Kalyani stared at the reflection in the huge mirror at the entrance of Adam Jones’ garden house. The reflection was of a woman in her twenties, vibrant and beautiful, in a blue Baluchari saree woven with tales of a queen riding a horse, then a procession of a palanquin with horses around, and the queen enjoying under a tree with a deer and peacock as companions. The silk shone in the light of the biggest chandelier she had ever seen, lighting up the ceiling above her neatly bunned hair, wrapped with Jasmine Mala. Mohini said she bought the new saree from Murshidabad, especially for Kalyani. There was no way Kalyani was wearing anyone else’s clothes that night. Kalyani’s fingers had lingered on the fabric more than they should have. She remembered a Baluchari that her husband once gifted her. She barely wore it once before it was taken away and burned. It had a story of Ramayana on it, Sita following Ram to the forest, her celibate days in Ashoka Vatika. Kalyani felt uneasy because she had worn a blouse after years. Kalyani’s eyes now travelled from the Kajol-drawn tip between her arched and drawn eyebrows to the jewellery she had borrowed from Mohini. The Sitahaar, the Jhumka, the Kamarbandh, the choker, bangles, rings, everything that would make her look like an elite professional singer. She inhaled as she eyed the Sitahaar longingly, wondering what had happened to the pieces of jewellery she got at her wedding after her mother took them away. She pressed her lips and could now taste the colour applied to her lips. She looked up at her kohl-drawn eyes and wondered if she was in sin, dressing up that way after her husband was gone, and the worst part of it was that she had missed it. She wished the night would never end and she would never have to go back to the mundane life, uniformed sarees and life of celibacy. She was not as saintly as people expected widows to be. She tried to brush off the feeling. Today, she was Parvati Bai, an alter ego, who was independent, confident and happy. Happy… she forced a smile, and the reflection looked even more beautiful. Her eyes twinkled. Her thoughts were interrupted by Marzi, who came down the stairs.
“They are ready for us,” he said as he led her through the spiral marble stairs up to a hallway with an even bigger chandelier. Kalyani gasped at the wooden frameworks on the door that smelled of sandalwood, the intricate design on the walls, and the arches and statues that stood on either side of the hallway. This was another world she had stepped into. She heard the murmurs of people slowly increasing as Marzi led her to a closed door. Mohini stood by it, breathing a little heavily because she had just finished a performance.
“Are you ready, Didi?” She whispered as Kalyani nodded with bated breath. She pushed the door open. Immediately, Kalyani could make out that it was a door on the back side of the main auditorium, and her audience was waiting on the other side. There was a seat with bolster pillows on three sides and the Taanpura on a separate seat that Marzi took after he touched the Taanpura to his head. Kalyani sat down, folding her knees like Mohini had taught her to and stared at the crowd for the first time. With drinks in their hands, the guests stared in anticipation and eagerness. Some Indian faces among a crowd of foreigners. She could make out Mr and Mrs Jones in the crowd from the way they played host. She had learnt two songs, and she decided to start with the second one as she closed her eyes.
Ami Roope Tomay Bholabo Na Bhalobashay Bholabo
Ami Haat Diye DwarKhulbona Go, Gaan Diye Dwar Kholabo.
The crowd was mesmerised into silence as her voice echoed through the hall. The men forgot to sip their drinks, and the women forgot to fan themselves. Most of them did not even understand what the song meant, yet Kalyani’s melodious voice depicted pain, longing and love, enough to capture their attention.
Janbe na keu kon tufaane, Torongo Dol Nachbe Praane.
Chander moto alok Taane Joware dheu tolabo.
Mohini stepped back from the crowd and prying eyes of the servants and guards, whose attention was now successfully taken by Kalyani’s voice. Some even stared at her and whispered how beautiful she was. Where was she hiding all this while? Why did we never hear of Parvati Bai? She is as beautiful as her voice.
