The small village of Itna in the lap of the Bhairav River had a mundane lifestyle. It was slow, laid back and often monotonous, untouched by the outside world. Bonomali found the boredom hard to resist. The Village Panchayat only faced some challenges every Friday when it heard about people’s problems. His job was to note down the proceedings. Most of the time, it was about missing cattle or runaway wives and sons. Other times, it was about money lending and dowries. He yawned as he stared at the Hookah with distaste. Blending into the village life meant not being allowed to have the city cigarettes he was fond of. In his new life, he is not supposed to afford them. He peeped out of the hut to look across to the grocery store. Jatin had a tattered vest on, with a Gamcha on his head, and he was greeting customers with a smile. Bonomali eyed the afternoon sun and put on his Panjabi. Jatin watched him walk, holding his dhoti like a woman’s saree up in the mud towards his shop.
“Bhaya…” He waved at the owner, dismissing Jatin’s presence. “Can you tell me where to get fresh Palta Pata?” The owner nodded. Jatin’s hand stopped pouring the dal from one Boyem to another.
“There is a pathway behind that house.” The owner commented. “Umm… a little ahead, you will find them growing here and there. Are you sick, Dada?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Just tired.” Bonomali walked away humming a tune. It was time to close the shop. Jatin wore the shabby shirt over his vest.
“If I may take a walk before going home…” He asked the man who was polite enough to keep him at his place. He smiled. “Don’t be late or else your Kakima will not eat.” Jatin smiled dryly. The old lady was childless and had taken quite a liking to his story of being a poor orphan. She fed him, told him stories and pampered him as much as her finances allowed her to. At times, Jatin felt guilty about the future hurt he was about to cause her. He would disappear without a trace someday. Maybe he could leave a letter. Defy the law of revolution? He shook his head, took a Bidi out of the wraps of his lungi at his waist and lit it. He did not have to travel much when he saw Bonomali sitting like a lovelorn poet, staring at the leaves of the tree on whose roots he perched like a little bird. Jatin smiled.
“So?” He asked, offering Bonomali the smoke he winced at.
“Heard that their Laat Sa’ab is coming to Jessore soon.” Bonomali raised his eyebrows ``The Panchayat wanted to send representatives.``
“Did you give your name?” Bonomali nodded at Jatin’s query.
“That boy, Bimal,” Bonomali said. “He is almost convinced, and so is his widowed mother. So continue working with them.” Jatin nodded.
“The one who serves tea at the station?” Bonomali agreed.
Jatin had already assembled two others. A boy Munshi talked of, he was bright and eager to learn. And a lady whose husband was missing, most probably killed by the Imperial Police over a petty Gambling issue. He knew this would be extra work. So he told his tenants that he was studying at Munshi Saar’s residence.
“He is new, but I heard he is good.” The old woman was happy.
“I may come home a bit late because of that.” The old lady seemed convinced.
On one such night, when Jatin was returning from the tea boy’s home, he took a detour to the hideout to check if any news had arrived. He eyed the freshly arrived maps and trunks, and Munshi sitting on top of one.
“What are these?” He asked.
“Maps of the area, and some weapons.” Munshi scratched his beard. “Something tells me we will be called to action soon.” Jatin frowned. “Any news from the leader?”
“Umm… well… he said he will be back by this week. Sharat has the task for intel.”
“He is a bright boy.” Jatin nodded.”I have to go to the Haat Bazaar with the owner tomorrow. I will try to keep my eyes open.” He reassured.
The Haat Bazaar was a meeting ground for the revolutionaries. People bought and sold all kinds of things in a day of frenzy, food and established business contacts. To the revolutionaries, it was a golden opportunity to meet and share information in the crowd without being detected. Such local places were not frequented by tons of Gora Police. Jatin had followed the man around while he bargained for some rice and flour. He eyed the beggars sitting in a line in a corner of the fair, and he immediately dropped his things to take a few Annas out. His hand stopped at the third beggar. She was soiled and her clothes tattered. Her face had a sense of alertness and bewilderment, almost like a madwoman. Her hair was tangled and dirty. Even then, Jatin could recognise those eyes.
“Bina?” He almost whispered to himself. Bina looked up at him, scared, ready to throw her things at him and run. “It is me, Jatin,” he whispered again, quickly. Bina’s eyes were teary. He held out the money, eyeing his companion and said, “Meet me at the banyan tree on the bank of the Bhairavi in an hour.” Jatin reassured her. “I will help you.”
