Ramdas lowered the heavy sacks he was carrying on his shoulder and wiped his forehead as he sat down under a tree, carefully guarding the sacks. He watched Upendra disappear into one of the huts after instructing him to wait. His eyes travelled to the children his age, with their heads shaved, in the saffron dhoti and robe, studying, playing and working around the place. His eyes travelled further to the pond at the end of the open space where the older monks sat meditating. Ramdas stood up for a clearer view of the monks from where he was.
Upendra Gangopadhyay lowered himself at the feet of Swami Satyananda, who sat in meditation on the floor of the empty room. The only trunk in one corner was the sign that he stayed there. Swamiji opened his eyes and smiled at Upendra.
“What brings you here, Batsya?” He asked in a calm voice.
“Help me, Guruji, for I am in trouble.” Upendra folded his hands. Swamiji nodded.
“I can see that.”
Ramdas watched Upendra coming out of the hut with a sense of achievement on his face when one of the monks fell at his feet and startled him. Ramdas ran to his side, abandoning the sacks under the tree.
“What…”
“Mastermoshai…”
“Mama!” Ramdas gasped at the sight of Benimadhob. His head was shaved, and he was in saffron attire. “I thought you killed yourself.”
“This is my new birth, dear Ramdas.” The monk smiled at him. “I have abandoned my old name, identity and relationships. I am Swami Anandananda. Refrain from calling me Mama.” Ramdas stared at him with wide eyes and folded his hands, mesmerised. “And it happened all because of this man. He helped me find solace in religion when I lost my will to live.” Upendra smiled dryly at the man and the shocked child.
“Religion is like that.” He nodded. “If you understand its true essence, it gives you calm and purpose. If you misinterpret it, there is violence, power, greed and wars.”
“What are you doing here?” Benu frowned at Upendra now. “Are you too…” Upendra chuckled softly as he searched his pocket for his spectacles and put them on. “I think I have more time before that.” He smiled dryly again. “But I am not sure for how long…” He stared at Ramdas blankly and then instructed him to bring the sacks and follow him.
Sharat’s recovery was slow and gradual, and he was growing restless. He knew that his prolonged stay at the mission could land others in trouble, especially Kalyani and Mohini. He also knew it was a time of crisis for the anarchist group, and his father might need him. But he remembered what the Leader always said. An injured animal was always a liability to the herd. So Sharat wanted to heal soon.
On one hand, he enjoyed the constant hospitality from both Kalyani and Mohini. He spent his days reading to the children, and Mohini would often come and chat with him about light-hearted things. He tried to ask her a few times where she was for so many days, but only got vague answers from her. Sharat was sure Mohini was hiding something, but he had no strength to investigate. Mohini asked him once or twice if he knew about the schools of dancing springing up in the cities, and Sharat, in turn, had sent Marzi to find out about the police investigation on the raid. Marzi came back one morning to inform Sharat that Adam Jones was now in charge of the investigation and that he was also suspecting Mohini. There was a wanted poster of Mohini’s description hanging outside the police stations near the area of Jones’ residency. Sharat expected that. Sooner or later.
However, he noticed Mohini was visibly upset by the information.
“What if I show up at his door?” She asked abruptly, surprising Sharat. “I can lure him into believing me again. Why else would I show up when he’s looking for me with a Fatwa?”
“Don’t be absurd.” Sharat scolded her. “You think he is stupid, or you are that cunning?” Mohini bit her lips quietly and retreated to her room. Her reaction made Sharat question Marzi about her whereabouts. Marzi only met her at the station, so he had no idea where she had been for the past few weeks.
Mohini paced her chamber, cursing herself for getting swayed by Jones. He was after her life. She still could not understand how his suspicion fell on her. Was it because she left on an emotional impulse or because he genuinely found some evidence? Mohini wondered if she would be in less trouble if she stayed back, waiting for him, swallowing her pride and emotions. But then, she knew Sharat would not have made it. Whatever God’s plan, things happened in a certain way. Mohini wondered what would happen if Jones caught up to her. Would he be hurt by her deception, or would his ego be bruised? She could not help but think of him at least once every day. How was he doing? Was his investigation leading to her, or the anarchists, his way of finding her? Did he look for her at Metia Bruz, too? She wondered why in the life she was given by the Almighty, He chose to make her fall for the only man she could remotely ever be with. Was this fate? Or just her stroke of luck? She absent-mindedly opened her bundle of clothes, and a robe she used in his house fell out of it. Mohini picked it up and smelled it. It smelled of him or perhaps his home. She could not tell. But it brought back memories of days when she forgot who she was. Her purpose and her past. She was happy. Her eyes travelled to the box of pennies she had with her. Inside, it was a piece of paper with Pyari Mohan Babu’s address. If she contacted him, she was surely going to be tracked down by Adam Jones. She could not afford to go against Sharat after all that he had done for the country. But could she ever live the dream Jones dreamt for her? She kept the address away neatly inside one of the novels she had with her, hoping she would see brighter days in the future when she would not be judged for her past nor treated as a criminal for serving her motherland. Then she would go to the said address and find her new identity. Till then, Hiranmoyi could wait. Mohini needed to live on.