Mohini removed the anklets from her ankle discreetly and put them down on the floor under a chair. She then proceeded to do the same with her bangles. Then she turned on her heel and exited the room through the open archway. She had the map of the place, which she had no idea where Sharat got it from. She turned a corner, took the stairs downstairs and ended up straight in a room full of books. The library. Adjoining it was a door to Jones’s office. Taking that door would mean she did not have to go in or step out of the office door itself. She had a few minutes till Kalyani could hold their undivided attention. One of the servants who was Sharat’s man was supposed to be guarding the door outside. She pulled the drawers and turned the books a little. Something told her Jones was not stupid enough to keep his important documents or information in the obvious places. He kept talking about how much he loved books and spent all his time in the study room ever since Mohini mentioned she could read. She ransacked through the rooms, careful enough not to mess them up too much. That was when her eyes fell on a seat. The seat was different from usual. It looked square, and the four legs were barely visible. She sat down and shook it. There was something inside. She turned it over in a hurry and pulled out the knife from her bosom. But she did not need it. There was a latch she needed to pull. And inside were a lot of papers. She shuffled through them, keeping an eye on the closed door. Her hand stopped at the sight of a familiar word. Roopganj Bazaar. She took the paper out and read it thoroughly. She rushed to the desk, pulled out a blank page from the pad, and took out a pen from her waist. She noted down the details in a hurry and pushed the documents back into the secret chamber before exiting the room through the stairs once again. She had reached the hall right in time as the claps erupted inside. She wiped the sweat off her forehead and slipped in with a smile.
Kalyani folded her hands and bowed at the ovation, a little overwhelmed. She had done her bit. She stared across the crowd at Mohini, who nodded at her with a smile. Mohini gathered her anklets and bangles from where she had left them and walked up to Kalyani.
“We should leave now.” She said as Kalyani nodded understandingly. If it were up to her, she would have preferred this pretend life just a little longer. She had received praise and lied through her teeth without regret that night. She had no idea she would be so attracted to the idea of lying. She accepted Paan from one of the Indian singers who praised her as she lied about receiving training from her village. She thanked the foreigners who praised her. Although she had no idea what they said, their eyes were respectful and smiling, praising enough for her to catch the tone in their voice. Mohini was about to make her way to the closed side door when Jones interrupted them.
“Mahinee Baaejee.” He called out in his weird accent. Mohini tried not to look alarmed as he approached them with a smile and a cigar in between his fingers. Up close, Kalyani noticed his blonde hair, and it looked like that of the Videshi Dolls she had once seen somewhere. He straightened his suit and smiled. “I am glad you could make it.” Mohini nodded, and Jones turned to Kalyani and tried to speak broken Hindustani. “Aaap bohut… brilliant… umm… accha…” He gestured with a thumbs-up as Kalyani narrowed her brows slightly, then nodded with a smile. “Thank you for making time for this.”
“We should go…” Mohini turned to address Kalyani. She gestured at Jones in broken English. “Sa’ab, we are late…” She made a gesture with a watch as Jones understood with a nod.
“Yes, yes, of course, I will tell your carriage to come up front.” He gestured at a servant for the same. Kalyani turned to follow Marzi out, and Mohini followed.
“Baejee.” Jones stopped Mohini, who turned as he put his hand in his pocket and smiled at her, “I guess you were right.”
“About what?” Mohini frowned.
“Why do men fall for you?” Jones shook his head. Mohini let out a chuckle.
“Adham Sa’ab ... not because of my dancing, I tell you.” Mohini watched him clear his throat as he leaned in, eyeing his wife and attending to her friends through the corner of his eye. “I did not say it was.” Mohini’s brows shot up as he turned and left to attend to more people as the next artist’s performance was announced. Mohini stepped back, gulping a little and turned to make her way back to the carriage in a hurry. Something made her feel awkward and perhaps even disappointed in the way Jones spoke to her that night. Mohini had felt men’s lewd remarks and gazes all her life, but his gaze seemed to seep through her skin and make her feel dirty. Mohini could not resist the feeling all the way back to the mission.
The man who was the driver was one of the undercover agents Sharat had employed, and he left them at the door of the mission around an hour past midnight. The crickets and owls were the only ones witnessing the ladies, and Marzi made their way into the house. The moment Kalyani stepped into the empty dark courtyard, her eyes fell on the open door of Mohini’s room. A streak of light from a lamp was falling on the corridor outside it. Mohini exclaimed, “Sharat Da is here.” And rushed inside, her anklets making music. Kalyani followed in silence. It was not until she reached the threshold that Kalyani realised that she was still decked up. And it was because Sharat’s attention was drawn to her from the piece of paper Mohini had pushed into his hand. His eyes widened a little at her as Kalyani suddenly felt aware of his gaze. Her throat was dry as she tried to brush off his stare in vain and told Mohini she was there to return the jewellery.
