“Did you ask for me, Dadu?” Bondita asked as the old man smiled at her. She looked fresh, with her hair neatly braided and a cotton pleated skirt, Thamma sewn with a faded top of one of her cousins, as she stood before the old man sitting on the porch.
“Yes indeed, Didibhai, you didn’t come for chess yesterday.” The man smiled.
“Oh, Pradhan Jyatha wanted me to look out for the …” She stopped as she saw Aniruddha walking towards them down the corridor. She eyed him as the old man followed her gaze.
“Oh Aniruddha Babu, come here. This is Bondita Das.” Aniruddha smiled at the child as she looked away. “She is the only girl in the village who has appeared for her final examinations this year. She is very intelligent and…”
Aniruddha nodded “She helped me a lot yesterday.” He made her look up, with a cold stare at him as he smiled politely.
“Yes, I have called her here to show you around the village. He wants to see the affected areas of the Adivasis, Bondita.” The old man made her nod.
“But that is far...” She spoke.
“I have a car.” Aniruddha made her chuckle as Dadu looked confused.
“You think the forest here has roads? Or do the islands have bridges?” She shot her brows up “You have never been here, have you?” He shook his head.
“And do you know the entire area?” Bondita beamed with pride at his words.
“There is Gosaba, where Pradhan Jethu has a house too. On that side, we live in a small area, it's fairly new, and those like my Kaka who work in the city have houses on this side for better transport. I am originally from Alamethi, where you will be going.”
“Hmm.” Aniruddha nodded at her. “We once had a house here somewhere, I really don’t know the exact location.” He scratched his head. Bondita looked around. “Can you cycle?” She asked as he nodded.
“I suppose so.”
“Good, Dadu, give him one, I will bring mine by.” She spoke and walked away.
Aniruddha last rode a bicycle with his brother in his school days. He cycled alongside Bondita, who, despite being ten and her feet not reaching the pedals as it went down, could somehow paddle faster than him, through the narrow muddy roads and across the dividers between rice fields, trying to keep pace as she cycled ahead, ringing the bells.
“We have to catch the ferry from that side of Bidyadhari.” She pointed, “But first, let me show you the condition of the girls' school and some of our houses here.”
“Ummm… where do we keep the cycle when we catch the ferry?” Aniruddha asked, a little awkwardly. She smiled. “We take them along, we ride them to the villages on the other side.”
“Oh.” He shook his head “Of course.”
She nodded “You seem new to this; wasn’t this your job before?”
“No, I am new. How old are you?” He asked.
“Thamma says I am ten, Kaka says I am eighty, not sure what he means.” The seriousness in her innocent voice made Aniruddha smile to himself. He realised how, despite being almost her age, his youngest brother, in his city life and ways, was not that innocent anymore. Neither was he as aware as he witnessed Bondita being, as she talked of the struggles every year in the storm-hit areas. She rode alongside him, decreasing her pace as he panted a little. “You seem to be more aware than people your age.” Aniruddha complimented. Bondita did not smile. He could sense her displeasure from their last encounter. Children are the most sensitive about certain things. Aniruddha was used to dealing with his brothers, but something about Bondita made him feel she preferred being treated like an adult rather than coaxed like a child.
“Look, I am sorry about the money thing yesterday. I mistook you…”
“That’s alright, bygones now. You are here to help us, so no hard feelings.” She smiled. “Is it true that your trustee is a Neta?” She asked. Aniruddha nodded. “Well, he is…”
“These people are all bad, my Thamma says.” Her words made him look at her “All they do is steal our money, make false promises and make us suffer.”
“Why does she say that?” He frowned. “Did something happen?” Bondita smiled faintly as she stopped the cycle at the Ferry Ghat.
“You know, how so much money is raised for cyclone relief, yet every year it is we who suffer.” She shrugged “If they used all the money properly… we all wanted a Pakka house for the girls' school like the boys… they said it is not funded. Thamma gathered the women and protested, but then their men scared them away. They said Thamma was mad. All this while the people in the Panchayat make Pakka houses for themselves.” Aniruddha frowned.
“Enough about me, what do you do?” She turned to him, “I suppose this is not your job. Won’t support your kids and family by helping us.” Her last words made him chuckle. Not only did she sound like she heard those lines from an adult at home, but her tone was very grandmotherly. Aniruddha had learnt from Dadu, while he was eating breakfast of Luchi Torkari in their home, that Bondita’s parents died of Malaria when she was five. Her Thamma raised her. Dadu seemed especially affectionate to this orphan.
“I… don’t have a wife and kids.” Aniruddha shook his head. “I am a Barrister… a lawyer.” he was unsure how much she understood, but she kept staring at him with a frown.
“Ah… there is the ferry.” Bondita waved at the boatman. “Come quick.” She let the boatman help them onto the boat with the cycles that were tied with a rope.
“This man is here to help the village.” She said as the man nodded at Aniruddha and started the motor. “This is Fokir Majhi.” Bondita sat down on the edge with her legs folded up, prompting Aniruddha to sit facing her in the same posture.
“So, a lawyer…” She spoke as he nodded. “Do you know what that is?” She shook her head, a little unsure. “I have seen that Cinema… Kanoon.” She recollected a cinema that was shown by the Panchayat, which had a courtroom drama. Thamma had explained it to her while they sat on the last row of women, watching it late into the evening.
“Well, suppose a man is caught stealing by the police, but he says he did not do it, right? That makes him the accused. He is taken to a judge… You know what that is?” She nodded. “Thamma tells me all kinds of things. She can read and write too.” Aniruddha smiled, pleased.
