Chapter Seventeen: Residence

“We have a golden opportunity.” There was a hint of anticipation in Mohini’s voice as she paced Kalyani’s small room. Kalyani was sitting on the mat, her hair swept to one side, her saree wrapped around her body closely as if she was feeling cold. The Kerosene Lamp burned bright on the floor beside her mat, making her contemplative, calm face visible in the darkness of the night. Sharat opened the window partially to let the smoke from his cigarette out as he perched on the windowsill sill lost in thought. 
“But what did Jones actually say?” He asked at last. Mohini stopped pacing the room and turned to him.
“He said we are having all sorts of artists around. We want you to perform as well… then I said I will come alone because my girls won’t be interested in this family event. Marzi will come along to play the instrument.” She stopped and eyed Kalyani, watching her as she continued. “But then Sa’ab told me that since I stay at Metia Bruz, I must know all sorts of singers. He has already invited someone with classical skills and someone who sings Western Music well. He needs someone who would sing a song for those who do not know the classical skill set. He wants to hear what is popular now on records.” Mohini narrowed her brows, recollecting the conversation. “When I said I might not know anyone like that, Adham Saheb clearly doubted me. How could this be possible, he said.” Mohini shook her head. “If I don’t get a singer by the next meeting, I am fairly sure he is going to uninvite me on suspicion. This was a golden opportunity to peek into his home, Sharat Da. Can’t you get someone?”
“The problem is not about getting someone, Mohi. The problem is with trust. We cannot trust an outsider in this. If caught, they would blurt out everything. About you and me, and that will trace back to the group. I can’t risk that for a single mission.” Sharat shook his head as he threw the burning butt of the cigarette outside the window. “I will inform the leader that we have to think of some other way to get to Jones.” Perhaps Meera can go there.

“Can I help?” Kalyani’s unsure voice was almost inaudible as Sharat and Mohini stared at her as if what they heard was wrong. “I can sing.” She insisted as Mohini’s eyes sparkled.
“Will you do that, Didi?” She was almost impressed as she sat down beside Kalyani. “Will you come along?”
Before Kalyani could utter another word, it was Sharat who protested. “Absolutely not. You have never performed in public. There will be really good artists there. They can identify fraud when they see one.” Sharat shook his head. “It will be risky and if you get caught…” He stopped as Kalyani looked up at him with a faint smile. “I will not give up your name.” She insisted. Sharat’s lips parted, but no words made their way out. He was not concerned about that. He was concerned for her. He eyed Mohini’s excited glance, anticipating his response. His vacant look made Kalyani determined.
“You think I can’t?” She glared. “I have nothing to lose.” She eyed Mohini, nodding at her. “ Trust me.” Sharat inhaled as he knelt on the floor facing the women. “It is not about trusting Kalyani. You need a lot of practice before…”
“We still have four weeks, Sharat Da.” Mohini quipped. “I will bring a singer I know to help Didi with a song. It is just a song.”
“And I will sing in front of the women and children to get over my fright.” Kalyani insisted. “Performing in public will then become better.” Sharat eyed the women lost in their world, unsurely.
“Oh, Didi, I can bring you a wig and dress you up. Your alias will become unrecognisable.” Mohini quipped again. “What should we call you?”
“Parvati Bai.” Sharat looked up at Kalyani’s determined face. “Please.” She turned to him. “Let me do this.”

Sharat suddenly felt like her plea had more to do with her existential crisis than the cause. Was it safe? His brows furrowed. He could never tell the leader who was accompanying Mohini and why. But then… He stared at the light of the lamp, lost in thought; she knew nothing more than the involvement of Mohini and him or even what this was actually about. He could sense the woman anticipating his nod. Sharat knew there was more at stake here than just the mission. Kalyani was not used to attention from men. What if anyone made false moves or unsolicited offers that humiliated her? “I will protect Didi.” Mohini seemed to read his mind as Kalyani nodded. Sharat stood up, gathering his dhoti and straightening his panjabi. “Start the lessons, I will review your performance after three weeks and then decide. As of now, Mohi, tell Jones you found someone, but they don’t wish to audition. They are extremely skilled, and it would be an insult to their art. If he agrees to them performing, then you will perform; otherwise, not.”