“Keep them for tonight, Didi.” Mohini shrugged. Kalyani opened her mouth to protest, but Sharat asked Mohini where the document was, so she decided to leave them alone. Stepping into her dark room, Kalyani lit the lamp and sat down in front of the small, unclean mirror. She removed the jewellery one by one as her chest felt heavier. She stared at them one last time, longingly, and pulled at the garland from her hair, which fell on her hand. She smelled the heavenly flowers and wondered if she should keep them. The room was fragrant with their presence. Just tonight… just for a while… She wished the feelings would linger. Kalyani eyed the pale saree lying among her things. She needed to change out of the coloured ones before anyone saw her like that.
Sharat excused himself from Mohini’s room with a lot of thoughts in his head. He needed to make a plan, call the volunteers and execute it to perfection. They needed to give a clear message to the British, especially since Benu’s son’s verdict scared a lot of freedom fighters. The leader had trusted him with an important mission. He was the prodigy people were looking up to. He could not let them down. The stakes were high. So were the risks. He was well aware that if they attacked the weapon carriage, chances were that they would not make it out of there alive. Sharat stopped at the open courtyard and breathed in. The air felt heavy around him as his eyes fell on Kalyani’s open door. Why was her door open? Did she expect him to come by?
Sharat suddenly felt an emptiness in his being. If the mission was risky, it could mean he would never see her again. He needed to say his goodbyes.
Kalyani was suddenly aware of Sharat’s gaze. She was about to take the saree out of her bundle when Sharat entered her room, and she could feel his presence behind her.
“Is the information… helpful?” She managed to break the silence as she stood up, drawing the Baluchari over her exposed back and navel, carefully avoiding his glance. Sharat took a moment to answer her. “Yes.”
“So you will …” She was unsure of what to say as she looked up at him, and his gaze made her ears feel warm. Sharat stepped forward and cleared his throat. He had no intention of looking away from her kohl-drawn eyes and the round Kajal dot between her eyebrows that reminded him of a different Kalyani.
“I may have to leave for days, even months…” Sharat said sincerely, lowering his voice, “I have been trusted with leading this…” Kalyani nodded. He stepped forward as Kalyani froze in her spot. She wanted to move away, but her feet were glued, and her knees were weak. She lowered her gaze and found no strength to look up at him as he continued to stare at her. Her lips quivered a little, drawing Sharat’s attention to them as though she was nervous and wanted to say something.
“I may also not come back.” He made her gasp as she looked up at him, worried.
“Don’t say that.” She shook her head. Sharat now had a lingering smile on the edge of his lip as he watched Kalyani’s worried face. “Don’t worry. You will be taken care of.”
“I am not worried about that.” Kalyani snapped. “I am worried for you.”
“You should dress like this more often.” Sharat suddenly blurted, surprising her as her eyes widened. “You look beautiful.”
“Like a performer?” Kalyani glared with a disappointed gasp.
“No, no.” Sharat shook his head and contemplated. “I meant colourful attire and… jewellery.”
“I am not doing this for pleasure.” Kalyani’s voice was firm as her jaws tightened. She looked away as Sharat frowned. “I played a part in helping the motherland. Doesn’t mean I indulge in…”
“You are no fool.” Sharat interrupted her. “You know exactly what I…”
“Don’t.” Kalyani sounded alarmed as she stepped back and shook her head. “We are not having this conversation.”
“Yes, we are.” Sharat shook his head and crossed his arms at his chest.
“Why?” Kalyani looked irked. “What good can come out of it?”
“Kalyani.” Sharat touched her shoulders, making her shudder under his warmth. “I have to tell you this because I may not come back.”
“Don’t.” Kalyani shook her head. “Just don’t. And you will come back.” Sharat smiled longingly at her words as the kerosene lamp burned bright, reflecting on his pupils.
“I have to tell you. You must know before I go.”
“I don’t want to know.” Kalyani shook her head.
