Abhaya had stepped into the portico of the house, hoping to go inside. However, two women sat on reclining chairs inside the threshold of the main entrance, and she was stopped before she could cross it. One of the women, with her hairline drawn in thick vermilion, had traces of grey in her hair and wrinkles under her eyes. She wore the most fascinating jewellery Abhaya had ever seen and a white Dhakai saree with red Jamdani work. The other one looked her mother’s age or a little younger, in a green Dhakai saree with an equal amount of jewellery on her. Abhaya was suddenly conscious of her appearance. Before they left for the journey, Swadhin had brought her a gold chain and earrings, with a few bronze bangles and three sets of Tant sarees. He stated that he was ordered to do so by his father, who wanted to make it look like she was well taken care of. New comb, powder and kohl were also provided to her by the ladies of the group. She had, after a long time, dressed well. Yet seeing these people made her feel her red saree with its gaudy green border was something their servants would wear. She stood behind Swadhin, who was now being questioned.
“How did she survive the fire?” The older woman asked, with a frown, in a dialect because of the paan pushed on one side of her cheek.
“It was a miracle.” Swadhin nodded. “I was instructed to see the Jomidar Babu.”
“He cannot come to everyone’s beck and call.” The other one shook her head. “We need to verify you are not a fraud. Our husband is a very strict man.” She eyed Abhaya so keenly that she felt naked. “After all, we never saw the girl.”
“That is fair, I will tell you everything.” Swadhin nodded, adjusting his glasses.
“Not you, her. How did you escape, girl?” The older woman asked. Abhaya opened her mouth, but no words came out of it. Her lips parted as she eyed Swadhin. Swadhin suddenly felt nervous. What was Abhaya going to say?
“I… was at the Kirtan Math when it happened, so when I saw the house burning, I… ran to theirs.” She pointed at Swadhin, who nodded, a little relieved.
“And who are they?” The other woman asked, eyeing Swadhin suspiciously. “Your father said you had no close relatives.”
“I am a distant cousin of hers.” Swadhin lied with a straight face. The women exchanged questionable glances.
“So, related by blood?” He shook his head. They gasped.
“She has been staying with a man who was neither her father nor her brother…” The older one commented unhappily. Swadhin frowned.
“She was staying at our home.”
“And how long have you been travelling?” The other one asked Abhaya.
“Two days.” She said truthfully. Swadhin inhaled.
“We stayed the night at a relative’s house.” He lied. They had slept in the bullock cart itself because it was too risky to look for a place. Or rather, she had slept while he kept an eye on and chatted with the driver.
The women did not look convinced. “And why is she here now?” Abhaya looked pale at their words. “We heard she is dead, and we arranged for the marriage elsewhere.” She was suddenly scared. What was to happen to her now? Swadhin seemed unfazed by the turn of events. “I want to talk to Jomidar Babu now, can I?”
“Who are these people?” A booming voice made the ladies lower their heads and move away, drawing their already drawn anchol further over their faces as the man Abhaya once saw in a picture came alive before her. He was in a white Dhuti Panjabi as he walked down the stairs with a cane and seemed older than in the picture. At least by ten years. The man eyed Abhaya and then Swadhin. He did recognise her from the picture her father had provided. But he allowed his wives and Swadhin to give their narratives. Then he smiled, twisting the end of his grey moustache.
“You see, I have already arranged for a marriage elsewhere because I thought she was dead.”
“Well, she is not, now…” Swadhin said monotonously.
“Let me finish, young man. Your generation seems to be in a hurry to draw conclusions and reach solutions.” He sat down on one of the reclining chairs that the wives had left as they stood close by. He clapped his hands, ordered the servant to prepare his hookah and eyed Abhaya. Swadhin could see his eyes linger, making Abhaya feel uncomfortable.
“As I was saying, I obviously can not marry her. But…” A smile lingered once again on his lips. “I did pay a huge amount of money to her father for her.” Abhaya’s eyes widened at his words, and her throat felt dry. Money? She was not told about any money.
“He had gambled some of it away even…” The man chuckled, amused. “That idiot Mukherjee. Who made him a superintendent?” He chuckled as the servant brought his hookah, and he took a smoke, as the water rumbled, making a gurgling sound.
“However, I do have a solution.”
Swadhin eyed the man as Abhaya’s face flushed.