Kalyani was relatively silent and never spoke to Sharat directly. Sharat kept staring at her, hoping for a reaction, or a kind word or two, but she went about her chores, cooked for him and placed his medicines on the trays right in time, all while giving him a silent treatment. Sharat cursed himself for showing up there after she had never wanted to see him again, and was concerned that it bothered her. But what else was he supposed to do? The moment he thought he was dying, he had felt a strong urge to die in her arms. He could not deny his feelings. But all he could do was never bring it up again and hope for forgiveness. So he never mustered the courage to speak to her. Or explain his intentions. But his thoughts went back and forth to the days when Swadhin would mention how distraught Kalyani was when he was almost dying. Was he exaggerating?
Once or twice a week, Swadhin would come with his bag and check on him. Abhaya followed him too, often with his favourite dish or fruits and complained about how worried everyone was at home that he had not returned. Sharat wrote a letter to his mother, telling her he was at a friend’s place in Medinipur after Mashi got better, and that eased her a little. She grunted under her breath and cursed how carefree he was. Abhaya was relieved that she had stopped worrying and asking questions.
Sharat thought he was getting better when one morning he woke up with shivers. His forehead felt hot, and he could not sit up on his own. His vision blurred as he tried to ask for help. The pain resurfaced in his injury, and he managed to topple a jug and make enough noise to startle Mohini awake and make Kalyani rush into the room. Swadhin was immediately summoned, and he opened the wound with a worried face and said that the infection had resurfaced. It was worrying for his health. Sharat seemed nonchalant as he let Swadhin dress his stitches and wounds, and Mohini got a cloth and some cold water to reduce the fever. Swadhin instructed Marzi to bring a fresh set of medicines and told Kalyani which ones were new. Kalyani listened to Swadhin diligently, remembering the dosage while she eyed Sharat, groaning a little when Mohini tried to move him a little to sponge his back. Kalyani cooked some steamed rice with vegetables for his meal. Mohini usually fed Sharat his lunches, but she had been busy all morning taking care of him. So Kalyani urged her to take a bath, eat and get some rest before getting back to Sharat’s side for the night. She took the bowl and a shell to use as a spoon and walked into the room where Sharat lay groaning in pain. The moment he saw Kalyani walk in with food in her hand, he stopped groaning and sulked at the food.
“I feel no taste.” He did not expect those to be the first words he would say to Kalyani after months. Kalyani seemed to ignore his sulking as she added some more salt and stirred the bowl.
“I don’t feel hungry.” He said again, and this time Kalyani looked up at him sternly. Sharat, even in his pain and agony, remembered that stare to be similar to a Professor he had at college and could not help but amuse himself with a smile.
“You have ten medicines throughout the day, which will only work on your body if you eat well.” Her voice was monotonous, and her gaze lowered as she continued to stir the bowl as she spoke. “So don’t be a child.”
“It's better to die than live like this.” Sharat’s casual remark made Kalyani gasp. She put the bowl down and grimaced at him. “Only if dying solved everything.” She said under her breath.
“Does it not?” Sharat humoured himself. Kalyani inhaled.
“You would not have dared say it if you saw what all of us went through while you lay unconscious.” Her voice trembled. Sharat looked up at her to find her eyes teary. Kalyani could see the surprise in his eyes, with a hint of happiness that she showed she cared. Kalyani had promised herself not to show Sharat how much he affected her. Kalyani realised she had failed in her moment of vulnerability. Kalyani moved away and tried to stand up, awkwardly sniffing, hoping he did not see her tears.
“I will see if Mohini can feed you.” Kalyani stopped as Sharat held her by her wrist. A shiver ran down her spine. His rough hands held her wrist as he almost commanded. “Stay.”
