Abhaya stepped into Naw Da’s room one morning to find him missing. She inquired with Nonibala Debi, who said he was going to Kanthi for some days because her sister's sickness had worsened. She showed Abhaya the telegram she had received.
Request to Send Sharat. Situation serious.
Abhaya frowned a little because she had never seen the relatives’ telegram before. Mashi always wrote to Nonibala Debi. Must be serious. She wondered. She was looking through Sharat’s things for clues when she found a cupboard unlocked. In it were the papers missing from the trunk. Abhaya quickly tucked in a few with the leader’s name under her anchol when Nonibala Debi called out to her, asking her to make tea for her Shoshur Moshai.
Abhaya put the things in a box and took the tea to the leader. He looked up at her and asked in a short, gruff voice.
“How are your studies going?”
“Bhalo.” Abhaya nodded, but she did not look up at the man’s face. The man sipped the tea noisily. “I told Swadhin he should start practice here. Help the people here first. Stay with you.” Abhaya wondered if it was because he wanted someone to keep an eye on her or actual concern.
“Choto Bouma.” She was about to leave when he stopped her. “I know you want to hand me over to the police, and you have the right to. I am glad that you did not do it when they summoned you for a statement.” She was alarmed by his calm voice. “All I expect is if the time comes, think about the greater cause, the mission, Sharat, Swadhin, Bou and the family too.”
“Are you trying to manipulate me?” Abhaya frowned as he smiled.
“No, I am trying to request you not to harm my family. I know my men harmed yours, but putting them in danger will not help you heal.” Abhaya suddenly stood silent at his words.
She had thought of these more often than she wanted to. She did not want to hurt Nonibala Debi, who loved her more than her mother ever did. The family respected her. She did not want to harm Swadhin, as much as she hated to admit it; he was the only family she had.
“Also, if you choose that path, I will ensure that they don’t blame you, and you can move on in life. Whether you choose to stay with Swadhin or not. There is a small amount of money I saved that I want to leave in your name. You can settle…” Abhaya looked at the man, a little shocked at his words.
“You don’t need to do that. They are my family too.” She said softly.
“Yes, but I owe it to Animesh. We may not have met eye to eye, but we grew up together, and I have always treated his children as mine.” Abhaya’s jaws tightened.
“Then why did you…”
“Like I said, greater good. But if I had known better, the house would have been safer.” Abhaya stood there at a loss for words as the man’s voice sounded guilty. He sipped the tea and concentrated back on reading. She walked outside. The cycle made her approach the portico as the postman held out a letter in her name. She stared at the address “Abhaya Debi Gangopadhyay” Every time she read the name, she felt like it was a different person. And she could hear the sarcastic hint in his voice. She opened the letter and read the first line. Swadhin was coming home soon. Abhaya smiled involuntarily.
Adam Jones woke up to the loud, urgent banging on the bedroom door. He was startled as the banging grew louder and found himself trapped under the dusky, smooth arm of Mohini, who had wrinkles on her forehead at the noise disturbing her sleep. It all came back to Jones. The previous evening, they had talked of music, and Mohini had shown him Mudras with meanings that he had noted down in his notebook. He offered her the best wine, sipping on his, refilling their cups till the bottle emptied. Then he took her to bed. His bed, his sheets. The same place where he made love to his wife. As Mohini wrapped her fingers in his, he noticed his wedding band, but before the guilt hit him, a primitive urge to make love to Mohini, taste every inch of her and salvage her crept in. He wanted to protect her like a precious pearl he had found in the ocean bed. As he lay beside her while she slept, Jones wondered if his dream was as impractical as Mohini thought it to be. Many Britishers he knew had mistresses in colonies and wives back home. He watched Mohini sleep and wondered if she would be happy being his mistress or if she needed more.
Jones stumbled out of bed, alerting Mohini as he reached for his pants. He opened the door slightly to spot the butler outside as Mohini hurried to find her robe.
“What is it?” He grunted.
“My apologies, sir, there is an urgent telephone call from the office.” Jones eyed the clock. 4 AM. He nodded and shut the door behind him. Then he hurried to find his shirt, eyeing Mohini once in her robe before he walked out of the room.
