Chapter Twenty-Six: Aftermath

Swadhin wiped the sweat off his forehead before it trickled down to his eyes and blurred his glasses. Marzi was holding up the kerosene light as he had instructed. Tumpa, the village woman, brought back boiling water in utensils to clean wounds and sterilise his equipment. Swadhin’s hand trembled a little as he cleaned the wound and carefully pulled out the scrap. He placed it on a tray and wiped his forehead again. His glasses were blurring with sweat. He stopped to wipe them with a handkerchief. Sharat groaned a little in his unconsciousness.
“Tell Mohini we need more opium to keep him from feeling the pain.” He told the woman who rushed outside. 
“I also need someone to bring me a new injection from the Dhaka Medical College. The Tetanus can save him. Since we don’t know how long ago the injury was, there is still hope. I will prescribe it. Along with some pills.” He bandaged the wound he had stitched carefully. Marzi nodded as he brought out his writing pad and scribbled down the names. “Ask for Dr. Banerjee. He is a friend.” He hurriedly gave Marzi the slip and money from his pocket. He wiped his hand and placed it on Sharat’s burning forehead as he lay unconscious. 
“Please be okay, Naw Da. For Ma at least.” Swadhin whispered a prayer. He then stood up, composing himself and walked out to find a courtyard full of women, administrative men, people from the village and even a few of the elder children waiting for him.

A woman, in a uniform saree, suddenly came forward in tears, asking, “What happened? Is it too late? Tell me it's not, Swadhin.” Swadhin frowned a little at her. She had curly hair, shorter than the usual length women kept, her face was pale and teary, and she looked older. He knew her from somewhere, but he could not place her. Mohini came forward and held her shoulders firmly. “Please tell us everything truthfully, Daktar Babu.” She added. That was when Swadhin was even more intrigued by the woman. How did she know his name?
“He… is doing fine… as of now…”
“What is that supposed to mean?” One of the men asked. 
“I can’t say much now. I need the injection and pills Marzi went to get.” Swadhin cleared his throat. “And then we can only hope.” And pray.
“Can I see him?” The woman asked again. This time, her tone made Swadhin observant. She stood out from the others. It was as though her bond with his brother was deep-rooted and different. He eyed the beaded garland on her neck. The widows around them wore those. He nodded silently as she almost pushed past him into the room. Swadhin peeped in to hear her sob and murmur, “I am sorry, I am so sorry… Please get better. Please… please … don’t leave me.” She hid her face in her hands as she sobbed. Mohini stood by Swadhin as the others dispersed, discussing what kind of infection Sharat had caught and from where.

“Who is she?” Swadhin managed to ask Mohini. Mohini smiled sheepishly.
“I thought he told you…”
“Told me what?” Swadhin frowned. Did Nawda have a lover? He eyed his watch.
“I need to go home once to avoid suspicion. I will be back after dinner.” He reassured Mohini as he stepped out into the corridor. “But what did you expect me to know?”
“I thought you knew Kalyani Didi, Daktar Babu.” Swadhin stopped at Mohini’s words, alarmed.
“That is Kalyani Didi?” He saw her nod as his throat went dry. “Animesh Mukhopadhyay’s daughter?” Mohini nodded again, unable to understand Swadhin’s confusion. His jaws tightened as he fumed. 
“And since when is she here?” He asked firmly.
“Since the fire broke out in her home.” Mohini watched Swadhin get on the carriage in a hurry and leave.

Why, oh why, would you do this to us, Naw Da? You knew we were looking for her everywhere. You knew how much Abhaya… Abhaya would be so happy… but can I bring her here without putting everyone in trouble… Swadhin’s throat felt dry. He felt sick as he peeped out of the carriage for a little fresh air. What do I do now? He suddenly remembered his promise to Abhaya. He told her she could leave him the day she found Didi. Was he courageous enough to make her meet Kalyani, knowing he would potentially lose her? Was that why Sharat did not tell him about Kalyani? Was Sharat saving his relationship or his own?