Within the hour, Jatin had put the things in a bullock cart and sent his happy shop owner home when he arrived at the deserted bank of the Bhairavi.
“Bina. Where have you been?”
“I had escaped to Chittagong. Then I travelled a lot through hill stations and then to Murshidabad, and finally, I am here. I need to see the leader and take his order for the next…”
“It is not safe for you here.” Jatin looked worried. “ They will hang you if they find you.”
“I am not scared of dying, Jatin.” Bina shook her head. “But on my terms for my motherland. I will not die in their hands.”
“There is no use in sacrificing yourself like that.” Jatin shook his head. “It is wiser to stay alive and work on.”
“What do you suggest?” Bina asked.
“Come with me to the hideout here. Let the leader come and decide your fate.”
Meera had accompanied Kabir to buy a saree for herself. Ranibala Debi insisted that Kabir must buy her one for the first Basanti Puja they would attend at the residence. They were using the opportunity to meet an informant.
“Basanti Puja means more people in the house. We are running out of time.” Meera said, grunting impatiently.
“It also means more chaos in the house. We can use that.” Kabir reassured. A man from Lakutiya was visible across the street. They walked up to him and stood beside him discreetly as though they were strangers.
“The Leader has ordered a complete move to Itna.” Meera looked confused. Kabir spoke in a tone, “We have established a few contacts and may find something soon.”
“You must! The dates have been set for the trial.” Meera nodded. “Why the shift?” She asked. The man was hesitant. “It's because err…”
“Did that girl do something stupid again?” Meera snapped. “ I told Swadhin not to trust her.”
“He… umm… married her.”
“What?” Meera grunted, grinding her teeth. “Who married whom?” Kabir inhaled as the man narrated what happened.
Kabir walked by Meera’s side silently as she grunted and groaned, complained and looked irked and stomped into their room and threw the newly bought yellow saree on the Khatiya.
“Has he become insane?”
“You are overreacting.” Kabir was calm. Meera paced the room.
“How can he… if he wanted to do something noble, there are ten thousand poor girls out there, not the enemy!”
“Don’t forget they know each other beyond that,” Kabir said again as he pushed the saree aside and sat down with a sigh, watching Meera pace the room.
“That girl is trouble. I am telling you, Kabir, that he will regret it. He will end up in prison because of her.”
“And you care because?” Kabir raised his eyebrows as Meera fumed.
“I care for the mission and the people in the cause. His one stupidity…” Kabir stood up and held her shoulders firmly, making her stop.
“Do you love him?”
“Don’t be stupid. You know I don’t.”
“Then why do you hate Abhaya so much?”
“I don’t hate Abhaya.” Meera snapped. “I don’t even know her. I hate girls like her, the privileged ones on the other side who think that we are terrorising a nation unnecessarily.”
“Isn’t freedom about free opinion, too?” Kabir asked calmly, trying to calm her by patting her back gently. “Their thinking doesn't change our purpose.”
“But Swadhin? He has no brains to leave the girl there?” Meera frowned. “And marry her? For God’s sake!”
“Meera,” Kabir’s voice was firm. “We are not in his shoes. We were not there when it happened. You can never judge someone on hearsay.” He made her stare. “He must have had his reasons. Who are we to…”
“His reasons can land The Leader in prison.” Kabir inhaled at her concern.
“I think Swadhin is a grown man about to become a doctor, and we should give his brains more credit than that. We don’t know everything. Maybe he did something to protect Abhaya, yes, but he will not let his father be in trouble.” Kabir reminded her. “The Swadhin you know in your head is the boy you met, but maybe he is a man now.” Meera eyed him with an amused look on her face.
“And how are you so sorted with all this?” Kabir smiled, stepping back from her.
“Perhaps because I have seen the world more to know not to judge someone that easily.”
“I wish I were like that.” Meera sighed. “But I am so irked, I will never see him again. I fear what I will say if I do.”
“I think you should see him again.” Kabir shook his head. “Tell him you are happy for him and support his choice.”
“He doesn’t need my approval.”
“Maybe not, but he knows Meera, and he knows Meera is not approving something when she avoids it. That might affect him.” Kabir shook his head.