“What if he… umm… refuses?” Mohini looked unsure. Sharat shook his head. “If we play the cards right and you make it sound like you are the one doing him a favour, it might just work. There must be a reason he chose you to perform. You caught his eye. He will not let that go. These Goras flaunt a lot. I am quite sure he had already told his friends about you.” Sharat made Mohini nod. “Be assertive, not desperate to be there.”
“Understood.” Mohini nodded as Sharat turned to Kalyani. “I will be back in three weeks and then decide whether you are ready.” Kalyani nodded. “I will try my best.”

Swadhin came home in the first hour of dawn and pushed the door of the room open. His eyes immediately travelled to Abhaya sleeping on her side of the bed. He placed the trunk down and smiled faintly to himself as he removed the watch, glasses and the Panjabi, and his eyes fell on the rack where a set of clothes and his towel were neatly arranged on top. He eyed her sleeping figure and grabbed his clothes. 

When Abhaya woke up, she found him sleeping on his side of the bed. It alarmed her how she was not awake to his movements and could not tell when he reached home. She hurried through her chores, careful enough not to wake him up and reached the Thakur Dalan.
“I thought you would come late today.” Bimala teased her as Abhaya’s face flushed. Protima slapped her wrist playfully. “Stop that, Mejo. Maa Thakuron is here.” They eyed the mother-in-law, lost in her morning prayers, and sat down behind her, adjusting their Ghomtas. “Did he tell you about the letter?” Bimala whispered to Abhaya in between the prayers. “Perhaps his reply was lost in the mail.” Abhaya shook her head silently. Bimala had been very upset that Swadhin did not write back to Abhaya. She insisted that Abhaya confront him. Perhaps it would arrive later with deferred mail. Abhaya stared at her, making theories and justifications for Swadhin when deep in her heart, Abhaya knew he would not have replied to her. Why should he? She could not even write properly. She had seen the long, wordy letters Bimala kept in a box from the time her husband was away. There was no way she could ever write like that. Abhaya silently nodded to whatever Bimala told her. It was easier to agree to avoid being interrogated. 

That week, while making progress with her lessons, Abhaya had also observed Uma and Nonibala spending hours in the afternoon stitching together. Uma seemed to have taken after her mother and loved sewing and knitting. She gushed that she had learned some more at Mashir Bari. Abhaya wondered if she should defy Swadhin and ask her for lessons. She was intrigued by the Kantha Patterns. Her mind travelled to his refusal. There was something about it that Abhaya found odd. Why was he resisting so firmly when all she wanted was to learn the Kantha stitch? What harm could an hour of lessons every day cause? Abhaya was suddenly alerted. Was it because it had something to do with the leader and the group? But how was it possible? They said Nonibala Debi had no idea of her husband’s other side. Then was it Uma? Abhaya had observed Uma for the week and found nothing suspicious. She barely left home, and if she did, it was always with the girl who lived next door, who came to fetch her and spend an afternoon at their place playing cards. She had even been to Uma’s bedroom and found nothing except practised patterns, equipment and books. Maybe she was wrong. Swadhin was just being weird.

