Chapter one
Anurag Garg, a man in early thirties led a comfortable life with his mother in a mansion in the posh locality in Lucknow. Aradhana, his elder sister had settled abroad after marrying a NRI doctor. During childhood his mother’s excessive love for Aradhana filled him a sense of deep resentment that shadowed him into adulthood. Perhaps, the lack of mother’s love, more imagined than real, was the reason for his frosty relationship with his sister. Luxury cars, designer clothes, expensive watches and latest gadgets didn’t excite him. In last five years he’d changed as many professions but the job satisfaction eluded him. So, he decided to work as a freelance journalist with the print and electronic media.
Of late, people with dubious wealth had thronged his neighborhood. His house was largest in the area with acres of greenery all around. It had three stories, a huge portico and backyard, a dozen rooms and plenty of open spaces. White exterior gave it a modest look but from inside it had lavish furnishings. The vulgar and brazen display of wealth stifled the architectural beauty, which cried for attention in a few obscure corners. A year later the taller and bigger mansions sprang up all around and his house lost its exclusivity.
Initial education from a good boarding school in India and graduation from a foreign university had caused his long absence from the city. After coming back he’d made a few friends with whom he loved to spend his evenings. During one such get-together he got into a discussion with them about public morality. When he found himself losing the argument, he yelled, “What do you guys know about honesty? Everybody knows how your fathers have accumulated so much wealth to build huge bungalows?”
His friends got enraged. Born and raised under the debasing influence of wealth, corruption to them had become a non-issue. One of them, the son of a senior bureaucrat, who couldn’t take it any further, screamed, “Shut up. Stop talking about our fathers. Did you ever try to find about yours? He was the most corrupt manager in the history of the oil company. He swindled millions of rupees, constructed a mansion and splurged on his daughter’s wedding. When the department ordered an inquiry against him, he disappeared. Till date no one knows where he’s hiding. So, don’t preach us about morality. Maybe our fathers aren’t hundred-percent honest but in today’s world who is? At least they aren’t quitters like yours.”
Then they, one by one, added on to his misery with their acerbic jibes at his father. Stung, he sat motionless and listened to them. Their voices tormented him long after they had left. Distressed, he went for a long drive to calm his nerves. In a secluded place he stopped the car and sat on the bonnet with head resting on the palm. The sky was moonless and dark. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t forget what his friends had said about his father for whom he’d great admiration.
However hard he tried to brush it aside; their words clanged in his mind. Even a bystander could tell that the house he lived in needed a fortune to build. Neither his father had inherited any wealth, nor earned enough to afford it. So, some of the money, if not all, spent on its construction was ill-gotten. The thought that his father had swindled funds meant for the poor made him nauseous.
An intense debate about good and bad, moral and immoral, legal and illegal went on in his mind. Petrified, he shut his eyes in despair. A little later he descended into an abyss that sucked him to its core and began churning. The dark liquid filled the chasm where hundreds of repulsive and horrible-looking creatures with horns, huge bulging eyes and open mouths rushed to eat him up. He struggled to break free from their clutches but couldn’t. Terrified, he screamed, “Oh God, please save me from this.”
Suddenly he sat up and opened his eyes. The bushes and trees gleamed in the dark. The cool light soothed his nerves. The breeze dried up his sweat. He took a deep breath and mumbled, ‘Thank you God for saving me.’ It occurred to him that there was no escape from his father’s unsavory past. Perhaps, his mother and sister had turned a blind eye to it. But he must seek the truth without which his tormented soul wouldn’t rest easy.
A moment’s realization changed his life’s perspective. The house, which earlier evoked pride in him, filled his heart with shame. He became lonelier and miserable and wanted to run away from his home and mother to an unknown place where the cruel truth wouldn’t hound him. His father’s past was bound to chase and torment him all his life unless he exorcised its ghost. Perhaps that explained his mother’s prolonged prayers and his sister’s reluctance to come to India. So, both the women knew the secret but denied it to him. What could be the reason? He pondered in the dark, lonesome night.
He must unearth his father’s secrets at any cost. The karma would make him to atone for his father’s sins. As he mulled over his future course of action, a star fell in front. He shut his eyes and made a wish. An hour later he returned home, had a quiet dinner with his mother and went to his bedroom.