“She can stay here, of course, not as a wife, but my Rakshita.” An involuntary gasp escaped Abhaya’s mouth as Swadhin narrowed his eyebrows, “Since she has nowhere else to go, the other option would be working the streets,” he eyed the wives who agreed. “I am sure she is not made for that.” Abhaya was scared. She imagined life here as his kept woman, and it was scary. She imagined making it on her own, disowned and dishonoured, and it was scarier. Nobody would marry her either way if she stayed here or if she did not. And after the man died… She eyed the women.
“Who said she has nowhere to go?” Swadhin’s voice was harsh as Abhaya looked at him, surprised. She was sure he would leave her here. Get rid of her at any cost. If she were a kept woman, she would not have a voice to even be a threat to them. Wasn’t that what the anarchists wanted? Swadhin was angry instead. His face was red, and the Jomidar looked calm.
“How can you treat a woman from a respected home this way?” Abhaya was scared of his tone.
“Well, I bought her, didn’t I?” The man chuckled. “Paid her father for it.”
“Her father is not her owner. This is not a transaction you made at Sonaganchi.” Swadhin said firmly. “You promised to marry and honour her as a wife.”
“Well…” The man once again let out some smoke as he spoke. “I changed my mind.”
“Then I change mine.” Swadhin turned to Abhaya. “Come, let's go.”
“And where will you take her?” The man seemed amused before Abhaya moved from her spot. “Who are you to keep her anyway?”
“I am… her brother,” Swadhin said firmly.
“Without a blood relation, you are as good as any other man for her.” The man rose from the chair. He was tall and almost towered over Swadhin as he came closer and eyed Abhaya, who lowered her head. “Here the girl will get food, clothes, jewellery, a shelter… everything she can hope for. What else does she need?” Abhaya suddenly felt that the man was right. With a vermilion on her hairline, her mother still lived in hell, without one, Didi was in hell too, so how could her life be any different? Abhaya wondered if she was supposed to answer them as she eyed Swadhin and looked up at the man. “Tell me, girl, will you not repay your father’s debt?” Abhaya’s eyes filled with tears, her hands trembled, and her throat felt dry.
“No.” Swadhin was firm with his reply. “She will not. She will live a respected life somewhere far from here.” He eyed them as he let out a sigh. “No wonder you have no heirs, a home that doesn’t respect women doesn’t deserve any.” Abhaya gasped, as did the other ladies, as the Zamindar’s face turned red. He fumed.
“How dare you…” He called.“Jagat, Kalu…”
Before Swadhin could react, two muscled oil-wrapped Lethel sardars with their Lathi came and started hitting him. Swadhin tried to resist, but Abhaya screamed and begged him to stop. Swadhin protected his head from the canes while his arms and body were bruised. Abhaya cried, falling at the feet of the women begging them to stop.
“I will do as you say, please don’t…” She cried as the women judged her.
“See, I told you their relationship was suspicious.” One whispered to another as the older woman kicked her away.
“Don’t touch me, you filth.”
“Throw them out. They should learn a lesson on how to talk to their masters.” The man ordered. Jagat grabbed Abhaya while Kalu held Swadhin. He resisted.
“Don’t touch her.” Abhaya could see his forehead bleeding, his arm bruised, his Panjabi soiled, his spectacles broken, and his hair ruffled while his knees bled into his white dhoti, turning it to a shade of red. Swadhin stared at her, concerned that she was being hurt.
They were thrown into the soil of the road outside as the gate shut behind them. Abhaya’s bundle lay scattered in the soil. The bullock cart owner came running to help Swadhin up as he struggled, and Abhaya managed to brush her saree and collect her things.
“You are bleeding, Babu.” The man gasped.
“It’s nothing.” Swadhin clenched his teeth, trying to stand upright, holding the man’s hand.
“Let me take you to the nearest Baidya…” The man insisted. Abhaya’s hand stopped at the Gach Kouto filled with vermilion; the lady who brought her the comb and Kohl gave her. No words were exchanged, but she smiled reassuringly at Abhaya.
Swadhin held his dizzy head and groaned a little. Abhaya stood up beside him, concerned.
“He is right, we should go to a …”
“ We need to get out of here.” Swadhin cut her off. “This place is not safe.” Abhaya agreed silently. She watched him put his broken spectacles into his pocket.
“We can stop in some other place on the way.” The man suggested.
“Before that, stop at a lake with clean water.” Abhaya seemed to have composed herself. “We need to clean the wounds.”