Abhaya had decided in her mind to be unaffected by the fact that he did not reply to her letter. She reminded herself that when Nonibala Debi told her to serve her husband tea and wake him up for breakfast. Abhaya followed her order and climbed up the stairs with the cup of tea, careful enough not to spill it. She opened the door of the room and found him still asleep. She placed the cup down on the bedside table beside the heap of books she was studying from and proceeded to open the curtains. The room was flooded with sunlight, and she hoped it would wake him up. Swadhin did not stir. Abhaya looked unsure as she coughed a little, making deliberate sounds by placing the books and stirring the jug, yet nothing happened.
“Kumbhakarna.” She shook her head and murmured to herself. She leaned in to whisper, unsurely.
“Shunchen…” He slept with his mouth open. Abhaya wondered what he did in Dhaka. Did he not sleep at night? How could a person sleep so soundly in the middle of the day? She was about to stir him awake, but her hand stopped before she touched his shoulder. She drew it away into her anchol and bit her lips uneasily. Her eyes fell on the pillow she had neatly put away from her side.
Swadhin was startled awake by the pillow being thrown on his face as he jumped up in bed.
“I have been trying to wake you for an hour.” Abhaya’s frowning face held the pillow up and exclaimed. “Ki Ghum re baba.” 
“So you will hit me like that?” Swadhin yawned, stretching his hand, scratching his head and furrowing his brows at her. He then took his spectacles from the bedside table and put them on.
“Then what could I do? Maa is calling you downstairs for breakfast.” She indicated the tea. “Don’t complain if it's cold.” She turned to leave. Swadhin picked up the cup.
“It's still lukewarm. You made it an hour ago, didn't you?” There was a hint of taunt in his voice that made Abhaya’s hands stop at the pillow she was putting away.
“I don’t have an hour to wake you.” She retorted, pulling her anchol over her shoulder, when Swadhin noticed the set of keys tied to it.
“What are those?” He asked, sipping the tea. She made it well. 
“Keys?” She shrugged. “Have you brought my notebooks back?” She asked urgently. He indicated his trunk. “Open that and see.” Abhaya was a bit unsure, but the urge to know how much progress she had made made her kneel in front of the trunk and open it. Her notebooks were neatly placed on top, along with the ribbons wrapped in brown paper. She picked them up.
“What are the keys for?” He asked again, eyeing her leafing through the notebooks he had corrected. 
“The storeroom.” Abhaya shrugged. “Maa gave me the task of cleaning it.”
“Clean it?” Swadhin raised his brows a little suspiciously. “It's never cleaned. Whose idea was that?”
“Mine. Any problem?” Abhaya stared at him keenly as Swadhin shook his head. “Not at all, go ahead.” His demeanour made Abhaya doubt whether she would find anything except broken things and tattered clothes in the storeroom. She sighed, and her eyes fell on the brown paper packet.
“Chordi will love these. The pattern is nice.” She insisted. Swadhin sipped the tea one last time and placed his empty cup down with a nod. “I didn’t choose that, Meera Di did.” Swadhin cursed himself the moment he said that.  He eyed Abhaya, slowly withdrawing away from the ribbon and turning on her heels.
“Oh, I see, I will go… “
“It is not what you think.” His words made her stop at the threshold. She glanced over her shoulder at him.
“I think nothing of her,” Abhaya said firmly. “But I know now why I got no replies to my letter. I was stupid enough to think it did not reach you.” Before Swadhin could protest, she walked away, and Swadhin sat down on the edge of the bed, confused. Was she expecting a reply?
What is more mysterious than a woman's heart and what she wants? Swadhin eyed the empty doorway. He cursed himself for mentioning Meera; now he had to clarify everything.

Abhaya ran down the stairs in a hurry and reached the storeroom door where two maids were waiting for her. She inhaled, trying to fight back her angry tears as she opened the door for them to step in. Why did you mention the letter, silly girl? You weren’t supposed to. It was his choice.
“Clean everything and bring it out on the porch. Then we can decide what to keep.” She commanded and turned towards the open yard area behind the house. Abhaya bit her lips, wondering about Swadhin. He was sleepless because he was with Meera. She felt a churn of uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. Abhaya closed her eyes, forcing her thoughts to stop. His promises were just empty words, weren’t they? Abhaya felt stupid because she believed him. She shook her head and grunted to herself. All these men are the same.

Kabir was suddenly overwhelmed at the sight of home as he reached Tanibhanga. The little village hut stood on the winding path leading to the village. He approached the hut to see that the doors and windows were shut and locked. He scrutinised a little while, looking around and trying to find an indication of life in it. Perhaps his sister-in-law had taken his nephew to school? He pulled at the lock, which was covered with dust. There was no way this was new. Where were they? He pushed at the door in vain when his noise alerted his neighbour.

Kashim Bhai came out of his home in a tattered lungi pulled up over his knees to supervise what was going on.
“Kabir Bhai, is that you?” He asked in shock. “We thought you were dead.”
“Where is everyone?” Kabir greeted Kashim with a hug.
“You did not know? Your nephew died of cholera last year. Your brother came home and took his wife away with him.”
“What are you saying?” Kabir stood there a little pale. “I wrote home and sent money as well.”
Kashim Bhai scratched his head, unsurely. “Must be that dog, Bashir.” He turned and called out to his son. “Ay Harami. Did you intercept Kabir’s letters?” As soon as he said it, Kabir saw a frail teenager dashing through the forests beyond the village. Kashim Bhai spat his paan out.
“That rascal. Juwari.” He shook his head. “I apologise on his behalf…”
“Do you have an address for my brother?” Kabir asked, without making a fuss about the money. Kashim Bhai seemed relieved at that. He shook his head. “He said he is some politician’s right-hand man. Very popular.” Kashim cleaned his teeth with his finger as he spoke. “Nothing more. We thought you were dead.” He repeated. Kabir sighed. “I'd better get going then.” He turned as Kashim eyed his bundle and bedding. 
“Aree, you just come home, Bhai.” Kabir stopped with a smile at Kashim’s words. “What will I do here?”
“Stay a few days with us.” Kashim insisted. “My Begum will cook homemade food for you. You can rest. I have heard how tough labour jobs are in the city.” He lowered his voice as he stepped forward. “Perhaps you can tell me a little about them. Can send the Juwari Harami to the cities for a job. At least that way, he will stop stealing from people.” Kabir knew Kashim had just invited him out of guilt. But he did not hesitate. The villagers were simple people who were aware of their debts, and they had nowhere else to go. He was not yet summoned to Itna or anywhere else, so it was only apt that he stayed in his village. That way, if the leader was looking for him, he could establish contact.