For a few days he stayed aloof and talked little with his mother. His weird behaviour gave her sleepless nights and she got worried when he evaded her questions. Helpless, she prayed. Somehow she’d inkling what bothered him but was afraid to talk about it and open up her wounds.
Then one day during dinner he asked her, avoiding a direct eye contact, “Mummy, do you think there’s something about father that I need to know as his son?”
His mother put the spoon down. Her face tightened and eyes blinked in quick succession. Shocked, she asked, “Anurag, what makes you think so? I’ve told you what you need to know about your deceased father.”
Through her terse rejoinder she made it clear to him that she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. She didn’t want to open up a painful chapter of her life. But he insisted to know the truth, “Have you told me everything? I mean things that you and Aradhana know and I don’t.”
She fidgeted in the chair, wiped her mouth, gulped down a glass of water and asked, “Okay, what do you want to know about him?”
“Everything.”
“Why?”
“He was my father and as his son I deserve to know all about him.”
“Like?”
“Where did he work? How much was his salary? How did he get so much money in such a short time?” his voice was dispassionate.
“You harbor doubts about his integrity,” she said with pain and anger in her voice.
“Yes Mummy, until I find the truth, this will linger on in my mind.”
“Son, I understand your feelings but are you ready to hear about your father whom you hold in high esteem?”
“I’ll handle it.”
“All right,” she said, “Wait for me in the living room.”
She joined him after a while. Settling on the couch, she asked, “Where should I begin?”
“From the beginning, please.”
“Okay. Thirty-five years ago, I married Divakar in a simple ceremony. Ours was an arranged marriage. Coming from the family of engineers and doctors, he considered himself a loser. One day he confided in me that his cousins’ successes made him jealous. He spent his childhood in poverty and deprivation and that, perhaps, had made him greedy. Our first three years were full of hardships until he got a decent job. When things started to look up, Aradhana was born.”
“In 1973,” he cut her short.
“Yeah. The same year we moved to Digboi where he joined as a manager in the Oil Refinery. On weekends we went to Dibrugarh, the nearest town to collect groceries. Those were wonderful days. Aradhana had filled our home with abundance of joy. For a while we lived a blissful life. A year later a storm brewed up in the countryside of Assam. The United Liberation Front of Assam, ULFA an underground organization began to fire up the youth. Their cadres swelled up and in no time the state was in the grip of insurgency. Emboldened, the rebels indulged in the arson, looting, extortion and kidnapping. The outsiders became their soft targets.”
“Was Digboi affected too?” he asked.
“Yes, of course. People in the Oil Refinery lived in perpetual fear. Some relocated their families to safer places. When Divakar got the first threat, he shifted us to Lucknow in a rented accommodation. To my surprise he built this house within a couple of years. He told me that he’d taken loan from the bank. I’d no reasons to disbelieve him. He visited us twice a year. We were overjoyed when you were born. He was desperate for a son,” she gave him an affectionate look.
“So, I didn’t bring bad luck in your life,” he said.
“Come on, Anurag. You should never think that way. In fact, you brought tremendous joy and faith in my life. I was glad Aradhana had a company. My life was so blissful but the news of Assam sent a chill down my spine. Every day I prayed for Divakar’s safety. A few years later your father went missing. His deputy called me to give me the bad news. I rushed to Digboi where I stayed for a month but without any success. With a hope that Divakar would come back soon, I returned home. A month later an officer told me that the ULFA had kidnapped Divakar and demanded a huge ransom for his release. I ran from pillar to post in Delhi and pleaded with officials to pay the money and get him free. But the heartless bureaucrats and politicians gave me only the verbal assurances. Helpless, I prayed for his safe return. To my delight I learnt one day that he’d escaped from the insurgents’ captivity.”
Unable to hold his excitement, Anurag asked, “What happened to father after that?”
“For a long time I didn’t hear anything about him. Suddenly my world crumbled down when the refinery officials told me that his dead body had been found in the forest near Dimapur. I didn’t get to do his last rites. Since the body had decomposed, they had to cremate it the same day. I was handed over his belongings and asked to sign the pension papers.”
“Mummy, I’m so sorry you had to go through all this.”
“Nothing compared to what awaited me. A week later the CBI officials came home and asked me about the financial embezzlement Divakar was accused of. Armed with a search warrant they ransacked the house but found nothing incriminating. They left empty-handed. I’d to defend his reputation in the court. My ordeal was over when the judge, in absence of any credible evidence and since the accused had died, set aside the case. You know whatever has happened in our lives after that.”