The man helped Swadhin up on the cart. It was then that he realised that his back hurt as well. Had he broken something? Perhaps not. It would hurt more. He wished he had learnt the art of fighting from Naw Da. He had seen him practise with a Lathi in their backyard once in a while. He could give those two a few… He stared at Abhaya, who had pushed her soiled bundle inside and got up on the cart.
“Are you hurt?” He asked as the cart started moving. Abhaya was suddenly teary.
“You should have left me there, Swadhin Da. At least they would not beat you up.” Her voice choked as the tears streamed down her cheeks. She eyed his bruises. Swadhin inhaled, trying to keep a straight face and reassure her, “I am not that badly hurt.” Abhaya knew he was lying.
“They broke your glasses, too.”
“I will make new ones, it's not that I can’t see at all. I can see you.” He tried to sound reassuring.
She wiped her teary cheeks and lamented. “They were not wrong. A woman is nothing without a man in this society.” Swadhin grimaced at her words. “Besides, what difference did it make? Would my life have been better with the vermilion than without it?” The cart had stopped, and the man interrupted, saying they were at a lake. Abhaya got down, giving Swadhin her hand. “Come, I will dress your wounds, Swadhin Da.” He took her hand and got down, struggling a bit to keep his feet on the ground, and stared at her reluctantly. “We did not need to stop.”
Abhaya ignored his plea and proceeded to the last stair of the ghat, taking one of the newly bought sarees with her. She washed it on the shore as the man drank some water on the other end. Swadhin managed to sit down on the stairs above her as she tore the saree into a cloth and washed his wounds, first his arm, then his forehead.
“You tore the new saree.” He glared at her.
“We need to clean your wounds and make sure they aren’t infected.” She said monotonously. Although Swadhin could see her calm demeanour, the frown never left her face. It was when Abhaya proceeded to clean his feet that he stopped her, holding the edge of her wrist gently with the tip of his thumb and index finger. Abhaya looked up at him with questioning eyes.
“Why did you say that?” He asked.
“What?” He let go of her hand.
“That you wanted to be left there.” Swadhin shook his head. “I know that is not the life you want. Or anyone should want to.” A faint smile appeared in the corner of Abhaya’s lip. Her forehead was sweaty, and she had wiped it with her hand, smudging the small Bindi she had drawn on her forehead. Swadhin stared at the asymmetrical pattern on her forehead as she shook her head.
“At least that way, you would have been unharmed.”
When Swadhin had opened the door to the chamber for the last time, taking Abhaya out of her captivity two mornings ago, he had picked up her bundle in silence. He eyed her, looking fresh after a bath and draping of the red saree that oddly reminded him of new brides. She eyed him, picking up her bundle. In silence, she was about to follow him to the cart waiting for them on the road when, to Swadhin’s surprise, she touched his feet. Swadhin had moved back a little, surprised, and asked, “What are you doing?”
“My mother said before any good occasion or journey, one must take the blessings of elders. I don’t have any other elders around, Swadhin Da.” Her eyes were teary. “Thank you for taking care of me.” Swadhin felt awkward at her sniffles. He patted her head in a reluctant, awkward manner and whispered. “It's okay. It's okay. Come on.” And moved ahead, making her follow him.
“Abhaya, your life is not over just because…” She looked up at his words while dressing his wounds.
“So where will you take me?” She asked. That was when Swadhin knew he had no answer to her question. Taking her back meant that the group would be at risk; letting her go also meant the same thing. Besides, where would she go? The only place he could take her back was home. But then what would he answer to his mother, sisters-in-law, and brothers? What would the leader say? He had never defied him before. Or Naw Da? He seemed to tell Swadhin to get rid of Abhaya as soon as he could. But how could Swadhin get rid of her that way? He eyed her wincing a little while dressing his wound, as though it was she who was hurt. Abhaya was a gentle soul. She was too pure for the mean world around her. Swadhin felt a strong urge to protect her. Would his father not understand it? Or did his job make him lose his emotions? Swadhin knew he had to face the consequences of his action sooner or later. Abhaya was still hoping for an answer because she repeated the question.
“Well… err… we will first go back to the … place…” Swadhin was a little unsure.
“Will you get into trouble for me?” She asked, concerned. Swadhin smiled reassuringly.
“Worst-case scenario, I will take you with me to Dhaka.”
“What will I do there?” Abhaya asked. “I heard it is a big city.” Swadhin nodded.