Adam Jones met the injured soldiers and asked his men to take their testimonies. The problem with relying on the testimony of injured men was that none was reliable. Some said there were ten men, some said a hundred. Some said they were disguised as soldiers, while others said Nanku brought them through the gates. No, no, it was the back forestlands, another argued. The British people blamed the natives; the natives blamed a spy. Adam Jones reached Padam Singh’s bed to find him missing.

“Where is this soldier?” He asked as the doctor shrugged.

“This man has been quite agitated since he gained consciousness, Padam Singh.” The doctor checked his roll and spelt out the name. “The officers were blaming his junior, I guess.”

“Hmm.” Jones frowned. “Take me to him. I want to talk to him alone.”

Padam Singh was sitting on the bank of the river in tears. Everyone blamed Nanku from day to night, forgetting about the orders he was following. He stood up as a soldier announced Jones’s arrival and saluted him.

“Sit down.” Jones sat down on the steps and alarmed Padam Singh as he stood there reluctantly. “And tell me about Nanku Patel.”

“Sa’ab. He is innocent, Sa’ab. I can swear my life on it.” Padam Singh was agitated. “These soldiers…”

“Calm down.” The soldier accompanying Jones pushed him by his shoulder down the step as he raised his voice. Jones stopped them with a hand gesture as Padam Singh wept.

“ He was just following orders. The Bade Sa’ab wanted water refilled in his bottle. He never came back. Please let me go look for him. The lad has a widowed mother. She deserves to know what happened to him.” Jones nodded silently and stood up.

“Very well, can you take me to the place where he went to get water?” Padam Singh looked hopeful as Jones seemed to believe him.

“Yes, Yes, Sa’ab. Come with me.”

Abhaya stared at Swadhin’s grim face as he informed his mother that a patient was serious and he needed to go back to the mission to treat him. His mother prayed for a recovery, but something was odd in his demeanour. He looked tense and nervous. He did not touch his food, paced the room and kept staring at the clock.
“Who is it?” Abhaya demanded to know as he put together a fresh pair of clothes to change into. His hand stopped as he looked up at her.
“What?” He feigned confusion. Abhaya’s jaws tightened.
“Who is it?” She said as she came up to him and eyed him. “One of the men of the group, right?” He inhaled. “Did Meera Didi come to get you?” Swadhin was irked.
“Stop that.” He grunted at her, “Why are you asking me when you know very well that you won’t believe me if I say no? No matter how many times I tell you…” He picked up his bag. “It is useless.”
“Stop hurting me.” Abhaya was teary-eyed as Swadhin inhaled.
“I don’t have time for this,” he shook his head as he walked past her. He stood at the threshold as he heard her sob. 
“You just came home… was it too much for me to…” Abhaya sobbed as her voice turned to a whisper, “Wish you would stay longer?” Swadhin stopped at her words and sighed. He made up his mind in an instant. He was not the person with the right to hold Abhaya back. If she stayed, it should be her choice.
“Be ready at dawn, I will take you somewhere.” He left before Abhaya turned around to see him. She could hear the car drive away. She walked out and went to Nonibala Debi’s room. The Leader was not there. Where did he go? Abhaya sat down in confusion. Where did Swadhin want to take her at dawn? To Mashima’s house? But then she would have known. Bimala or Nonibala Debi must have told her. Abhaya was uneasy and sleepless. Did something happen to the leader… or Sharat? She could sense the cloud of an impending storm gathering around the house. But she did not know what it exactly was.

The young men inspected the boxes of ammunition as the Leader sat staring at them, working to note down whatever they had looted. 
“The goods should be separated and distributed as per need. To Medinipur, Narail, Dhaka, Calcutta,” he ordered one of the men.
“What now, Mastermoshai?” One of the men asked. “After that?”
“Have the men who escaped contacted us?” One of the others wondered aloud as the rest shook their heads. The leader sat in silence like a monk in meditation. Then, a man came running down the path leading to the bank of the Bhairav. 
“Mastermoshai,” he said urgently, “I have news.” The Leader looked up at him.
“They raided the house of some people in Malda. They took some evidence, although they found nothing concrete.” He could barely breathe. “The men at Kanthi told us to lie low for a while.” The Leader stood up.
“If their eyes are on us, we cannot take the goods anywhere now. We must hide it. And split up.”
“Regroup when they stop looking…” Sarala, one of the women in the group recruited at Itna, spoke.
“Where will we hide it?” The men asked, alarmed. “We have so much.”
The Leader smiled.