“But something is missing in the story.” he said.
“Who am I to judge after the court cleared your father? One thing I’m sure that he isn’t going to come back and so what’s the point in digging up his past,” she wiped her tears.
“How did he manage to build this mansion if he didn’t get any money through dubious means?”
“I never questioned him. A wife in our society never questions her husband how he earns his money as long as he provides for his family.”
“Mummy, did your conscience ever trouble you that you raised us on evil money?” he asked.
A feeble smile lit up her parched lips and vanished soon after. She said in a serious
tone, “Son, you will never understand a woman’s inner struggles. Conscience alone doesn’t drive us. Pragmatism, I guess, is a more predominant feeling.”
“Mummy, It might be easy for a wife to forget her husband’s sins but not for a son.”
“Anurag, why can’t you reconcile that he’s no more? Why do you want to disrupt our lives? Find a nice girl, get married and if you aren’t comfortable here we can sell this house and move to a new place,” she pleaded.
“I’m sorry. At the moment marriage is the last thing on my mind. The mystery of father’s disappearance gives me sleepless nights. Maybe, the crooked officials cremated another body as they were in a hurry to wind up the inquiry. So, I must find out the truth. Who knows, Daddy might still be alive?”
“Anurag, is this journey so important to you?” she asked.
“Yes Mummy.”
She could see resolve in his eyes and it would be futile to expect him to cancel the trip. Resigning to her fate, she asked, “When do you plan to move out?”
After a brief pause he replied, “In a few days. I hope to come back within a fortnight but can’t be sure about it.”
“All right,” she wiped her tears.
Then she stood, said goodnight and walked towards her bedroom. That night the sleep eluded both for a long time, though, for different reasons. She prayed. With hopes for a last minute miracle, she went to bed.
Chapter Two
A day before his departure a call from Aradhana, the first one in three months surprised Anurag. She argued with him for cancelling his trip to Digboi but when she found him unrelenting, she gave up and wished him good luck. Like her mother, she too was shocked by his decision to go on a needless journey. Disappointed, she hung up.
He picked up a digital camera, diary, checkbook and money in thousand-rupee denomination. He chose comfortable clothes. Then he took a needle and thread, and stitched the money into the seams of his shirts and inner pocket of his trousers. In the night she took him to the puja room where she, after the prayers, tied an amulet with black thread around his right arm and said, “Wear it all the time. It will protect you from every evil.”
On the day of departure, his mother and friends were present at the railway station to bid him farewell. Before boarding the train he hugged them and when he came to his mother, he choked up. She held his face between her hands and said in a trembling voice, "Son, take care. I’ll pray to God to end your search soon."
Fighting tears he said, “Mummy, I’ll.”
Then his embrace slackened. A shaft of excruciating pain struck her body and heart. She gave up the pretense of a resolve that forbade her to express her feelings. Unrestrained, silent tears streamed down her cheeks. His eyes filled up with remorse. A little later the train wheeled out of the platform. Standing at the gate he watched her till she faded out of sight. Suddenly it occurred to him that he could be leaving her for a long time. All journeys came with an element of uncertainty and his wouldn’t be any different.
As the train picked up speed, he fought tears of self-reproach for leaving his mother alone. Then he flipped through the newspaper to lessen his guilt but in vain. He replaced it on the table and lifted the window. A gust of country air filled the coupe, giving him some relief. The soot ran in through the window and fell on the paper. With every passing moment the train took him miles away from his home towards an unknown destination. He collected himself and wrote down his plans in the diary. If everything went well, he should complete the task within a fortnight and return home. But if some unforeseen problems cropped up, then he could be held up for an uncertain time. He’d catered for that eventuality. What if the search took him to the undergrounds? The thought sent a chill down his spine, but if needed, he’d risk that too.
In the night he ate a tasteless dinner cooked in the panty car and went to bed. He tossed and turned on the narrow berth. Next morning he woke up and found the coupe empty. The talkative co-passengers travelling with him from Lucknow had alighted at the station. A sigh escaped his lips. When the train was about to move a middle-aged passenger rushed into the coupe.
After putting his luggage on the upper berth, the man gave him a suspicious look and sat on the opposite seat. For a second Anurag got scared.