“Well, I'm staying at Mess Bari and going to college. The food is terrible…You can cook for me, and we can rent a place and stay.” He stopped because Abhaya’s face showed she was not taking his words seriously. He also knew that it was a far-fetched idea, almost impossible. He could not afford a rented place and feed two mouths with his internship money.
“I wish I had been educated; I could have found some odd job.” Abhaya lamented. Swadhin smiled. “You are not that grown up.” He reminded her, “You can still start studying.” Abhaya did not respond. Education seemed like a luxury in the uncertainty of the future that now loomed on her. She dipped the cloth once again in the water to wash the blood and dirt off and proceeded to clean his knees.
“I will do it,” Swadhin said awkwardly. “You go wait in the cart.” Abhaya did not protest. Instead, she walked up the steps to the cart and waited beside it, watching him from a distance. He cleaned his knees in a hurry first with the wet cloth, then with a dry part of it. Then he was unsure what to do with the torn saree.
“Bring it along.” She suggested from the bank as he nodded and gathered the cloth before proceeding to the carriage. Swadin struggled to get in, and his feet landed on her bundle. Abhaya gently took the bundle aside, sat down and as the cart began to move, she searched it for the Gach Kouto and touched it to her forehead, for it had fallen under his feet. He watched her with narrowed brows as she smiled faintly. “Vermillion is sacred.” She reminded him. He nodded silently. They had stopped at a Kabiraj’s house, which the cart driver was familiar with. The man gave Swadhin a pill for his pain and an ointment, and they once again were off on their journey.
“Are you hungry?” Swadhin asked as Abhaya shook her head. She was lost in thought, wondering where she would go to trouble Swadhin less. And she realised she knew no one except the Kakima, whose house she never visited nor knew and Swadhin’s family.
“Will Kakima take me in?” Swadhin had stopped to buy some sweets when Abhaya asked that. Swadhin frowned at her. “Your Kakima…”
“No, I meant…” Abhaya pressed her lips, looking away, unsurely, “Your mother.” Swadhin’s lips parted, a little surprised as his eyebrows raised.
“She doesn’t know that Baba… umm…” He could not complete the sentence. It was a bad idea. Why did Abhaya want to go to his place? Was it some personal vendetta she was cooking?
“I get it.” She said in a low voice. “I will be in trouble.” Swadhin wanted to disagree, but he remained quiet.
Kalyani heard a loud, urgent banging on her door in the middle of the night. She was startled awake from her sleep and was in two minds whether to open the door or not.
“Didi, please. This is Mohini.” She heard a familiar voice. Kalyani looked pale. What did the nautch girl want in the darkest hour of the night? But why did Kalyani fear? She had no riches to treasure that she feared losing. She opened the latch of her room, and Mohini barged in. With her, the room was filled with the smell of Champa Chameli perfumes. She wore a glittery dress, like the ones worn by the non-Bengali community, with a dupatta, only much more revealing with a deep cut neck and a stringed back.
“Give me a saree.” She said as she started to disrobe, startling Kalyani and forcing her to look away.
“What?” She looked confused as she watched Mohini from the corner of her eye. Mohini undid her bundle and took out the first saree she could find as she undid her robe and jewellery. After draping the saree around herself, not caring for the soiled rich clothes, she hid her jewellery in the ashes of her burnt-out oven. Kalyani gasped.
“What are you…”
“I was being followed,” Mohini whispered. “If the Imperial Police come looking, you are my alibi. I never left.” She eyed the room and tossed the robe in the bush behind the small window, then sat down on the floor, gasping for breath.
“What did you do?” Kalyani asked, raising her eyebrows. Mohini looked at her, confused. Kalyani cleared her throat. “Why are the police after you?”
“Oh, that.” Mohini smiled and shook her head. “I was at the officer’s…” Kalyani’s jaws stiffened as Mohini realised she had no business knowing details. “I work as an informant.”
“For the police?” She asked, shocked.
“No… Sharat Da.” She shrugged. Kalyani looked even more confused when Mohini realised that she was unaware.
“I thought you knew, Didi.” She said, alarmed.
“Know what??”
“I have spoken enough. Ask him.” She shook her head. Kalyani sat down on the floor in front of her and spoke firmly, “If you need my help, you need to tell me everything. Sharat is not coming to save you and …”
“He … is a part of the anarchist group.” Mohini looked unsure as Kalyani gasped. Her eyes shone in the darkness. “You mean the people fighting for freedom?” Mohini nodded.