“I can’t.” Kalyani jolted her hand away from his grip, and her jaw tightened. “I have better things to do.”
“Do you? You know what I think?” Sharat tried to sit up straight as Kalyani eyed him. A part of her wanted to help him. But she did not. Sharat did not wait for her reply. “I think you are not brave.”
“I know that.” Kalyani interrupted.
“Do you know why?” Sharat asked as Kalyani’s jaws stiffened again.
“Because I am scared of little things? Like you dying?” Sharat dismissed her taunting tone with a shake of his head.
“Because you are not brave enough to face the truth.” Sharat made her look up at him. Her teary eyes were red.
“Truth?” Kalyani raised her eyebrows. “What truth?”
“Your truth. I face my truths, you don’t.” Sharat was firm. Kalyani’s throat felt dry. She lowered her eyes from his gaze.
“Wha… what do you mean?” Kalyani asked in a trembling voice.
“If I am a sinner, so are you. I claim my sins, you keep them in your heart.” Sharat made Kalyani stand up abruptly.
“I will not stand and hear your banter.” She shook her head. Sharat smiled faintly.
“Like I said, your truth is yours to own.” It miffed Kalyani.
“What do you want? What do you expect me to do?” Kalyani sobbed in anger.
“I deserve the truth,” Sharat said in a lowered voice. “I know neither you nor I are sinners. I want you to know that, too.” He could barely finish as Kalyani ran away from the room. Sharat inhaled and pushed the food away as it turned cold.
The splash of water broke through the silence of the night as the water of the pond rippled. The Leader gestured at Ramdas to wait for the water to settle as he looked out for anyone awake or alert by the sound of the water splashing when he threw the stone. The darkness and moonbeams made shadows of the bushes and trees that appeared like larger-than-life human beings; some looked like men taking a walk, others old women with hunchbacks, but there were no other humans in sight. The Leader tiptoed with Ramdas following him through the forestland in the back of the Math, to the tree that the Guruji directed him to. The old Banyan tree with its branches, aerial and prop roots appeared like a demon standing in the middle of the forest. The Leader used his spade to dig up the trunk, which had a hollow inside. Ramdas struggled a bit to put the sacks inside before they both used their spades and hands to cover the hollow trunk with soil, shrubs and creepers. The leader said a soft prayer with folded hands. Ramdas watched him, trying to catch his breath.
“When are we coming back, Mastermoshai?” He asked in a whisper. He could see the Leader’s eyes sparkle. “Hopefully soon.”
“Where are the rest of the siege weapons?” Ramdas grew curious. The leader walked ahead nonchalantly as though he did not hear the question. He was not going to divulge any information and put anyone else at risk. He had handpicked people to hide the weapons for better days. He trusted them enough to know that even if he was not around, their sacrifices would not go in vain, and the weapons would be handed over to more efficient young groups of anarchists who believed freedom was not begged for, it was snatched.
“Naw Da wants to come home.” Swadhin made Abhaya look up from the book she was reading. It was almost midnight. He removed his watch and glasses and took the Gamcha from the Alna as he looked back at Abhaya, who stared at him with questioning eyes. He could sense what she was thinking as he shrugged. “The minute he gets a little better, he starts these childish demands.”
Abhaya sighed as she put a bookmark in the book and got up from the chair. She poured water into an empty glass from the jug at the bedside table and handed it to Swadhin.
“But now? You said he has not healed.” She frowned as Swadhin drank down the glass of water to quench his thirst.
“Yes, but he is adamant that he wants to be home. He is worried for Baba.” Swadhin eyed Abhaya’s furrowed brows as she took the empty glass from his hand absentmindedly.
“Why?” She asked. “Is something wrong?” Her curiosity alarmed Swadhin. He was still not comfortable sharing everything he knew with Abhaya.
“I don’t know. He won’t say. But he doesn’t want to stay in the Mission anymore.” Abhaya stared at him like she did not believe him. Swadhin looked away, murmured that he needed a bath and hurriedly left the room.
When Swadhin came back in a vest, wearing a Dhuti, wiping his wet hair, yawning, he noticed Abhaya had moved to the bed with her book. She looked up as he entered the room and smiled faintly. “I will just finish this part and turn the lights off. It's getting interesting.” She moved to her side of the bed. Swadhin nodded in silence and let the wet cloth hang from the backrest of the chair. He walked to his side of the bed and lay down on his back, staring at the whirling fan above his head. Then he eyed Abhaya. He could sense Abhaya feeling his gaze on her as she licked her lips and moved her open hair from one shoulder to the other. He kept staring at her, lost in thought, as he noticed the faded vermilion on her hairline and forehead. Abhaya adjusted the pleats of her saree and looked up at him with questioning eyes.