The passenger extended his hand and said, “I’m Ripun Bora.”
“Call me Anurag. I’m from Lucknow and going to Digboi.”
Ripun was a lecturer in a college in Guwahati and had gone to Bongaigaon to look up his old parents. He offered Anurag to give any information about Digboi as he’d lived there once.
Ripun sighed, “Thank God, you’re not from Delhi.”
“Why?” Anurag gave him a surprised look.
“Delhi brings bad memories to most folks from this region. Thousands of boys and girls from the northeast go there for college education and for jobs in the call centres, hotels, malls and restaurants. There, they face taunts, lewd gestures and social isolation. Delhiites call us chinkys and behave as if we come from Korea, China, Japan or Mongolia. Our folks
are on constant guard against the ruffians, landlords, employees and police.”
“It’s sad and shameful,” Anurag said. “Do you have any personal experience?”
“Yeah, I stayed in Delhi for four months, looking for a decent job. Prejudice against the people of the northeast is deep-rooted among the local population. The men think our girls are of easy virtue because of their modern dress and Mongoloid features. The parents there advise their kids to stay away from us. The paying guest accommodation is tough to get. Often the landlords ask us humiliating questions whether we eat snakes or our folks wear leaves back home.”
“It’s shocking the national capital is so insensitive to the people from the northeast,” Anurag said.
“Avoid talking about Delhi with anyone here. You will invite hostile reaction from people,” Ripun cautioned.
“Good you told me, I’ll keep it in mind.”
Ripun fell in thought. A deep sense of hurt and alienation filled his eyes. Anurag had read it in the newspapers about the physical isolation of the northeast from mainland India but until then he hadn’t given it a thought that the emotional alienation would be so deep. It occurred to him that his task would be much more difficult.
Ripun turned to him and asked, “What are you thinking about?”
“I’m trying to figure out what you went through in Delhi.”
“It’s in our destiny,” Ripun chuckled. “In ancient times the Han Chinese drove our tribe out of our homeland in China. Our ancestors traveled for countless years over thousands of miles in search of a new motherland. Finally, they landed in the Brahmaputra Valley and lived a life of peace and freedom for many centuries. Then the British caged us and handed the cage to India. Earlier the Hans persecuted us, now it’s the mainland Indians. So, nothing has changed in our lives in two thousand years.”
Perhaps, no outsider would ever fathom how deep-rooted resentment Ripun carried in his heart. Anurag could only empathize with him.
After a while Ripun turned to him and asked, “Where do you plan to stay in Digboi?”
“I’ll find some lodging.”
“It’s a small town. You can check into a hotel at Dibrugarh and hire a taxi to commute to Digboi,” Ripun suggested.
“Okay, I’ll see.”
Before Guwahati they had hot tea. Anurag still grappled with the imagined scenes of racial biases against the people from that region. He wondered how the youth there faced the discrimination. It wasn’t strange that several young men had taken up arms to wage a war against India. He was curious to know what the ordinary man thought of the ULFA and their cause. And who could tell him better than Ripun who knew the pulse of the youth?
“What does an average Assamese think of the ULFA?” he asked.
Ripun burst into laughter. His eyes glistened with teardrops. In the past he’d faced that question several times and felt like strangulating the questioners, but now he didn’t suffer from such a strong feeling. Anurag was a well-meaning guy and so, he could bare his heart out before him.
“I can be honest with you,” Ripun said, wiping his eyes. “If you scratch any Assamese heart, you will find it beating for freedom. Well, some of us have buried it so deep within ourselves that we have forgotten it exists.”
“I’ve got my answer,” Anurag said.
“Don’t think too much about the ULFA,” Ripun explained. “Take a few precautions. Be normal, avoid secluded places and night travel, hide your affluence and fear, and you will face no problems. I better pack up my things. We are about to reach Guwahati.”
Then he replaced the papers, books and gamchha into the suitcase. He locked it
and stared in the dark outside. Looking at his watch, he grumbled, “The train’s late by three hours. It’s never on time.”
“How far is Guwahati?”
“In half-hour we’ll be there,” he continued gazing in the black.
“Ripun, may I ask you something?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Do you think you can ever realize your dream?”
It brought a smile on the native’s face. He replied, “My grandpa said that a single dream was like a spring breeze but a thousand dreams together had the force of a storm capable of changing the course of history. Nobody has seen the future and nobody can predict it. Who knows, my grandpa’s words might come true someday.”