Jones picked up the rifle from the bushes beside where Padam claimed that Nanku went. He eyed the handle carefully and saw blood. He then looked up at the river. Jones ordered his men to go downstream and interview people. Ask if they saw a body floating in the river. He was sure Nanku’s whereabouts would be found, just not him or rather, him alive. Jones told his junior officer to wrap up the report and send it to him at his residence. He had to move to his new quarters soon. He had to meet Mohini first. 

“Terrorists on the loose.” Read the morning headlines as Jatin eyed his fellow passenger on the bench at Sealdah station. The man was engrossed in the sports news. He asked if he could read the first page, and the man obliged. It spoke of protests across the land and raids by Police in Malda, in Dhaka, as retaliation for what was happening. He eyed the story carefully. No mention of Narail or the incident. Perhaps the British were embarrassed and kept things under wraps. 

When Jones came back to his residence at night, it was dark and quiet. He walked in briskly to be greeted by the Butler, who lost no time in informing him that the guest had not left with the maid as requested. She hired the carriage only to the railway station and went on her way. The Butler was never fond of his master bringing home a woman from the lanes of sin. He would lose no chance of being suspicious of the woman’s intentions. After all, they could do anything for money,
“Why did the maid not accompany her?” Jones frowned. “I told her to.”
“The maid said she forbade her to…” The Butler left him worried. Where did Mohini go? Jones’ thoughts travelled to Nithercot. Was it possible that he summoned her one last time before he left the post? If so, he needed to make sure she was safe. Jones turned on his heel and went back to the car. 

When he arrived at Nithercot’s house, the doors were chained shut, and the guards informed him that Saheb had left early in the morning. In the middle of the night, Jones was sweating, panting and clueless as to where and why Mohini disappeared. His only chance of meeting her was going back to Metia Bruz after enquiring in the Jessore Sadar. He dismissed the driver and started his journey. 

Kabir Ahmed was unsure of Sharat’s condition. When he parted ways, Sharat was heavily injured and ordered him to make his way to a safe house rather than lose his life trying to help him. Kabir could not believe his luck. He was sure he was going to die in the mission as a punishment from the Almighty for his sins. Instead, Sharat was injured, and he was unharmed. All through his journey, Kabir could not keep his thoughts from wandering about Sharat’s health. Did he make it? He knew the drill quite well. There was no way to know until some news came directly to him. He was to wait until the next mission. Good thing that he had rented a place in Chattogram.

When Kabir reached the house, tired and restless, he found the doors unlocked. Frowning slightly, he discreetly checked the pistol hidden on his waist and entered the house. The light from the room attracted him as he heard a woman’s voice humming a tune. Kabir stood at the threshold and sighed, sinking into the scene before his eyes.
Meera was cleaning the books on the shelf as she hummed a tune, her hair locks messy in a braid falling over her shoulder, her saree anchol tucked in the waist, and her gold bangles making a soft sound.
“What are you doing here?” He made her jump. Meera stood wide-eyed at him for a while as if she could not believe her eyes. She was imagining him. 
“You… are here?” She waited for him to nod with a faint smile as she rushed into his arms with tears in her eyes. “I told you everything will be fine. You will be fine.” She sobbed. Kabir stood there transfixed at her touch for a moment before embracing her back and patting her head reassuringly.
“It is good to know that someone would have shed a tear or two if I died.” Meera ignored his words and checked his hands for injury. “I have none.” He was reassured as Meera composed herself and wiped away her tears. Kabir sat down on the edge of the neatly made bed and looked around.