“Well, a lawyer’s job is to prove he did it if he is appearing as a prosecution and to prove that his client was wrongly framed if he is the defendant of the accused.”
“But… is it not wrong to defend wrongdoers? Do they lie?” She seemed displeased by the idea.
“Sometimes to save one’s client… You see, one can also be wrongly accused. And even if he is rightly accused, a trial before the judge decides the punishment is needed from both ends to ensure the right judgement.”
“So, do you defend thieves?” Her eagerness made him laugh.
“I am yet to start defending anyone… I just got my degree… You know what…”
“Yes,” Bondita nodded as she observed him. “Why are you not married?” The question made Aniruddha frown. “You look quite aged.” Aniruddha gasped at her words.
“How old do you think I am?” he raised his eyebrows.
“Twenty?” Bondita raised her eyebrows. “People here are married in their early teens.” She shrugged, which made Aniruddha frown. “That is illegal.”
“Thamma says so, too.” She nodded. “She says she was married at fourteen.” Her voice seemed distant. “They will do the same to me.”
“But why?” Aniruddha frowned. “You just said your Thamma knows it's wrong.”
“She doesn’t feed us; Kaku does. He will surely…”
“Then you come to me.” Aniruddha interrupted, “Tell Dadu to call me.” Bondita looked a little unsure at the familiar stranger.
“Aniruddha…” She stopped as if to ask for his surname.
“Advocate Aniruddha Roy Chowdhury,” he smiled, making her smile fade. Bondita gulped. She knew that Trilochon Roy Chowdhury was a well-known politician born around there. He had even visited their village once. Despite running a fever, she had stood with the others in the square to watch from a distance as he waved, garlanded and applauded when he won a seat in Chandannagar. She looked away at the river. What had she done? Would it land her in trouble? Would Pradhan Jethu tell Kaka? Then she will surely get canned by Kaki. She eyed Aniruddha, enjoying the view of greenery around them, and cleared her throat.
“Thamma doesn't mean all politicians are bad.” She sounded unconvincing, “I meant some are…”
“It is alright if your Thamma feels that way. Most of the country does.” Aniruddha reassured. “She is not entirely wrong.”
“I… apologise if I…” Bondita looked scared.
“Never apologise for being right. Your unfiltered words are rare.” He made her look up and nod.
“We are here.” Fokir Majhi shouted as she got up.
“We will come back here after the inspection. Will you wait?” She asked as the man nodded, tying his boat to the bamboo pole stuck in the mud along the shore. Bondita easily removed the rope from her cycle and carried it to the shore through the muddy water. Aniruddha stopped, unsure, as she turned around and watched him remove his shoes and pull up his pants to his knees. Bondita smiled.
“Don’t worry, Babu, there are no snakes and crocodiles in this shallow area. It's a Ghat. They are also scared of people.” She insisted as she parked her cycle on the dry land and rushed down to help him. Her skirt was muddy, but she did not care. Fokir had smiled and helped put his cycle down on the dirt road beside Bondita’s. He waited for Aniruddha to get down, waving his Gamcha over his head to shoo away some mosquitoes. Bondita watched Aniruddha check his pocket for his purse, a little unsure of the water, as he held his shoes up in his left hand. It was not deep, for it hardly reached Bondita’s knees, but if his purse fell in it, it would be gone.
“Here, Babu.” Bondita extended her hand. “Give me your hand.”
Aniruddha was unsure of whether the child could support his weight as he leapt down like them. But what choice did he have? For whatever reason, Fokir was not helping him. Little did Fokir know that he did not mind his touch like most Babus. He gave Bondita his hand, and she firmly held on to him, stumbling a little to balance herself as Aniruddha jumped down from the boat into the murky water, awkwardly splashing water all over himself and Bondita. She giggled as he appeared startled.
“Come along, it will dry up in the sun.” She insisted, firmly holding his hand in both her hands and dragging him to shore. “Fokir Miyah, can you bring some water with your Gamcha?” She insisted as Aniruddha stared at his muddy feet, shoes in hand. “Wait, Babu, he will bring water to wash your feet.”
“How about you?” Aniruddha stared at her muddy feet and clean sandals. She smiled.
“I am used to the mud. They say the nature here is good for us.” Aniruddha jumped a little as Fokir tried to wash his feet.
“What are you doing?” he asked, a little startled.
“Oh, I apologise, Babu, I should not have touched you.” He looked scared. Aniruddha frowned as Bondita watched them keenly.
“What? No, it's not that. Why will you touch my feet?” He clarified. Fokir looked puzzled as Bondita intervened.
“Your family has been the zamindar of our land for ages, so we serve…”
“Please don’t.” Aniruddha interrupted, turning to Fokir, “You are older than I am. Bring me the water, I will help myself.” A confused Fokir looked at Bondita, who nodded as he did what he was told. Aniruddha eyed them, a little disturbed at how the class division and caste system, the law promised to fight against, were so normally prevalent in every corner of the country. Once he had washed his feet, Fokir gave him the Gamcha to clean it. Aniruddha took it a little reluctantly and put his shoes on after cleaning his feet.
“I should have gotten long boots.” He murmured to himself.
“Boots get stuck in the mud, Babu.” Bondita shrugged, “ Come.” She waited for Aniruddha and started cycling to the nearby Adivasi village. Aniruddha followed her, watching from afar the devastation visible as an aftermath of the cyclone. The fallen trees, roofless houses, stumbled walls, and water-logged dirt road where at points they had to stop their cycle and follow a line of bamboo sticking their heads out of the water of the ponds which were once on either side of the dirt road now completely submerging it due to the rise in water level. They finally reached the village.