“I know you are scared, Kalyani. So am I…” he paused as he let go of her shoulder. “For the first time, I am scared.” Kalyani looked up at his words. She prayed silently that he would stop. Do not ruin things with words. But Kalyani knew Sharat would not listen.
“If you ever gave me a chance, if you ever wanted to be happy, I would be there, waiting for you. There is nothing I want more than your smile and happiness. I have never thought of having a family, but then you … Had things been different and stable, I would have wanted to marry …” A slap resonated across his face as Sharat stopped, flabbergasted. Kalyani was teary and angry as she breathed heavily and pushed him away.
“What do you think I am? Some woman, you have it easy with? I have told you this the first time we met. Never think I am weak just because I am a widow.”
“I never thought you were weak.” Sharat frowned. “If anything, you are the bravest woman I…”
“Leave me alone.” Kalyani shook her head as tears rolled down her cheeks. “I have sinned so much that you thought it was right to insult me this way.”
“No, Kalyani, I would never dream of insulting…”
“I am a religious Hindu widow. My husband is waiting for me in heaven.” Kalyani’s words made Sharat step back as his face looked grim.
“You don’t get it, do you?” He shook his head and said firmly, “I said if… it was wistful thinking…”
“To sin?” Kalyani shook her head. “Did you bring me here because you thought you would get your way with me?”
“Enough!” Sharat shook his head. “You want me gone, I will go, but I will not stand here and let you question my intentions.”
“Then leave. I don’t want to see your face ever again.” Kalyani snapped. Sharat did not wait for her sentence to finish, and he was out of the mission. Kalyani sat down on the cold floor of her room in tears. She banged her fist angrily on her forehead and then tore away the saree from her body. She lay on the floor in tears with a single drape of pale cotton saree wrapped around her body. Kalyani felt like giving up. Running away. But where to? Was he never going to come back? Kalyani regretted her last words to him. Her heart was in turmoil, and her brain was in a storm. She folded her hands and mumbled a prayer between her sobs. She wanted him to be safe. She wanted him to be happy. Without her. She was not brave enough to choose him back.
Meera had walked up to the crossroad mentioned in the message at eleven. She had managed to get out of the home through the servant entrance, wrapping herself in a shawl, and now stood confused at the crossroads. Was it a trap? Would Swadhin trap her? What if Abhaya influenced him? Meera could not trust anyone. Her thought was interrupted by a cycle stopping diagonally opposite her. The young boy glanced over his shoulder at her silhouette standing under the lamp, and after ringing the bell on his cycle thrice, he got down from it and started walking down the road. Unsurely, Meera followed him. The paper-cutting knife was tucked at her waist. The boy stopped at a distance and glanced over his shoulder as if to check if Meera was behind him. Then he walked ahead once again and disappeared into a narrow lane beside the road. Meera increased her speed to catch up to him so that she did not lose sight of him. His bell tinkled again, and this time he stopped at a door. It was a three-storey house with tenants living on every floor. Some of the lights were still on. Others had lamps. The boy walked up to the door and knocked thrice. The door opened. Meera stopped at a distance, unsure of who was inside. Was it Swadhin? But why would he… the boy took some annas from the man inside and rode off on his cycle down the narrow lane, whistling to himself. Now the figure inside stepped out to the threshold. Meera’s lips parted in surprise. Kabir?
The moment Meera walked inside the apartment he had rented, Kabir closed the door behind him, after making sure she was not followed. Meera removed her shawl from her saree-wrapped body and turned to face him, narrowing her brows.
“What are you doing here now? You know, we are not supposed to meet…”
Meera was stunned as Kabir knelt on the floor with tears streaming down his cheeks. He held his forehead helplessly and wept.
“I killed her, Meera. I killed an innocent soul.” Meera’s throat was dry; she noticed his sleepless eyes, the room smelling like a gas chamber from all the cigarettes he had smoked, the mess on his bed, the bundle of clothes left scattered, and Kabir looking devastated. He had not shaved in days, and he looked petrified.
“Who…” Meera found her voice as she sat down in front of him. She could never believe Kabir was capable of harming an innocent person. “Who did you kill?”
Tip: Bindi in Bengali
Ami Rupe Tomay Bholabona is a Rabindra Sangeet written in 1910 and depicts a lover who expects to mesmerise her love with her feelings and song rather than her looks.
