Abhaya spent a sleepless night contemplating her options: whether she should tell the truth and hope the police believed her words over any concrete evidence, or whether she should be grateful to the home she found in the Gangopadhyay house and the support Swadhin showed her, encouraging her education and remain adamant on the version of events Sharat taught her. It was evident from his demeanour that he did not trust her. She could not blame him. She was not so sure of herself. Sharat ensured they went over the timeline a thousand times so that any roundabout questions would not make Abhaya slip up. She had never set foot in a police station before that day. The closest she got to it was riding in the car with her brothers and picking up their father on the way to some invitation. Abhaya stepped out of the house in a bright yellow Tant Saree with the Ghomta over her head after Nonibala Debi gave her a mouthful of curd and sugar for good luck and reminded her to be brave. Nonibala Debi’s hug set the indecisive mind of Abhaya to rest.
Police Inspector Dinesh Kar was polite. He offered Sharat and Abhaya tea, which they refused and asked Abhaya to sit down and narrate calmly about the happenings of the night. He had a notebook to write down what was needed.
“They were dacoits who took everyone’s jewellery and valuables in a large sack.” The ease with which she spoke made Sharat wonder at her deception skills. She wiped away tears with trembling hands. “I was out. We often went to listen to the Kirtan. That was when it happened. I came back to see a fire and some people running away through the back door.”
“What were you doing at the back door?” Kar asked as he jotted something down.
“I always come back through the back door to avoid disturbing sleep. So did Didi.”
“Didi?” The Inspector asked. Abhaya nodded. “Was she with you?” Abhaya shook her head. “No, she was home, sick.” Sharat held his breath as he eyed Abhaya.
“And how many people did you see?” The Inspector asked.
“I only saw silhouettes.” Abhaya nodded. “Five or six of them.”
“Five or six?” The inspector asked.
“I can’t remember.” She shook her head. The inspector stopped writing and eyed Sharat. “Did he find you?” Abhaya shook her head.
“No, I went to their place.” She said firmly. “I did not know where else to go.”
“Why?” The inspector asked. “I heard you have a distant uncle, son of your grandfather’s brother, who lives in the city. Then why there?” Abhaya looked a little flushed as she stared at Sharat. He cleared his throat.
“She came to find my brother. The one who married her.” Sharat said with a faint smile. “Swadhin and Abhaya always kept us in the dark about their relationship.”
The inspector smiled back. “I see. Where is he now?”
“In Dhaka,” Abhaya answered. “He has his final examinations.”
“I see, which college?” Sharat answered his question with details. The inspector seemed satisfied.
“Do you know your father’s car was bombed?” He made Abhaya look up at him as she started sobbing and shook her head in a “no.”
“Do you think dacoits would bomb his car?” Sharat eyed Abhaya at the question.
“I don’t know.” She whispered, wiping her tears.
“Did you witness any discussions at home about some terrorist group or any person in particular?” Kar had his eyebrows raised. Abhaya appeared to be thinking.
“He never spoke of work in front of us; maybe he told Ma.” She lied. The Inspector nodded. “He was working to gather evidence on the car bombing of a Magistrate…” He murmured unmindfully. “Do you think that kind of terrorists attacked your family?”
“My family never harmed them.” Abhaya’s jaws tightened.
“Yes, and this is not their way too… they barely target families… that is what I am wondering…”
“What do you think?” Abhaya asked. The Inspector gave a dry smile.
“I have a theory, but my seniors would not like it. Do you know coincidences?” He asked as Abhaya nodded.
“I feel the bombing and fire are two different incidents that happened simultaneously. I am more intrigued to solve the fire.” He looked up at Abhaya’s furrowed brows and inhaled. “Well, your statement helps a lot. I may need to summon you for identification if we have suspects.” He gestured to Abhaya that she could go by closing his notebook and leaning back. Sharat gestured at Abhaya to follow him as he folded his hands into a Namaskar and asked the inspector for his leave.
“If you find anything, please let us know,” Sharat told the man.
“One more thing… Do you think anyone else could have escaped the fire?” Abhaya stopped at the doorway at the inspector’s question as her throat went dry. She stared at Sharat, who half turned to eye her and then the inspector with a frown.
“What do you mean?” He asked as the inspector ignored the question and repeated to Abhaya. She shook her head. “If anyone were alive, they would know where I am and find me.” She said with determination.
“But he said nobody knew about your… relationship.” The Inspector raised his brows.
“Our families have been friends for over three generations. They have no other relatives.” Sharat answered him. The Inspector nodded with a sign. “Very well, you may leave. If I find anything, I will inform you.” Abhaya thanked him and left with Sharat.
The constable came by to put the steaming cup of tea on the inspector’s desk.
“Something is not adding up here, Harinath.” Kar murmured as he looked confused, “Why, sir?”