“Yes, Didi. That is why he brought me here.” Kalyani listened as Mohini told her about her life in Metia Bruz, how Sharat found her in a Jalsa at his friend’s place, how he appointed her to these missions, how she got close to William Sar, and what she does.”
To Kalyani, it did not sound less than a story. In her head, there was an image of these people, the reformists, the anarchists, the politicians and the spies. Those people were not supposed to look like ordinary people… Kalyani found a new kind of respect for Sharat and Mohini. She, unlike her family, knew better about the atrocities she witnessed. She was guilty of being rude to Sharat and judging Mohini.
“Did you have a name?” Kalyani asked curiously. “Before all this?” Mohini nodded. She did not say it, though. “A name long forgotten with a girl my father said was dead, Didi.”
“Where did you learn dancing?” Mohini was surprised by her question. She expected Kalyani to ask more about Sharat and his life, just like Sharat kept asking Mohini about her. But for the first time, someone had asked Mohini a question about herself. Mohini smiled gleefully.
“My father sold me to a Kothiwali in Metia Bruz, and there, a Masterji was given the task of keeping me locked up. He taught the older girls. I used to watch them from the balustrade and imitate them. That was when he caught a glimpse of me and said I would make a great entertainer. So the next day, my lessons started.”
“Do you like dancing?” Kalyani asked. Mohini nodded. “It is the only time I feel truly free. But then I see how the men stare. They don’t care for my perfect twirl or mudras.” Kalyani nodded. “I used to sing well.” She said abruptly.
“Used to?” Mohini’s brows shot up. “You still can, right?” Kalyani shook her head. “You have your limitations, and I have mine. My father found me humming to the tune of the gramophone one day and broke it in fury. He forbade my brothers from listening to music that would incite us. Singing is for the lowly. He said. I thought my husband would be different.”
“He wasn’t?” Mohini looked at her pitifully.
“I never found out. From the wedding night, I nursed him, and he respected me. Cared enough to ask if I ate, slept well, but I never got to ask about this before he passed.” Kalyani sighed. “And a widow can’t…”
“Here you can, Didi. Nobody will judge you.” Mohini reassured. “I know you sing well.”
“And how do you know that?” Kalyani asked, a little amused. “I may not be judged, but I have lost my will to sing.” Mohini watched her eyes sparkle with tears. She nodded.
“Thank you for opening your door today.”
“Tell me, Mohini, is the work you do dangerous? Umm… can Sharat be in trouble?” Kalyani asked. Mohini shrugged. “It depends. Sometimes we sit for months just observing, sometimes some people are chosen to take action…” Kalyani’s throat was dry. “Did these people who took action harm my family?” She questioned. Mohini did not know. She could not tell. Kalyani decided to wait for Sharat to come. She needed to apologise first.
Upendra froze while picking up a box of things as the men cleared the hideout when he saw Swadhin appear at the Naat Mandir with Abhaya following behind him.
“What is she doing here?” One of the men sounded alarmed.
“Baba, I…” The Leader dragged Swadhin by the hand into the room that once held Abhaya as she followed them inside. Abhaya did not spare the others a glance. Instead, she looked at Upendra Kaka. His beard was a mix of grey and white, abruptly growing, and his hair looked uncombed.
“What is she doing here? I thought you…” That was when Abhaya’s eyes fell on Naw Da, who stood in one corner of the room, the sleeves of his shirt folded up to his elbow, his pantaloons a little dirty, and his arms close to his chest as he eyed his brother being interrogated and then eyed Abhaya. Swadhin lost no time narrating the tale to his father.
“But where will she go?” Naw Da asked with a scornful look at his brother. “We can not keep her forever.”
Upendra eyed his older one, and then Abhaya, who looked pale. “If we can’t keep her, I can take her to Dhaka.” Abhaya inhaled at Swadhin’s words. She could not believe he said it to his father and elder brother out loud. “And do what?” Naw Da seemed irked. “Look at you. You can’t even take care of a single task properly,” he rebuked. “How will you take care of her? What will you do?” He shook his head. “Baba, you said my head is in the clouds. Look at him. Can you please tell him that we live in a society where he can never randomly take care of a woman like that?” Upendra raised his hand to calm him as Swadhin looked irked.
“So you wanted me to leave her as his Rakshita?” He snapped at Naw Da. “Our Abhaya is not a woman of the street.” Abhaya eyed Sharat, and she could tell that he was taken aback by his brother’s demeanour. “Besides, I promised her I would find…” Swadhin stopped. Upendra narrowed his brows at his son.