“But why are you here?” He asked again. He did not expect Meera to wait for him. Meera smiled. 
“The wedding was too much to see. The frenzy and overspending, the gaudy show-off and dowry, everything made me want to scream and protest. The world there seemed too removed from reality. They have the privilege to turn a blind eye to fellow human beings suffering every day. I could not… But the leader knows I am in Chottogram, he would send me any information to the house or look for me here. So… I remembered you gave me the keys.” She smiled sheepishly. Kabir eyed her. 
“I gave you the key to take my things in case I did not return.” He raised his eyebrows, amused. “You have made this into your home.”
“Any problem, mister?” Kabir looked at Meera, sounding intimidating as his smile faded. “None at all.” Kabir shook his head. “It is good to come home to cook food and have someone open the door for me.” On any other day, to anyone else, Meera would have protested that she was neither a wife nor a mother to feed them or take care of them, but Kabir found her smiling instead.
“Very well, get freshened up. I will cook something quickly.” She surprised him.
“Great, I am starving.” He smiled back at her as she rushed to the kitchen. Kabir could now see her sarees on the Alna and her bangles on the shelf. He took a Gamcha hanging from a hook and made his way to the washroom with a smile on his face. He wanted to tell Meera everything that happened and what he witnessed, but he knew better than to divulge information that could land her in trouble. Unless the leader said so, he was not supposed to speak his mind.

Adam Jones was stunned when Nithercot’s mistress told him Mohini had not lived in Metia Bruz for a long time.
“What do you mean?” Jones looked irked. “We came here almost every weekend, and Nithercot picked her up from…”
“She also came here then, rented that place…” The woman pointed in the direction. “She has not lived here since she picked a fight with me over the Sa’ab. She wanted to serve him so badly, even when our pimp said it's my turn. She even offered me money to back out…” Jones suddenly felt light in his head. “Where did she live?” He asked with much difficulty. The woman shook her head, “None of us know. Marzi knew…”
“Marzi…” Jones remembered him, “Where is he?”
“I have not seen him in two days at least.” 
“What about Parvati Bai?” He asked. The woman frowned at him first and then burst into laughter. “If you are asking if I see ghosts, I don’t, she died when I was seven.”
“No.” Jones shook his head, confused, “I mean, a younger woman, younger than Mohini, maybe… she was about this tall, sings…” The woman shook her head, confused. She doubted Mohini knew any singer outside the Baiji Para Lanes. Jones was quiet. His mind raced. The woman bowed with a salaam, waited for Jones to offer her some money and went on her way, swaying her hip to the rhythm of a song she hummed as she swayed her purse in the air.

Jones watched her go before wiping the sweat off his forehead. The morning sun and the scorching heat were the least of his concerns now. Why would Mohini lie? Why would she disappear like that? Jones got back to his car, but his hand stopped at the steering wheel. He remembered how the forensics repeated that someone was passing on inside information. They suspected Nithercot was blackmailed. But what if he wasn’t? Jones went back home in a hurry.

He rushed to the study room and ransacked through his documents from every secret compartment. Everything was right there. He turned each leaflet to double-check. His hand stopped at the edge of one of the leaflets. There was a red finger mark on it. Jones smelled it. Then he scrutinised the page. It was the information on the place and time of the concierge's travel to Calcutta. Jones’s heart dropped to his stomach. His lips trembled in anger. He sat down on the floor and felt sick as he remembered Mohini’s Alta-clad hands on the day of the Jalsa. He remembered not seeing her when Parvati Bai performed. He remembered how she appeared out of nowhere in his life. He eyed the red mark again with teary, angry eyes. He needed to do the needful. He stood up and inhaled. Adam Jones was fooled once; he would not be fooled again. He had given his heart to an enemy. He picked up the receiver and dialled the office.

“An arrest warrant is to be issued by the order of Adam Jones. Theft, Spying…” He spoke into the phone.
“Con man or terrorist?” The person on the other end asked.
“Con woman. Spy.” Jones went on to describe her. Adam Jones could not help but wonder if everything she ever said to him was all lies, or if he was overthinking what could have been Mohini going to stay somewhere he did not quite know about. But it was time to be careful.