“This girl said she had an affair with her husband… but the people working under Mukhopadhyay said she was supposed to be married to some Zamindar…”
“Maybe she escaped because of that?” The constable suggested.
“But if the family was forcing her to get married…” Inspector Kar sipped the tea. “Then…”
“But she is a girl. She can’t harm her family, can she?” The constable asked sceptically.
“Maybe not her alone… find out more about the husband…” Kar watched the constable smile sheepishly. “No, no, sir, absolutely not.” he shook his head and bit his tongue. Inspector Kar frowned. “I have been in this village forever; you just came here, Sir. He is the Mastermoshai’s youngest son. He is so kind to the poor and needy and always helps around. He can’t harm a fly.” The constable shook his head again. “Don’t go that way, I request you.”
“But…” Inspector Kar still wore a frown. “Usually, the most innocent people commit the deadliest crimes.”
“Their families were friends; if the children told at home, they would have gotten them married.” The constable said unmindfully.
“That is why I don’t get Harinath. Why was her marriage fixed elsewhere then?” He shook his head. “Find out the name of the Jamindar; we need to talk to him.”
“I am afraid that is a dead end, sir.” The constable shook his head again. “Boro Babu never shared that with anyone. He always said once the invites were printed, he would tell.”
“Ah, well… but something is not adding up, Harinath. The girl doesn’t even look as devastated, her words and recalling of such a traumatic event almost sounded bookish.” Inspector Kar shook his head. “There is something odd here.”
Sharat walked into the mission, contemplating the morning, and was somewhat happy with the way Abhaya conducted herself. He was planning to write to Swadhin about it in detail soon, and barely managed to keep the stationery down when Mohini came running and caught up with him.
“I was running behind your cycle and calling out to you, Sharat Da.” She said breathlessly. “Come with me.”
“I have to visit the administration office, Mohi.” Sharat looked confused at her urgency.
“No, first you come by the house. We have been waiting for you.”
“We?” Sharat raised his brows as Mohini smiled.
Mohini broke his thought with another tug. “Come, we have a surprise for you.”
Sharat frowned at her words. “How did you know I would be here today?”
“I did not, it's a happy coincidence.” She dragged a reluctant Sharat by his hand to the threshold of the house. From there, he could see the women gathered around the courtyard as the evening hue of red created a shadow on the corridors. Under the open sky on a Khatiya sat Kalyani, with Marzi playing the Taanpura. Everyone was listening to her sing.
Khelaghor Bandhte Legechi… Amar moner bhetore… Sharat stood behind the sea of women staring in silence as Kalyani closed her eyes and started singing. Her voice was melodious. Sharat crossed his arms close to his chest as if he was guarding something precious, and a smile formed involuntarily on the edge of his lips. Kalyani took the challenge, and she worked on it.
Koto Raat Taito Jegechi… Bolbo ki Taare!
Kalyani opened her eyes to see the women around the courtyard smiling and praising her. She smiled confidently, although her heart thumped in her chest. For the first time, Marzi and Mohini insisted she was ready for an audience performance. Her eyes stopped at him as Sharat nodded to her with a smile. Was he actually there? She saw Mohini tug at his hand, saying something. Kalyani’s cheeks grew warm as she looked away at the floor and then at the Taanpura’s strings being pulled.
Ja Amar Sob Hela Fela, Jacche Chora Chori
Purono Bhanga Diner Dhela, Tai Diye Ghor gori.
Kalyani suddenly felt less shy as she looked up at the crowd again, her eyes on someone as his eyes lowered from her gaze for a moment before he caught her staring at him again. Only Mohini noticed them as she pressed her lips, amused.
Je Amar Notun Khelar Jon, Taari Ei Khelar Singhason
Bhangare jora debe se, kiser montore…
Khela Ghor…
Kalyani stopped with her hands folded as the ladies clapped and cheered. She smiled as Mohini rushed to hug her tightly. She whispered into her ear. “Oh, Didi, you are ready.” Kalyani stared back at Sharat for his approval. He did not clap. Instead, he suddenly looked grim and lowered his gaze. Kalyani could not understand what she had done wrong, but he looked disappointed. Sharat had walked into Mohini’s room when Mohini dragged Kalyani there.
“Sharat Da, tell me now, was I not right? Didi is ready.” She gushed. Kalyani forced a smile as Sharat looked up from the mat at her.
“You cannot go. I am calling off the mission.” Mohini’s smile faded as Kalyani walked up to Sharat.
“But I did what you told me to.” She sounded determined.
“It is risky.” Sharat looked up at her. “You are neither professional nor trained. What if you get caught?”
“Oh, you are worried that I will expose you?” Kalyani smiled as Sharat opened his mouth to protest. “I will not. Mohini will be with me.”