“Get that idea out of your dumb head.” Sharat suddenly lost his cool. “You want to save her, fine, save her. Tell us how.” Swadhin was quiet. Upendra eyed Abhaya.
“Stop it, you two, you are scaring her.” He scolded. The brothers eyed Abhaya and stopped.
“We can take her home.” Upendra’s words made Sharat frown.
“How is that even safe for you?” He asked. Upendra glared at him.
“I am your father, so don’t try to father me. My safety is not your concern. Right now her safety is.” Abhaya looked up at his words. Upendra looked gentler than she anticipated.
“And what will we tell Ma? Tell everyone? She is not related to us. She can’t stay at our place. We live in a society that can’t afford to raise eyebrows and suspicion. Our mission is bigger than that.” Sharat stopped as Swadhin nodded, unsure. He was right.
Upendra looked up first at Swadhin and then at Abhaya. Then he proceeded to walk up to Abhaya and ask her, “Do you want to go home with us?” Abhaya suddenly remembered Nonibala Debi’s warm smile and embrace. Her eyes were teary. She nodded silently. Where else could she go? Upendra smiled faintly. He then glanced over his shoulder at Swadhin.
“Can you promise to look out for her for the rest of your life?” Swadhin stared at his father, a little flabbergasted at the implication. Abhaya looked up at his words, a little pale. First at Upendra and then at Swadhin. She suddenly remembered his stare at the pond, his argument at the Zamindar house and… Meera Didi. Swadhin did not say no. Sharat was the one to break the silence with an amused chuckle.
“Are all of you insane?” He snapped. “Marriages are no joke.”
“Your mother would accept my decision. Indeed, she will not agree to keep Abhaya just like that, and it would indeed increase suspicion. And if informed, the police may also get involved and interrogate all of us about her whereabouts and how we found her. It would all fall apart quite easily with the slightest difference in our stories. However, marriage could answer a lot of questions for them. Even if the police come to know, we could say Abhaya found Swadhin. They decided to marry.” Upendra shook his head as Swadhin eyed Abhaya, looking unsure rather awkward. “Your mother can believe the same story. She is a pious lady. She will respect Swadhin choosing her without much suspicion and question.”
“And how do we ensure Abhaya doesn’t seek help or tell anyone?” Sharat asked. Swadhin spoke up. “She will not. The conditions with which we were leaving her to the Jomidar apply here too.” Sharat stiffened at his implied promise to look for Didi. Upendra nodded.
“Besides, is there a better way to keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t go to the police than this?” The last words made Abhaya feel heavy in her chest. For a moment, she thought the leader cared. For a moment, she felt Naw da was the only one not caring about knowing her this long when he said what he said. She glanced at Swadhin, silently staring at the floor. He was the only one who seemed to remember Abhaya beyond her captivity.
Meera had snuck into the office room using a pin from her hair on the lock while Kabir kept an eye on the door. The office room was at the end of the house with a separate entrance on the outside as well as a door from the inside. It was on the way from the servant quarters to the main house. Meera lit the battery torch she had with her. It was then that they heard footsteps and someone coughed. Kabir dragged Meera out of the office, alarmed and did not stop till they reached their chamber.
“Does this house never sleep?” Meera sounded irked. Kabir was looking out of the threshold.
“It is one of his sons. He looks drunk. Maybe he is coming from some party.”
“How are we even supposed to look for the documents this way?” Meera snapped. Kabir sighed. “Calm down. We will have our opportunity.” He reassured her. Meera eyed his calm demeanour as she looked irked at how he never lost his composure.
“You sometimes annoy me.” She snapped, sitting down on the Khatiya. Kabir smiled at her faintly.
“Isn’t that what husbands are supposed to do?” He made her smile, amused.
“You should join some Jatra Party for your perfect acting, then.” She shook her head.
“What about that? Once we see our country free and we are off our duties, we can both join a Jatra Party.” He shrugged, sitting down beside her.
“Wow, high of you to think that we would still be in touch.” Meera shook her head. “You know how these groups work. Someday, we will suddenly be ordered not to see each other again and be strangers again.” Her voice seemed distant.
“And… does that bother you?” Kabir raised his brows, eyeing Meera, who was staring at the empty wall. She smiled faintly.
“I will miss my friend.”