Kashim led him into his hut. It had two rooms and was larger than Kabir’s parental hut. His wife pulled her Ghomta and stood up, followed by a girl behind her. She was around sixteen by the looks of it, tanned, frail, her eyes looked tired, and her hair was oily. There was a certain amount of innocence left in her kajal-drawn eyes as she stared at Kabir. She wore a saree like her mother, and the anchol tucked to her waist was tattered. The way she wore it without a blouse oddly reminded Kabir of Meera during their Lakutiya days. The girl seemed shy as Kashim introduced him. “Kabir Chacha will stay a few days with us.” Kabir eyed the girl shyly, biting her chapped lips, as the woman welcomed him in. He thanked the girl for the water she offered, as Kashim sat down and offered him a hookah, he refused.

“What’s your name?” He asked the girl as she gave him a plate of Batasha and Muri.
“Umm… Laali.” She smiled politely through her yellow teeth. Kabir nodded. 
“So tell us about the cities.” Kashim insisted. “Chacha stays in big cities.” He told the wide-eyed girl.

Swadhin noticed that the pictures he had framed were still not hung on the walls. Abhaya seemed busy throughout the day, and the only time he saw her was when she served lunch alongside Boudis and Nonibala Debi was pestering him about finding a job near home once he graduated. He eyed her serving food without looking up at him. Was she upset? He needed to clear his part. 