“Are you unable to sleep?” There was a hint of concern in her voice, “You must be tired.”
“ I feel it has nothing to do with Baba.” Swadhin’s abrupt statement made Abhaya stare at him cluelessly. “What?” She murmured. Swadhin turned to his side to face her.
“Naw Da… he wants to return home to stay away from the mission. Baba is just an excuse.”
“But why …” A sudden realisation dawned on Abhaya as her eyes met Swadhin. He nodded silently with a faint smile on the edge of his lip. At that moment, Swadhin felt like Abhaya had grown into a woman more in touch with the nuanced emotional complexities of a man-woman relationship from the naive, outspoken girl he once knew.
“Did Didi say anything?” She managed to ask. Swadhin shook his head.
“I observed she is staying away from his room.” He furrowed his brows. “She did not even come to ask me about his progress like she usually did. I think he wants her to feel less uncomfortable.”
“What will you do? How will you explain his wounds to Ma?” Abhaya sounded worried. “She should not know…” Swadhin secretly admired Abhaya’s selfless care for his mother as he smiled.
“A road accident.” He shrugged. “That is all I can think of that can have a similar wound. I would say he was coming from Medinipur in a friend’s car.”
“I am scared,” Abhaya confessed. For the first time in so many months of endless turbulence, Swadhin witnessed her utter those words.
“Why?” he sat up, concerned. Abhaya shut the book and sighed.
“I feel like something will happen. I feel restless. I want to meet Didi.” She looked pale. Swadhin held her hands in his. “I think you should not think so much.” He said softly. “I'll take you there tomorrow.” He reassured her. Abhaya was suddenly overwhelmed. She sobbed as Swadhin looked concerned.
“Tell me what bothers you,” Swadhin asked firmly. “Whatever it is that you feel, I will not judge you, I promise.”
“I…” Abhaya bit her lips. “I don’t know.” She shook her head. Swadhin held her hands in his more firmly as she inhaled.
“On one hand, I want Didi to be happy. I truly do. I want her to have a normal life.” She looked up at him as he nodded, urging her to go on. “But…”
“But not with him?” He asked. Abhaya shook her head. “It is not that, it's just that…” She was unsure whether Swadhin would judge her, but she needed to let it out.
“I have grown up with certain beliefs. I have followed the paths of God and the words of the Sastra to the best of my ability. And even when I want her happiness, I cannot phantom a widow choosing a life other than where she belongs.” Swadhin’s raised eyebrows made her look away. “I fear I will end up judging her if…”
“The very fact that you are considering the situation and questioning what you believed all your life is what religion is about,” Swadhin reassured her. “It is never against being a Hindu to question our rituals. The reforms to religion have existed throughout time immemorial. Lord Krishna came to earth to question its rules, Lord Ram came to abide by them…” Abhaya stared at his words, a little mesmerised as Swadhin stopped.
“I had no idea you were so well-read in religion. I thought you were almost an atheist.”
“Even an atheist needs to read about religion to oppose it, just like a religious person should read to question their beliefs.” Swadhin smiled at Abhaya. “I am sure you will choose what is right once you meet Kalyani Didi,” he reassured her.
“What if I let her down when she needs me?” Abhaya sounded scared. Swadhin shook his head. “You care too much for her to do that.” He reassured her. “I have faith in your decisions.” The last words made Abhaya’s heart skip a beat as she wiped her tears. Her eyes involuntarily travelled to the drawer where she kept her box of evidence against the leader. Now the stakes were higher than she anticipated. It was her life and that of Didi’s. Swadhin let go of her hand and lay down again, turning his back to her. Abhaya sighed.
“Will Naw Da make her happy?” Swadhin was unsure whether she wanted an answer from him or if she was thinking out loud.
“You know him as much as I do.” He shrugged as he watched her turn the lights off. Swadhin knew even when he was in and out of sleep that Abhaya did not get a wink of sleep that night. She twisted and turned on the bed, got up for water, and paced the room. Sometimes noiselessly and sometimes carelessly enough to wake him. She was waiting for dawn.
