Rajendra Sharma came to the living room after finishing dinner and sat comfortably on a sofa. His wife Savitri, two daughters, Rima and Rina and son Ratul were still eating in the dining hall.
Sharma leaned forward and took the bota from the table onto his lap. He picked a piece of betel nut and a betel leaf from it, smeared the leaf with lime, folded the nut into it, then shoved the whole thing in his mouth. He had just started chewing, eyes closed, when he heard knocking at the main door. It was 9.30 at night. He waited for a while when he heard the knocking once again, a little louder this time. Savitri had finished her dinner by then. She came into the living room and looked at her husband. Sharma rose to his feet and asked softly, ‘Who is that?’
‘It’s me, Golap. Please open the door,’ the suppressed voice said from the other side.
Sharma looked at Savitri. Both of them knew Golap, a young man from the area who was always on the move. They recognised his voice, so Sharma decided to open the door. As soon as he did, Golap almost pushed him back and hurriedly entered the room. He was followed by three other young men, each carrying a huge bag on his back.
Panic-stricken Sharma pulled Savitri towards him and asked, ‘Who are they? And what do you want from us?’ His voice became a little louder.
Golap ignored his words and waved the youth onto the sofa. He then came close to Sharma and said, ‘Raju Da, they are members of our organisation. They had been to the Karbi hills to attend a series of discussions over the past weeks and are now on their way to the other side of the border. They reached here in the evening and had dinner at our place. But I could not provide them with shelter as the police keep coming to look for me. So, I brought them here. All they need is some space for the night. They will leave before sunrise.”
Sharma observed that Golap was not making a request. It seemed, he assumed that a room would be available for his men.
On hearing voices, Ratul, Rima, and Rina came to the living room. The men looked at them, then shifted their glares to Sharma. Sharma asked his grown-up daughters to go inside and then he too went to the dining hall with Savitri.
‘What the hell is going on here?’ Savitri said. ‘Does that fellow think that this house belongs to his father and that he can bring anyone here whenever he feels like it? And do you know who those men are? They are from that outlawed organisation and are wanted people, just like Golap. You should not have allowed them to enter the house.’
‘You saw how they almost barged into the house as soon as I opened the door. What to do now?’ said Sharma.
‘If the police or army get to know about it, I don’t know what they would do to us.’
‘But do you think saying no to them would be a good idea? Have you not heard how they kidnap people, beat them up and sometimes….’ Sharma could not finish the sentence. After a few seconds, he added, ‘We have two grown-up daughters and a son.’
His wife kept quiet, looking at the bare table as if she agreed with her husband.
‘Let’s give them Ratul’s room for the night. He can sleep on the divan in our room. You take Rima and Rina with you into the bed with you. I will lie down on the floor,’ he said.
When Sharma came out to the living room, he said, ‘We can give you a room with one bed. I know it may not be convenient for you, but that’s all we can offer.’
‘No problem. We have our bedding with us, so we can manage,’ replied one of the young men.
Sharma then led all four of them to Ratul’s room beside the dining hall. The room had two doors; while the first gave access to the dining hall, the second led to the backyard. The men put their bags on the floor and two of them sat on the bed.
‘The well is there in the backyard. You can freshen up before you sleep,’ Sharma said.
‘All right. Please switch off the light in the backyard. You cannot trust anyone, not even your neighbours. We will manage without the light,’ said another man.
Sharma came to the dining hall, switched off the light, and went back to the room to check if they needed anything else.
The third man had a glossy black beard. He had been silent until then. ‘It’s so nice of you to provide us with this room. We will not disturb you anymore. You may go and sleep.’
‘Please let us know if you need anything else,’ Sharma said and left the room. A part of him still worried about whether he was being too generous.
When he entered their bedroom, he saw Rima and Rina sitting on their bed, under the mosquito net. Ratul was lying on the narrow divan. Savitri had spread a thick rug on the floor and covered it with a nice bedsheet for Sharma. The ceiling fan was moving fast above them.
Sharma closed the door behind him and looked at his daughters; fear and anxiety were palpable on their faces. Ratul too was tense, but he appeared composed. Savitri was the one who appeared most disturbed by the intrusion but the presence of her husband and children seemed to calm her. She sat down at one corner of Ratul’s divan and said, ‘I don’t know whom we are helping and at what cost. My heart starts pounding whenever I think about the repercussions.’
Sharma realised he could not allow himself to be driven by his emotions at that moment. No matter what was going on inside, he would have to stay outwardly calm. ‘Don’t worry Savitri, it is just a matter of a few hours. They said they would leave before sunrise.’
‘What if something happens before that? Don’t you know how the army comes to Mahendra’s house almost every other week searching for his brother who’s also in the same organisation? They have beaten up Mahendra and abused his mother and wife too. And don't you know what the army did to Tularam, the poor milkman? They thrashed him so badly that he may not revive.’
‘Tularam worked as an informer for the organisation. So many people warned him, but he was not ready to listen. Just don’t think too much about it. Things will appear normal by the time you get up in the morning,’ he said. But deep inside, he too knew that the scenario might not be that simple.
Just then, there was a soft knock on the door of the bedroom. Savitri looked at Sharma and whispered, ‘Be careful. Don’t open the door just like that.’
‘It’s me, uncle. I am sorry to disturb you again. Can you please give me a piece of blank paper?’ It was one of the young men. Ratul immediately got a piece of paper from the table. ‘Ratul, you don’t go out. Give it to your father,’ whispered Savitri. Then looking at her husband she said, ‘Only you open the door. The children should stay away from all this.’