Jones picked up the receiver to find a fellow Brit on the other side. His face looked pale. The Butler looked worried.
“What is wrong, Sir?” He asked. Jones did not answer him. Instead, he set the receiver down noisily and ordered, “Send a telegram to Mrs Jones at once. Tell her to stay put in our Hampshire home with the children until I find it safe for her to join me.” He rushed upstairs. As he entered his bedroom, he found Mohini waiting for him, unsurely by the window.
“Something terrible has happened.” He breathed heavily. “Our cavalry of men carrying important goods to Calcutta was attacked. Nithercot has been suspended with immediate effect, and that means…” He paused to wipe the sweat off his forehead as Mohini looked confused. “I will be in charge. It is not safe here anymore.” He picked up his uniform from the hangar.
“Where are you going?” Mohini asked.
“I have to go see the damage. Order the next course of action. See who is injured… Find those bastards.” Mohini’s jaws tightened at his red face.
“Did they catch whoever did this?”
“I don’t know.” Jones stopped as he picked up the belt. “Mohi, if possible, can you leave for a few days? I have told the maid in attendance to take you somewhere else.” Mohini stared at his reflection in the mirror.
“But why will I be in trouble…” She frowned.
“You can come back once I am here. You can stay with the maid…” Jones turned to see that Mohini had already left the room. He checked his watch. He had no time to go after her. He could do it later. The car had arrived from the office.
Mohini started packing her things in a hurry. She changed into a saree and threw the robe on the floor. Her thoughts travelled to the men who had attacked. What if they got caught? Mohini’s heart suddenly longed to go back to the mission against Sharat’s orders. She had to look out for Kalyani if they doubted her. She heard his car leave as the maid appeared to take her away.
“I have arranged for a carriage. You can come to stay with my family…” She said politely.
“I will find my way and pay for the carriage.” Mohini picked up her bundle and walked past the maid. She knew it was the moment she had to choose her path. And there was no way Mohini was choosing to be Jones’s hidden mistress over serving her motherland.
Sharat could feel the blood soak into his clothes once again. He had suffered a burnt metal scrap injury during the attack at Roopganj. He was close to a box when the blast happened, and the piece of metal from it pierced through his diaphragm, causing him to bleed. Once they fled from there, Sharat could not see a doctor, and the little he did to restrict the blood was in vain. He was running a fever, and the injury was not healed. Sharat was sure he would die. But he wanted to die at the orphanage. Despite the others telling him not to leave alone, Sharat, being as stubborn as he was, set out for the mission. He tied layers of clothes around his abdominal injury and put his Panjabi over it so that nobody could sense his injury. He took a shawl to hide himself further and help with his fever. With him, he took a bundle of clothes he needed to dress his wound, a few paisa and a cane. Sharat sat down on the edge of the road. He tried to use the cloth he had to wipe it clean and contemplated his decision to go to the mission. It was still a long way, and without help, he was sure the blood loss would make him collapse. He sat down under a tree, wincing in pain. Kabir wanted to come with him, but Sharat insisted he flee. Jatin was slightly injured, but he successfully took the goods to Itna before embarking on a journey to Calcutta himself. At Itna, the Leader was supposed to take custody of the arms. Sharat told Jatin to inform the leader that Vrijesh and Bonomali had been martyred. He would do the needful in informing their families and performing their last rites. Sharat wondered if Kalyani would like him to go back to the mission. But there was no way he could seek medical help or go back home in that state. Sharat could feel the fever burning up as he tried hard not to close his eyes. He struggled to keep awake.
Mohini let Jones’s hired carriage go once she reached the train station. From there, she took a train to Barisal and hired a carriage for Kashipur. Marzi joined her at the Barisal station. They were riding through the villages towards Kashipur when an alarmed Marzi stopped the carriage. Mohini peeped out, in panic, hoping it was not the Imperial Police asking questions. Instead, she saw a barely recognisable figure under a tree. Marzi rushed to him as Mohini jumped out of the carriage.