Abhaya walked into the room almost in the late afternoon, wiping her hands in her anchol, her hair braided and dangling near her hip as she removed her Ghomta after closing the door behind her and eyed him, appearing busy on the study table. She sat down on the bed.
“I am ready for my lessons.” She said plainly. He half turned on the chair.
“Why have you not hung the pictures? Did nobody help you with the nails?” Abhaya’s hand stopped picking up the chalk and slate. “Should I tell someone…”
“I don’t want to…” She bit her lips, unsurely. Swadhin frowned.
“What happened? Did someone say something?” Abhaya shook her head as her voice trembled. “Did you not like the frames?”
“Seeing their picture every day will … “ She gulped. “It will make my living here difficult… remind me…” Her eyes were teary. Swadhin got up from his chair, alarmed, and sat down on the edge of the bed opposite her.
“I’m sorry if I upset you with…”
“It is not your fault.” Abhaya interrupted, wiping her tears, “For most of the day, I try to not remember… I truly do … and then at night when I am alone…” Swadhin looked up at her words. “Do you feel lonely? Do you want me to stay a few days?” He placed his hand unsurely on her alta-clad ones. His touch was warm and familiar to Abhaya’s cold fingers. Abhaya was suddenly aware of his concerned gaze. She shook her head, slipping her hand away from his, “No.” Her reply was firm, almost as if to remind Swadhin that he was not needed. Swadhin felt a little uneasy at the implication and cursed himself. Of course, she did not want him around. He cleared his throat.
“Meera Di came by because she heard of the wedding.” Swadhin was not sure where he was going with it, but he tried. Abhaya eyed him.
“I don’t need to hear what you…” Swadhin interrupted her.
“I will tell you anyway.” And so he did. Abhaya eyed him quietly and let him finish. 
“It is not what you think.” He added in the end. Abhaya sighed.
“I did not ask you.” She reminded him. “Why are you…”
“Because you accused me.” Swadhin shook his head. “And I am not going to sit and take that.”
“I did not accuse you.” Abhaya defended, irked, “All I expected was a reply to my letter.”
“I did not know… you… I thought I would be here before the letter arrived…” Swadhin scratched his head, confused. “And it will make no sense to…”
“That was the first letter I ever wrote. I know I am terrible at it.” Abhaya sounded guilty as she continued, “I told Mejdibhai not to disturb you with the letter, but… then she said you would reply to it.” Swadhin watched her explain herself. “I have never received a letter in my life, so I was… I was…umm…. I kept looking out for the mailman.” Her words made Swadhin look up at her as she lowered her head, her eyes fixed on the empty slate board, as he cursed himself inwardly. He had not even thought that Abhaya would put so much importance on the two lines she wrote. Here was a girl, pushing him away one moment and expecting from him the next. What was he supposed to do?
“I thought Mejo Boudi forced you, so I did not want to make things awkward,” Swadhin said truthfully as she looked up at his words with a nod.
“I understand… It was my fault. I should not have…” Abhaya shook her head as he stared at her. 
“No, it was good receiving a letter from home.” He insisted. “I mean it. All my friends receive letters and… perhaps I can also wait for the mailman?” Abhaya pressed her lips together at his tone. He sounded like he was trying to pacify or reason with a child. It miffed her more. She was never going to write to him ever again.
“Is there… any news… of Didi?” There was a hint of sadness in Abhaya’s voice as she changed the topic. Swadhin had just picked up a book and was leafing through it when he looked up at her words.  “Or is she actually dead?” 
“No, Abhaya. Don’t go there.” He shook his head. “We will not give up until we know.” He reminded her as she agreed silently.
“Now let’s see. We need to teach you how to write proper letters if you plan to write more.” He tried to sound cheerful as Abhaya pressed her lips together.
“I am not writing any more letters.” She snapped.
“Oh, you are, how else will you reply to my letters?” He raised his eyebrows and opened the page on How to write letters. 
“I will not reply to you just like you did not reply to me.” Abhaya sounded firm.
“Then what is the difference between you and me?” He asked, amused. Abhaya was miffed by his light-hearted banter. He opened the last page of a notebook and jotted down an address.
“Here, from now on, you don’t need to tell Mejo Boudi to help you. Uma has extra mail papers. I will also get some for you next week.” Abhaya eyed him silently. He smiled sheepishly. 
“I will not…” She shook her head.
“Yes, you will.” He turned the notebook to her and patted her head gently. “It's your homework, and I am ordering you to.” Swadhin pressed his lips, amused as he heard her grunt and murmur, “You are stubborn. You should have been a barrister.”
“Then who would listen to what the lungs say?” He asked again as she narrowed her eyes at him.
“Are you mocking me?” She asked, raising her eyebrows.
“Dare I, Abhaya Debi?” Swadhin leaned forward, balancing his chin on his finger. Abhaya suddenly felt flustered. She was aware of the proximity and his amused smile. Why was he amused by her complaint? Staring at her as she appeared miffed? Why was it working? Why did she not feel angry when she was supposed to? Abhaya leaned back and picked up the slate.
“Teach me maths instead.” She insisted. Swadhin smiled at her flustered face as she looked away.
“After you learn to write letters.” He insisted. Abhaya gave in.

Kabir was given a bed to sleep in the smaller room while the family slept on the floor of the adjacent room. He found it difficult to sleep as the memories of his childhood in the village, his parents and brother, and finally his nephew kept him awake. By dawn, he found his eyes wet with tears for all that he had lost. He did not blame them for imagining he was dead. Some time in the last mission to the Magistrate’s house, he found no time to write back home for two or three months. He had no idea what was happening. Kabir imagined if he could have saved his nephew had they been in the city. Who was he fooling? He could never afford to. Kabir decided sleep was a luxury as he straightened the lungi and walked out in the darkness when the birds started chirping. A lantern was dimly lit, hanging from the thatched roof of the house in the courtyard, looking over to the shadow of his childhood home. He inhaled and looked around to find a bucket of water in a corner. He knelt and splashed his face with water.
“If you want, I can bring you fresh water, Chacha.” He stopped splashing his face and got up to see Laali standing behind him with a shy smile. She had just woken up, and her dishevelled hair was made into a messy, hurried bun as she stepped forward, carefully keeping her distance and picked up the bucket.
“Did I wake you up?” Kabir sounded awkward. Laali smiled faintly, shaking her head. “I usually get up early for the chores. Ammu … has pain in her knees, so she can’t do the heavy things…” Kabir narrowed his brows, observing the frail girl struggling with the bucket. He took it from her hand as his rough hand brushed against her soft fingers, making her step away, a little alarmed.
“What are you doing, Chacha? You are a guest, and Baba would kill me if he…”
“Then we don’t tell him. Let’s go to the well.” He smiled as Laali led the way with two more vessels. Today, she would have to make one trip to the well instead of two. She was grateful that someone noticed her woes. 

