kabir tried to lighten the mood. Swadhin’s hand stopped at the stove he was about to light. He sighed.
“Well, not for a long time now that you found a way out.” Meera narrowed her eyes at his aloof tone as he set down the cooking utensils.
“Come, Meera, we have to go before it gets dark,” Kabir called out as Meera nodded.
When Swadhin opened the door to Abhaya’s room, he found her avoiding glances. Was something wrong again? He placed the rice bowl down and added, “I know you like spicy things, so I added some chillies.” She looked up at him briefly and nodded. Swadhin looked away. Abhaya could now see his dishevelled hair and wrongly buttoned-up Panjabi.
“Your…” She stopped pointing at the buttons. Swadhin looked confused and followed her hand gesture to his buttons. His cheek suddenly felt warm with embarrassment. Was Meera right? Did Abhaya hear something? He was about to get up and leave, buttoning his Panjabi rightly before heading home. Abhaya’s cheek flushed as she saw him looking away in embarrassment. He got up and turned to leave.
“Will you not read to me today?” She asked as he stopped and glanced over his shoulder, surprised. “Bring the lantern in. I will eat, and you can read the next chapter. You promised it would be interesting.” She tried to sound normal. Swadhin was suddenly alert about her demeanour. In all the books he had read, a captive being friendly was a mark of deception. He had to be careful, especially since his father was away.
“I am tired today, I will read tomorrow.” He walked away as Abhaya sighed.
“Stop.” She made him freeze before he shut the door on her face, “I have a request.” She bit her lips. Swadhin did not see that in the darkness. But he stood silently.
“I need a bath. If you could…”
“No.” He shook his head. “You are not stepping out of that room.”
“But Swadhin Da, I am…” The door shut on her face as Abhaya sighed. She was sure she was going to spend the rest of her life here, in the dungeon and never see the light of day until she did something about it. She was slowly losing hope. And now, although nobody told her, she knew in her heart that nobody she loved was alive in the world.
“There is a slight change of plans.” Kabir helped Meera on a boat on the Buri Ganga as he spoke. Meera tucked the clothes she had got for the month-long plan in a bundle under her arm as she held onto Kabir and jumped into the boat. The boatman was Bonku Majhi, an aide of the anarchists. Kabir made her frown.
“Are we not going to the prosecutor’s home?”
“We are.” He nodded. “But the Leader instructed us to introduce ourselves as a couple.” Meera nodded at his words. “I am Kanailal, and you are Padma…I would like to clarify …umm… that it may imply staying in the same chamber and…”
“I don’t mind, it's you.” Meera made him stare through the corner of his eyes. “Do you care?” He shook his head. Why would he? Once in a while, in the pretence and risk of life, in the rush of adrenaline he had dedicated his life to, Kabir found himself alone with Meera. And those were the times he found the call of the blissful materialistic life strongly captivating him. It was momentary and forceful. This was the fourth time they were together for a mission. But the first time, Kabir would say, “She is my wife.” He hoped and prayed his voice did not tremble or his eyes did not give away the secrets of his heart.
At dawn, Swadhin stopped pacing his room and looked up at the clock. On his way back home the previous night, he had taken a detour from the premises of the hideout through the jungle path leading to the city outskirts. Small Kasbahs could be found along the way in clusters on the horizon. He had managed to locate a clean and isolated water body nearby. It was an odd thirty-minute walk from the Naat Mandir through the forest. He picked up the revolver he had hidden in the dictionary kept in the trunk under his bed. He tucked it in his dhuti, said a soft prayer and stepped out towards the hideout as the birds started chirping in the break of dawn.