The train screeched to a halt. Ripun got up and lifted his luggage. Anurag gave him a warm handshake, “You were a great company. Thank you for telling me so much about this place.”
“I’d a wonderful time with you. Drop in at my place on your return journey. Here’s my card,” Ripun wished him good luck and got down. Anurag alighted to get something to eat. Ripun yelled from behind, “Hey, mind your luggage.”
Anurag thanked him. After buying the puri and sabzi he returned to his seat. When the train moved out, he’d his food and glanced at the watch. Tired, he went to sleep. Next morning he awoke when the train stopped at Dibrugarh. He left the station and checked into the nearest hotel that boasted of clean rooms with tolerable amenities. He ordered hot tea.
The first leg of his journey had concluded without any major hassle. He scanned the headlines of the local English daily. The front page news of a bomb blast in Sibsagar district caught his attention and he went through the details between sips. The ULFA had taken the responsibility for the explosion. Beads of sweat trickled down his temples.
After freshening up he hired a taxi for Digboi. The driver, his guide and interpreter was Hemant Gogoi, a quintessential Assamese whose stubborn, old ambassador refused to budge. It started after he hurled abuses in the Assamese. Once its wheels took a full rotation, a smile paid a brisk visit on his face. Thereafter, they drove on.
A perpetual mist veiled the mountains. The wind was fresh and the weather pleasant. The bamboo huts, dotting the countryside, added a soothing contrast to overbearing green of the paddy fields and hills. The farmers, wearing long bamboo hats, worked in the fields.
After some time Hemant, gazing in the rear-view mirror, asked, “Sir, what brings you to Digboi?”
His first reaction was to lie but he settled for the truth, “I’m going to look for my missing father. He was manager in the Oil Refinery there.”
Hemant whispered in a mysterious voice, “Sir, the outsiders come here in search of something left behind by their fathers and grandfathers.”
“It seems you know a lot about the outsiders,” Anurag chuckled.
“Yes sir. Many people from India visit this place.”
“What do you mean? Isn’t Assam in India? I hope you’re not a ULFA sympathizer. I met one in the train,” Anurag asked, getting peeved.
“I hate the violence but I do support their struggle for freedom,” the driver said.
Perhaps, Hemant was a staunch ULFA supporter but hesitant to admit before a non- Assamese. Anurag got scared. Did he make a mistake in hiring a supporter of the militants who had kidnapped his father? But it was too late to change him now. Fear lulled him into silence.
Chapter Three
Living a cocooned life in Lucknow, he’d never thought about the insurgency. But journey in the remote corner of Assam has opened his eyes. Four hours later they reached the oil town of Digboi. En route, Hemant told him how Digboi got its name. When the British arrived there, they found the place uninhabited and surrounded by hills and jungles. While walking through the area one day a British Sergeant’s boot got stuck in the mud. When he tried to remove the mud from the shoe it smelled of oil. Excited, he shouted, ‘dig boy, dig boy,’ to the soldiers. That’s how the place got its name, ‘Digboi’.
He reached the refinery. The guard gave him a cold stare. He handed his visiting card at the gate and said, “I want to meet the manager. It’s urgent.”
When the guard learnt that he was Divakar’s son, his attitude changed. The man dusted a chair for him and brought him a glass of water. Then, he said, “Sir, I served under your father. He was a kind boss.”
Later the guard spoke to the manager and walked him to the office, about five-hundred meters away. Anurag was relieved to know that the first man he’d met in the refinery had something nice to say about his father.
The manager’s throat went dry. He wiped his forehead with handkerchief and called his deputy to discuss how to handle Divakar’s son who had shown up after so many years. He was scared that his involvement in the embezzlement might surface up. The deputy assured him that there was nothing in the departmental inquiry that could implicate them. They could let Anurag have a look at it. If they denied him the document, he might become suspicious and get a court order and force them to give him a copy. The manager saw the logic and calmed down.
When the door creaked; both put on a smile and welcomed him.
“Mr Anurag, please come in and have a seat,” the manager gave a warm handshake.
Within minutes an office boy served them tea and biscuits. Anurag asked, “Sir, I’m here in connection with my father’s abduction. I wonder if you knew him, but I’ll request for every bit of information about the case.”