Meera inhaled. She sat down on the Khatiya.
“You know Kanu would help us.”
“He said so?” Kabir asked with a frown. Meera shook her head. “Well, I told him I was eager to see what he meant by confidential files. Those things happen only in stories. He insisted that they exist, and he can show me.”
“I feel a little guilty using that poor, uneducated boy.” Kabir scratched his head. “But we have no option.”
“I just hope he doesn’t land in trouble after we are gone.” Meera nodded. “Now it's time to braid my hair and do the prayers.” She sprang up from the bed. “I should get changed.” Kabir was about to leave the room as she sounded alarmed. “Don’t. The new guard is in the next room. He may be suspicious.”
“But you will change.” Kabir looked confused.
“Just look away.” Meera smiled as she pulled out a saree. Kabir nodded and turned around. Her bangles made a sound as she hummed a tune. Kabir could imagine her undoing the knots of the saree. She had her back to him. Kabir could not help but glance over his shoulder to see if he was right. Meera’s bare back was exposed as she draped the saree. She had a burn mark on her back. What was it from? Kabir gulped as he forced himself to look away. The uneasiness growing in his groin made him curse himself for turning around. He fidgeted with his Lungi.
“I'm done,” Meera said as she adjusted her drape. “I will do the prayers now.”
“I… have to use the washroom.” Kabir left abruptly. Meera glared a little and proceeded with the rituals. But something in her mind was uneasy about Swadhin’s choice.
The Leader had met the group of revolutionaries in their hideout in the middle of the night. Everyone was ecstatic to see Bina. However, a gloom of uncertainty on the leader’s face.
“Bina cannot stay with us.” He made Jatin look shocked.
“Where will she go?”
“Anywhere away from the group and its people.” The Leader snapped. “The police are after her, and the last thing we want is for them to know about our group.” Jatin opened his mouth to protest. Bina spoke instead.
“You are right, Mastermoshai. I promised not to come back, but Jatin found me. I will leave immediately.” The Leader smiled. “I can help you find a hideout in Hooghly. There is a congressman…”
“I will find my way,” Bina reassured. It was after the group had dispersed that Jatin asked Bina, “How can you agree to it? Where will you go?”
“I will find my way. I was not supposed to be alive anyway.” Bina shook her head. “But now I am so, I will put it to good use.”
“Will I ever see you again?” Jatin asked as his voice trembled, and Bina smiled.
“Hopefully, on the dawn of a free India.” She nodded at him.
Mohini had just finished her performance with Chakkars as the British officers hooted and clapped. William Nithercot had just finished the wine, and he threw the empty cup at Mohini, almost hurting her as she moved away in shock.
“ Do it again.” He ordered. “I like how your skirt twirls.” The others agreed with cheers and hooting. “You can see right up if you lie down.” One of the drunk men displayed a position while the others laughed. Mohini stood her ground, a little breathless. “I said, do it again.” Nithercot roared. So she did, again.
Adam Jones observed the expressions and mudras of the dance keenly. Every day, Mohini wove a new tale of love and separation. Every day, he was irked when he reached home and ranted to his wife about how the boss had no eye for art. Now he was harassing the women of Metia Bruz. From what Jones heard, the Baijis were a strong community. The rules of the outside world never apply there. That is why, despite having intel on many outlaws hiding there, his men refused to step into the Galis of Metia Bruz. His visits, however, were strictly professional. He was ordered to be a shadow for Nithercot. To be at his beck and call. And he was intrigued by the lives of these women. He had never stepped into the narrow lanes of sin himself, but Nithercot’s sinister entertainments at his garden house were enough of a sneak peek for Jones to feel sad for these women.
“Can we not do something to help them?” His wife would often say. She ran a grooming school for native girls who wanted to marry British men.
“They don’t think they need any,” he shook his head. His wife would joke. “Don’t let a beauty catch your eyes there.” He eyed Mohini, who was now bowing as the men threw money at her. Jones, as a younger officer, was posted outside the chamber of reputed men like Nithercot as they indulged in women. He would often see them walk away stealthily after the man was asleep. He could hear the awkward private moans that grew louder and then fell silent like the Laya of the Kathak itself. He reminded himself he was doing his job. He was glad about the promotion, hoping it would be a different and more thrilling job. But shadowing Nithercot was no different.