“Besides, I have already told Jones.” Mohini interrupted, “Nithercot is angry with me for agreeing to it. He thinks I have been serving Jones behind his back. If she doesn’t go, Jones will be angry too, then my intel will…”
“I don’t care.” Sharat interrupted as Mohini gasped, a little shocked, putting her hand over her mouth. “And I am not scared for myself. I am scared for you.” He stared at Kalyani as Mohini stepped back and decided she should not be part of the conversation anymore. She slipped out of the room as Kalyani glared at Sharat.
“So what?” She said, “You will ruin the mission for everyone?” She shook her head, “I know the risks.”
“You know nothing.” Sharat stepped forward, making her look up at him. Kalyani sighed.
“It was my choice to get involved. I know what is at stake. And I don’t think I need your permission…” Sharat tightened his jaw as he watched her speak. “If you are so concerned, come with us.”
“I wish I could,” he murmured. Kalyani walked away without sparing him another glance.
Sharat sat down on the mat and breathed in, holding his sweaty forehead with his hands. On one hand, he respected Kalyani for her confidence and effort. He knew she needed the feeling of accomplishment and worth she lacked in her life. On the other hand, he was scared of the danger, the exposure Kalyani never had, the danger of the mission, the fear of getting caught, and the fear of losing her. He stood up to shake the heavy feeling off his chest and approached Marzi, who was packing his things to leave.
“You are accompanying them.” Marzi looked up at Sharat’s grim face and nodded. “You know what to do, right?” Marzi smiled.
“I will protect them at any cost.” He nodded, showing Sharat the knife he had hidden in his Taanpura case. “They will be safely back here.” Sharat trusted Marzi, but he was not convinced. “I will wait here.”
“So, what is the plan?” Mohini approached them with a smile on the edge of her lips. “Did you give in to Didi?” Sharat brushed off her teasing tone and said matter-of-factly, “You will come straight here by midnight. I will be here. Any later, I will know you are in trouble. I will send some men there to be around the place. They can take up odd jobs like tending to the horses and carriages or serving drivers. They will be alert and don’t do anything stupid.”
“Have I ever?” Mohini shook her head. “I have even planned Didi’s disguise; she will be unrecognisable.” Sharat nodded. He promised to come by next week on the day of the event.
Ever since the visit to the police station, Abhaya had been restless. She was more determined to find evidence against the Leader now. But she could not find anything concrete from anyone. It frustrated her. She almost thought of giving up fighting a lost cause when luck smiled at her. The day the Leader came home from Dhaka, Nonibala Debi was busy attending to her husband, and that meant the daughters-in-law took up some of her chores. Abhaya was busy tending to the flower pots on the porch when she heard a loud sound from the guest room downstairs. She rushed in to investigate, wiping her soiled hands in her anchol when she saw the new maid fumbling for excuses. She was removing a trunk from under the bed to clean the room, and the handle of the trunk broke.
“I didn't mean to, Bou Didimoni. Please don’t throw me out of the job.” Abhaya reassured her as she knelt to investigate the broken trunk. Everyone in the house was asleep in the afternoon. She pulled at the broken handle, and the lock came off it. Abhaya pulled the rusty trunk out carefully and dismissed the maid. She opened it and found stacks of paper. Newspaper cuttings, documents, letters. She opened them to find they were news of attacks on officers, magistrates and British offices. She unrolled the documents. Her eyes fell on a yellow wrinkled one with a faded picture of a young man. The letterhead was something she knew very well. That of the Imperial Police. She noticed the name was that of the Leader. Of course, the picture was of him. He did have a police record. He was caught among a group of protestors outside the Writers Building in Kolkata some odd twenty years back.
Abhaya tucked the paper in her waist and closed the trunk. She needed to find out more about it and somehow connect it to the current incidents. She remembered when her father discussed crimes in his office, she would often stand behind the closed door and overhear conversations. She heard him talk of patterns in crime, the same type, the same reason, the same people, the same target, anything that would link two incidents together. Could she link the Leader somehow with her father’s assassination with anything like that? Abhaya took the paper into her room and closed the door. She opened one of the locked jewellery boxes Protima had gifted her and put the paper in it, along with the memo from the mission. She spent the next few days reading the papers in the trunk, the cuttings of incidents across Bengal, none of which were similar to what happened at her home. No families were harmed in home invasions; only targets were gunned down or bombed. Abhaya was frustrated. Was she the sole unfortunate victim? That could not be. She had no idea who got an inkling of the broken lock on the trunk and how.
After four days, she found the trunk had disappeared. Only the dust around its existence remained like a shadow of what had been. Abhaya cursed herself for not taking more evidence from it. But she was alert. Either someone was keeping an eye on her, or they suspected missing papers. Either way, Abhaya needed to be careful. She decided to stop looking for a few days to avoid suspicion.
The Song Khela Ghor Bandhte Legechi is a song written by Rabindranath Tagore in 1923. It is a song of longing and daydreaming of a lover who is afraid to confess.