Sharma quietly opened the door and handed the piece of paper to the man. Turning around, he bolted the door and said, ‘The youngest one. He would be our Ratul’s age, around twenty-two.’
No one said anything in response. Sharma switched off the light and lay down on the floor knowing that he would not sleep that night. Looking at the ceiling of the dark room he thought about Golap and the young men. What inspired these youth to leave their families and fight for something absurd? A sovereign country carved out of India; would they ever be able to achieve that? Were not their leaders, who were ensconced in foreign counties, misleading them? He kept tossing and turning on the floor, while Savitri breathed heavily at regular intervals on the bed.
*
It was well past midnight when Sharma finally dozed off. He woke up suddenly on hearing some commotion around the house. It sounded as if someone was running towards the backyard. There was a knock on the back door of the room where the youth were sleeping. The door opened and a light was switched on. Sharma sat up and called his wife, ‘Savitri, Savitri...’
‘What?’ replied Savitri. In no time her head, hair dishevelled, peeped out from under the mosquito net.
Sharma had barely finished explaining when they heard the noise of heavy vehicles on the road. Quite a few of them, one followed by another. Sharma and Savitri saw the headlights illuminating the road through the windowpanes.
‘Army! Oh my god … how they learned about it?’ Savitri could barely utter the words. ‘What will happen now?’
There were noises from the other room. Someone opened the backdoor again.
‘What the hell are they doing?’ Savitri asked.
Without thinking, Sharma opened the door walked to the room. Golap and two of the others had already left through the backdoor. The third one looked at him and said hurriedly, ‘Some bastards informed the army about us.’ He then lifted his bag and said, ‘If god permits, we will meet again,’ and ran towards the lemon gardens through the backdoor. When Savitri and the children rushed into the room, they found Sharma alone, looking out of the open door.
Sharma gathered himself within a few moments and shut the backdoor. He checked the room to find out if anything had been left behind. He spotted a piece of folded paper on Ratul’s table. Unfolding it he realised that it was a letter written by one of them.
‘We need to hide this somewhere now. The army should not find it,’ he said. Savitri came forward, snatched the letter and thrust it into her blouse.
‘Now, switch off the light. There should not be any sign that we are awake at this time,’ Sharma said.
They all then tiptoed to the bedroom where they had been sleeping. Sharma removed his temporary bed from the floor. While Savitri and the children sat on the beds, Sharma paced nervously up and down. The heavy vehicles on the road fell silent, but their headlights were still on. It seemed, no one had alighted from them yet.
Sharma felt that all five of them were waiting for the sound of the boots of the army personnel who could barge into their house any time.
That was when they heard the firing. The volleys came from the vast farmland far beyond the lemon gardens in the rear. They stopped, then started again. This time they continued for longer. There were shouts.
‘Didn’t the boys run in that direction?’ asked Savitri. She started shivering.
Sharma did not say anything in reply. He just took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
The army vehicles started roaring again. From the movement of the lights, Sharma and his family realised that they were retreating one by one. No one came into their house. An eerie silence swept over the house and its surrounding.
*
The large expanse of farmland behind the lemon gardens had never been so crowded. The police and the army had cordoned off an area where four bullet-ridden bodies were lying.
Sharma’s neighbour Kanak came running to him and said, ‘Four in total. Golap is one of them. Three others are yet to be identified. Some people were saying one is from Bihali village. Apparently, they were hiding in someone's house in our village last night. On hearing the army vehicles on the road, they ran towards the farmland. Some of their colleagues who had surrendered, guided the army and a platoon was already waiting in the fields. The four youth opened fire. The army killed all of them.’
‘I heard the noise of firing. There were also a lot of vehicles on the road,’ Sharma said expecting some more details from Kanak.
‘Yes yes, quite a few vehicles.’
The police and army personnel patrolled the village till the afternoon, restricting the movement of the villagers. But they did not abuse or assault anyone on the pretext of interrogating them. Perhaps they already got what they had been waiting for.
*
Savitri’s biggest worry was the letter they found on the table. Everyone in the house asked her to burn it, but her heart did not allow her to do that. She wanted to read the letter written by the young man who was shot dead. Before her bath, she took it from her blouse and hid it under a heap of dry leaves in the lemon garden. She went to the garden in the afternoon and took it out.
Dear Mother,
Tonight I am at Sonari village, on my way from Karbi hills. I had wished to come home, but could not do so due to shortage of time. We will leave for to our camp across the border tomorrow morning. A meeting has been scheduled with their government next week. They have asked us to remove all our camps in their territory. We are safer there than in our land. Here the entire system is after us. Some of our former colleagues are now helping the police. Don’t worry about me, we are safe once we cross the border. Tell Arun Da not to roam around unnecessarily. They are not sparing any young men on roads. And make sure that father takes his BP tablets on time.
I miss you all, but I can’t be a cheater by surrendering to the police. I will bring a Barali fish next time I come home. It’s been so long since I had your fish curry. I have told Golap to deliver this letter to you whenever he gets a chance. Take care of yourself… Your Deepak
*
A moist-eyed Savitri showed the letter to her husband. Sharma held it before him for a long time as if he was reading it multiple times.
‘Had Golap informed us earlier yesterday, I could have made fish curry for them,’ Savitri said.
Sharma looked at her for a while and then looked away. ‘Cover the letter with plastic and hide it in the garden. I will try and deliver it to the family after the situation gets normal.’
*
Pranab Jyoti Bhuyan spent his formative years in Assam and came to Mumbai to pursue journalism and is currently working there. He writes short stories in his free time. His work has appeared in Out of Print.