The well was not crowded yet. Laali seemed to read his mind. "The people gather once the light hits the earth. They say if you splash the bucket in the dark, chances are a witch would crawl up the rope and attack you.” There was a hint of amusement in Laali’s voice.
“And you don’t believe that?” Kabir asked as he checked the fastened rope and tightened it on the bucket. 
“No witch ever attacked me in these years.” Laali shook her head. “I will believe it if she does.”
“What does the witch do, according to them?” Kabir was curious.
“They say that she drags young girls down to the well to preserve her beauty using theirs.” Laali’s amused voice was not to be missed. She started pulling the rope the moment she heard the water splash.
“And you don’t get scared?” Kabir asked as she shook her head. “She won’t attack girls who are not pretty.” Kabir frowned at her words.
“What makes you say something like that?” He asked as he watched Laali struggle with the full bucket. He took it from her hand, carefully avoiding touch and poured the water into an empty vessel before throwing the bucket down again as it made a splash. He started pulling the rope this time as Laali watched him.
“Everyone says so.” She bit her lips, unsurely. “That is why…” She sighed. 
“That is why you come before anyone else?” Kabir poured the water again, and this time, even when Laali protested faintly, he picked up both vessels himself as Laali followed him back home with the bucket in hand. She did not answer, but Kabir knew what he needed to know. He put the buckets down in the courtyard as he wiped the sweat off his forehead. “ Baba will kill me if he knows I made you work.” Laali lamented. “Dada usually is supposed to help me, but he is barely home.” She seemed disappointed. Kabir smiled faintly. “I work harder in the city.”
“What is the city like?” Laali asked the question she had been contemplating since the previous evening.
“Umm…crowded and noisy.” He shrugged.
“Do girls study there?” Her words made him look up and nod. Laali’s eyes looked longingly at him.
“Do you have a family there?” She asked, unsurely. “Wife? Children?” Kabir smiled faintly and shook his head. “No, I work most of the time, I don’t have time for family.” Laali frowned at his words.
“Then, who do you come back home to?” Laali’s question reminded him of someone, as Kabir brushed away the feeling before it showed on his face. “No one.” He said plainly as he started to walk away, unpacking a Bidi from his lungi.
“If I go to the city with you, can you find me an odd job, Chacha?” Laali’s words made him stop. “But I can’t tell Baba, he will never agree.”
“You want to work?” Kabir was a little startled as Laali nodded. The villagers were very orthodox about their women working. That too in cities, Cities were for Beshyas, they often said. Kabir’s father would often lament how education was important. He insisted on his sons getting educated and studying everything he could find. “Why?” Kabir asked plainly. He did not want to sound intrusive.
Laali’s eyes looked teary. “I want to help Baba save for my dowry. Nobody agrees to marry me without a dowry. I am the only girl my age left here. All my friends are married. Some even have children.” She wiped her tears with her torn Achol as Kabir looked grim at her words.
“Many women even choose not to marry and…” Kabir seemed hesitant as he lowered his voice. “Serve the country.” Laali looked up at the words, a little pale. “I am not that brave, Chacha.”

She shook her head and carried the buckets to the kitchen as

Kabir sat down in the courtyard watching the sunrise on the horizon while he smoked his Bidi, contemplating the plight of women. Could it be far-fetched if he wished that these woes magically vanished at the dawn of freedom? To Kabir, Freedom was an idea beyond that of a country. It was an idea for everyone to live freely without barriers. That was what his father said every time they struggled to pay Taxes to Jamidar Babu. Kabir watched from a distance as Laali picked up some leaves from the bushes beyond the fences of the house.
“Do you like Palta Pata, Chacha?” She asked, “I will make some today.” He smiled gratefully at the girl.

Words and Explanation:
Beshyas: Prostitutes
Palta Pata: A type of  leaf found growing in the wild in Bengal, which is fried and eaten with rice