“Sure,” the manager said, “Please finish your tea first. I’ll answer all your questions.”
Thereafter, for next half-hour the manager told him everything, most of which was of little significance. Anurag had a detailed look at the inquiry and tried to search anything of value. After an hour of labor, he was disappointed. He thanked the manager and walked out of the office.
“Thank God, he left satisfied,” the manager turned towards his deputy and sighed. “Our one mistake could have landed us in trouble.”
At the gate the guard asked him, “Sir, I hope you got what you were looking for.”
“No. The office files conceal more and reveal less. I learnt nothing new,” he replied.
The guard said, “Sir, I know some workers who have served under your father. They could be of some help to you.”
“Please take me to them.”
“Wait till lunch break.”
Later he drove to a dingy place where the guard introduced him to half-dozen men. The workers were having a day off. Anurag looked at them, gauged their mood and said, “The guard has told you about the purpose of my visit. I’ll request you to give me any piece of information, however insignificant it might look to you, about my father.”
Many heads nodded. Then a worker said, “Sahib, Divakar babu was a nice man. I doubt the ULFA has abducted him. Somebody in the refinery is involved.”
Most laborers concurred with him. But an intelligent-looking man objected, “Sir, don’t believe a word of theirs. I’m quite sure the ULFA has abducted your father and taken
him away from this place to avoid the rescue operation by the police.”
He listened to them and tried to separate the wheat from the chaff. From their talks he got some valuable inputs and needed to piece them together to make a sense of it. He thanked them for their help and walked towards the taxi. When he was about to open the door, a voice whispered into his ears, “Sir, I want to tell you something in private.”
Surprised, he looked back. A worker stood behind him. Both moved a few meters away. Then the man spoke in a mysterious tone, “Sir, my name is Tarun Golmoi. I’ve some important information for you.”
Unable to bear suspense, Anurag urged, “Tell me everything you know about my father.”
“I hope you won’t take offence.”
“No, you’ve my word,” he patted his back.
“There’s a woman here whom sahib met often. Her name is Debika Saikia. I call her Maahi.”
Anurag said, “Take me to her. Maybe, she knows something about my father.”
They headed straight to her house on the city outskirts. Leaving Hemant in the taxi, Anurag and Tarun went inside. The modest dwelling had two bedrooms of bamboo walls and floors, and tin roof to protect it from the incessant rain. Tarun knocked and called out, “Maahi.”
Anurag waited with bated breath. A little later a woman in mid-forties, dressed in a simple cotton sari, opened the door. A smile flashed on her face seeing Tarun at the doorstep. She was startled to see a stranger with him. Tarun whispered in her ears. Her face underwent many shades of reaction, from curiosity to surprise to delight. She held her smile a little longer and welcomed them inside.
He’d a close look at the mystery woman. She’d average looks. Her thin face was wrapped in many layers of anxiety. Diminishing glow had taken some shine off her beauty.
Her misty eyes seemed in an eternal wait for his father. In contrast, his mother was more beautiful. He’d never know why his father gave his heart to her. Most affairs, he knew, never withstood the test of logic. Often they were the acts of impulse.
Both sat on the sofa and she went to the kitchen. A little later she emerged with two glasses of water. Sitting opposite Anurag, she said, “I saw you once when you were a two-year old toddler.”
“It must have been when my father brought me here for a few months,” he said.
She went back to the kitchen to bring them tea. In a voice saddle with nostalgia, she spoke, “The state was engulfed in insurgency that forced him to dispatch his family to Lucknow.”
“How did you meet my father?” he asked.
She said, “One day I saw him in the fish market. He was asking the seller how to cook a Hilsa. I couldn’t stop myself from showing off my cooking skills and told him the recipe. In excitement I invited him for fish and rice that evening. Stunned, he relented perhaps out of courtesy and his desire for the home-cooked food. That evening is so vivid in my mind. He was as nervous as a dove when he stepped inside my house. After a hurried dinner, he left.”
Anurag moved on the edge of his seat and asked, “What happened next?”
Shuffling in the cane chair, she resumed, “After that we didn’t meet each other for a few weeks. I almost forgot about him. On impulse I’d invited a stranger for dinner and I regretted my decision. Then his sudden appearance one day shocked me. Perhaps, we were destined to meet again. I found him a lonely man. Anurag, when you get married you will know that a man can’t live without a woman for long. A few meetings later he expressed his love to me. It didn’t surprise me. I was already in love with him. This is all I know about your
father.”