“Sharat da? Sharat Da.” She splashed water from the bottle Marzi carried on him. Marzi could now see the blood on his panjabi.
“He is barely breathing, let’s hurry.” Marzi picked Sharat up as he groaned in pain. Mohini said a prayer and followed them.
“Who is this man? What happened to him?” The carriage driver was alarmed.
“He is my brother; he has been on drugs.” Mohini lied. The old man shook his head, talking to Marzi about the prevalent opium problems.
Kalyani opened her door to find Mohini in tears. She was surprised to find Mohini back in the mission so soon, but before she could speak, Marzi brought in Sharat, who looked unconscious.
Kalyani jumped aside, letting Marzi place him down on the bedding as she exclaimed in a trembling voice, “Is he dead?”
“He is barely alive.” Marzi was not one to sugarcoat things. The entire house had gathered in the courtyard, worried and gasping. Mohini told them that Sharat had a deadly infection, so they should stay away. The women lamented how good people suffered.
“What do we do?” Marzi asked Kalyani, who was quick to bring some cool water from the pitcher in her room and a piece of cloth for his forehead. She tried to make Sharat drink the water as he coughed, and she could see the clothes soaking wet in red. Kalyani pressed her old Thaan on the wound and noticed the red creeping into it. She trembled as her fingers were bloody. The red she stayed away from was drowning her entire being.
“We cannot call any random doctor.” Mohini stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “The one in the mission also goes to some Brahma Samaj personalities’ houses, who have breakfast with the Goras.”
“I know someone we can call.” Kalyani stood up, teary-eyed, as she looked at Mohini. “But I don’t know how to reach him.”
“Tell me the name and address, Didi,” Mohini reassured her.
Swadhin had come back home after his examination to thousands of queries from his mother and Abhaya. He answered them patiently and retired to his room after lunch. Uma was back home, too. Swadhin said their trains came to the station almost at the same time, so he brought her home. Abhaya found it odd, but she had so much to share with Swadhin that she did not pay heed to it.
“What has happened to Mashima?” Abhaya asked, offering Swadhin the paan she brought from Nonibala Debi’s room. He refused as he sat up on the bed and asked, “What happened to Mashima?” Abhaya pushed the Paan in her cheek and frowned at him.
“Uma Dibhai went to her house, right?” She stared at him suspiciously. “Now so has Nawda.”
“Oh…” Swadhin looked uninterested.
“And did you write to your friends who were looking for Didi?”
“Yes, Ananta searched the ashrams in Calcutta. She is not there.” Swadhin nodded.
“Where can she go?” Abhaya wondered aloud.
“That’s what I have been thinking…” Swadhin reached for his pack of cigarettes that Abhaya snatched away from his arm’s length.
“You don’t need these to think,” Abhaya said in a scolding tone. “You have not even asked me how my studies are going.”
“I assumed you would tell me yourself.” Swadhin pulled the pillow onto his lap as Abhaya sat down.
“I finished reading a storybook.” Abhaya smiled as he nodded impressively. “I will soon be reading the novels Bordi Bhai reads.”
“There is time for that.” Swadhin shook his head. “Those are very mature…”
“So am I…” Abhaya protested.
“As you say, Abhaya Debi.” He agreed. Abhaya glared at him and was about to say something when Renu came running.
“Chhor Da, Chhor Da, a woman is asking for you.” Abhaya frowned at her words as Swadhin got up, “A woman?” Renu nodded. “She said she is sick.”
“Who knows if he is even back home?” Abhaya wondered aloud as Swadhin suddenly felt a rush of urgency. He picked up his equipment bag, grabbed a shirt and hurried down. Before Abhaya could follow him to the door, he had already left with the stranger. She could hear the horse's hooves in the distance. It was a carriage.
“Did the woman come in a carriage?” Abhaya asked Renu, who nodded. “Yes, Boudi.”
“That’s odd, nobody from the villages came in carriages…” She wondered. “Was she young?” Was it Meera? Renu narrowed her eyes at her words. “Don’t worry, Boudi, he has not run away. He will be back by nightfall.” She teased. Abhaya still wore a frown on her face that refused to go.