“Come now.” Nithercot struggled to get up as Jones helped him. “I am fine, Jones. Come here, you bitch.” Mohini gave him her hand instead. Although she smiled, her eyes met Jones briefly, and he could sense the sadness in them. He wondered more often about her life than he intended to these past few weeks. She entertained new men every day like they were her lovers. Was she immune to feelings, or was she that desperate?
Nithercot was badly drunk. He stumbled on the bed and was out.
“Look.” Mohini was amused. “Sa’ab drank too much.” She eyed Jones, standing over him. “Do you need service?” Jones looked awkward at her offer. “Oh no, no, I was just…” He turned to leave as Mohini laughed. “You…gentleman. Wife?” He nodded at her words reluctantly. “Yes, she is at home.”
“She lucky, loyal man. Rare here.” The amusement in her voice was hard to miss.
“Do you… have a family?” Mohini laughed at his words.
“Adham Sa’ab. You...too simple.” She stepped forward, and he could now see her exposed cleavage close to him, and the fragrance of Attar hit his nostrils. Her scent was like celestial nymphs if they came down to earth, Jones imagined.
“You… umm… are a good dancer.” Mohini’s brows raised as her eye makeup shimmered.
“Only dancing?” She teased. Jones cleared his throat.
“I am very interested in the umm… art of Hindustan, Baejee.” He said, looking away at his boss snoring in his sleep.
“Sure.” Her long fingernails, painted red, hovered on his uncomfortable white skin as she touched his chin. “You're adorable.”
“How… who taught you… umm…” He asked, unsure.
“Interrogating me, Adham Sa’ab?” She asked. “Come bed. He too drunk.” Jones stepped back. “I… will wait outside,” he turned around promptly. Mohini was amused at his red face.
“You sleep.” She turned to Jones. “Don’t worry, Sa'ab, I wake you in time.” Jones opened his mouth but could not speak as a servant led him to a guest room. It was two doors away from Nithercot’s, and he decided to stay alert, but he was tired.
Mohini stood over Nithercot after closing the door behind her firmly. Then she splashed water on his face from the jug.
“Wake up.” She slapped his cheek as he groaned. “The weapons are here.”
“Wea… pons?” he murmured, unable to open his eyes.
“Yes,” Mohini said in proper English. “ They have been dispatched from Dhaka. Where are they stopping next?” She splashed some more water on his face. Was the opium dose a little too much? She wondered.
“Khu… Khul… Khulna.” He murmured. “… umm… I will leave you all sore, you bitch.” Nithercot threw his hand in the air in a gesture to grab and fell back into slumber.
Mohini smiled. “Where is it? In the river? On the road?” She asked again, shaking his head. “Wake up and answer me.”
“Ch…Chitra has crocodiles.” Mohini inhaled as she slapped his face some more. “Boats?” Her words made him unresponsive as she splashed some more water, making him open his eyes briefly.
“The place… your soldiers are tired… the place…” She held his collar and jerked him awake.
“Ummm, what place?” He narrowed his brows at her confusion.
“Where do the goods stop?” Mohini asked again, “On their way to Calcutta?”
“Why should I tell you, you bitch!” Nithercot looked straight into her eyes.
Mohini’s heart jumped to her throat. Was he coming out of his trance? She took the wine bottle and poured some hurriedly into a cup. “Here, Sa’ab, your favourite.” She made Nithercot half sit at its smell and poured some down his throat, praying that he did not remember what she had asked. If he did, she would be taken away to some torture cell and would never see the light of day. She saw him feel drowsy again as he pushed away the empty cup.
“Where is the stop before Calcutta? On the banks of Chitra?” This time Mohini did not splash his face with water. She jerked him a little as Nithercot opened his eyes sleepily.
“Roopganj…. The bazaar… they bloody want us out… too hot…” Mohini smiled at his murmur. “And the time?” She slapped his face again. The cheek was slightly red, but Mohini knew she could attribute it to a rough night and Nithercot’s weird kinks. “Your commander is asking, Nithercot. Where are the papers?” Mohini sounded confident as she shook him again.
“ Jones… has the papers, sir. He has the papers. Like you said.” Nithercot opened his eyes wide as if he could see Mohini. He closed his eyes again. Mohini inhaled as she walked out of the door and stared at Jones’ closed door, unmindfully. They had the wrong target.