He was too stunned to react. Was she trying to justify his father’s love affair? There, he sat opposite a woman who had stolen his mother’s husband. She’d no remorse in her heart, no shame in her eyes. He admired her guts. She was unaware of the fate that was to befall her. His father’s both women endured loneliness with their share of his memories, and both ended up on the losing side. A few questions bugged his mind and she might have answers to them. Finishing tea, he said, “I wish to know certain things about my father.”
She nodded.
“Who abducted my father?”
“The ULFA abducted him.”
“Was he in their captivity until his death?”
“They moved him to Dimapur when they got the wind of a police rescue operation.”
“One more thing. Was he involved in any financial fraud here?”
“I heard such a rumour but I’m not sure. Men hardly discuss their financial matters with women. How could he? I wasn’t his wife. Moreover, it’s not in our culture to denigrate the dead,” she said. “He gave me money every month. A week before his abduction he’d promised to marry me.”
Anurag gazed at her eyes, which had started filling up. His heart went out to her. She picked up the cups and plates and moved inside. In the kitchen she wiped her tears with the sari pallo. He felt pity for her. His father had promised to marry her and then disappeared, leaving her in the lurch.
“Stay for lunch,” she urged.
“One last question,” he asked, standing up, “Are you married?”
“I’m a widow,” she replied. “Please don’t tell your mother about me.”
When he got up to leave, she asked him to wait and went inside to fetch a paper.
Handing him the address she said, “He’s the man who saw him last in Dimapur. Your father had asked him to write to me. A week after I got the letter I read in the newspaper that his dead body was found in the forest.”
After a cursory glance he pocketed it. Then he thanked her and got in the taxi. Within minutes he was gone. She came back to the house and cleared the table. A piece of paper caught her attention. Curious, she opened the note. With paper in hand she searched for her glasses and sighed when she saw them on the refrigerator. Then she sat on the bed and read it.
He’d written, “I doubt if my father is still alive. But if he’s, he’ll have to answer a lot of questions. If you fall on hard times, deposit the check into your account. I forgive you for stealing my mother’s husband.”
She read it again and again, and started wailing. Then she fell on the bed, drained of energy. Divakar’s memories that she’d buried with great difficulty had returned to haunt her. She couldn’t blame anyone else for her miseries. Knock on the door cut her sobs short. She stood, wiped her eyes and opened the door. With a forced smile she let her neighbor and friend in.
“Debika, who was the man?” the friend asked sitting down.
“He was Divakar’s son,” she said.
“Did you tell him he has a half-sister?” the woman probed.
“No, I didn’t have the heart to do it,” Debika replied putting the tea pan on the gas.
The neighbor had seen Tarun with a stranger enter her house and eavesdropped but couldn’t hear the complete conversation. She was dying to know the details. Why Divakar’s son had come to Debika after so many years bothered her. When she learnt the details, her frown lines eased up. Then both sat down to have tea. They put a tablespoon of puffed rice in the cup and enjoyed their tea. The neighbor told Debika that she had made a mistake by not telling the son that his father’s had married her in secret and had a daughter with his second wife. After tea she went home.
Anurag dropped Tarun near the workers’ quarters. Handing him some money, he thanked him and left. They drove through the rain and mist. The cool breeze, drifting fog and colorful birds failed to lift his spirits up. After a while the rain stopped and a huge rainbow cut across the sky, the brightest he’d ever seen. He grinned. Melancholy in his heart started to melt. Hypnotized, he watched it for a while.
A mile short of Dibrugarh town, Hemant asked, “Sir was your trip successful?”
“No.”
“Where do you intend to go from here?”
“Dimapur.”
“Dimapur?” Hemant smirked. “Sir, are you married?”
“No.”
“Stay away from girls there?”
“Why?”
“The tribal girls know the black magic with which they can turn a man into a ram and enslave him forever. Beware of them,” Hemant grinned.
“You want me to believe that,” Anurag laughed.
“Yes. You will put yourself in danger,” Hemant warned.
The taxi entered the hotel premises. Hemant accompanied him up to his room where Anurag bade an emotional goodbye to his guide and interpreter. Promising to meet him if he came to Dibrugarh, both parted with a warm hug.