The Bengal adventures
Adventure stories, mystery stories, ghost stories

Bibhas De's Short Stories, Vol. 2:

THE BENGALI ADVENTURE STORIES

Bengali Adventures
Cover art: Gopa De @ age 12

INDEX

VOLUME 2
(Click or scroll)

THE PHANTOM BULLOCK CART

THAT SEASHELL SUMMER

THE STATUARY FROM THE STONE QUARRY

THE SCENTED HOME OF SANTOSH SHOME (long story)

More to come...

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The Phantom Bullock Cart

[Image credit: lankapura.com]

The mail train pulled in for a very brief stop at the Sri Gouri railway station, punctually at 8:15 pm. The place was deserted – there was no one in sight up and down the length of the single platform. The Mitra family was the only one to get off the train. Directly they got off, the train pulled out. Rajkumar Babu, the father of two teenage daughters, ushered them and his wife out of the station building and onto the courtyard area where normally a few rickshaws awaited the incoming passengers. At this hour, unfortunately, there was not a single one in sight. They simply would have to wait in the hope that one would show up soon. Normally, the servant of the Mitra family would be present with rickshaws ready to pick them up. But in this instance Rajkumar Babu chose to come back a day earlier than expected, and could not send a message to his servant. He was not too worried though. If worse came to worst, they would have to walk about 30 minutes to their home.

Indeed it was not that bad. A single dirt road ended at the station. From here you would have to go through a forested area to get to the main residential district. But before you reached there, right in the middle of the forest, there stood a fairly elaborate brick house where the Mitra family lived. They were fairly wealthy, and could afford this secluded house with substantial grounds and gardens around it.

There was one vehicle of sorts, standing at one edge of the lot. It was a covered bullock cart, suitable for transporting passengers. Rajkumar Babu gave it no mind until the younger daughter Rupa said: "Baba, why can't we take the bullock cart? We are not pressed for time! Sooner or later it will get us home."

"Yes, let's," said the elder daughter Shona.

Rajkumar Babu looked at his wife Rani who seemed to like the idea. Well, why not, he thought. He approached the cart, and as he rounded it, he found the driver standing there, leaning against the cart. Rajkumar Babu asked if he was available for hire. But the man did not reply. Must be one of those people who are most economical with speech. He called out to his family, and helped them into the cab. He got in himself, and said "Let's go!"

But the man did not budge. Rajkumar Babu gave it a couple if minutes. As he was going to ask the driver again, the latter moved. He lit a hurricane lantern and hung it from a bracket on the side of the cab. He then came and sat on the driver's seat. The bullocks started to move. At least now they were now on their way home.

As each person adjusted his or her position to seat comfortably in that cramped quarters, the two girls started giggling. "What is it?" asked Rani. Shona said: "We were talking about the story The Phantom Coach. May be that's what we have here!"

Rani admonished here two daughters: "Don't make fun of people like that, especially in a way that they can hear you!"

The two girls lowered their voices. As they spoke, they kept thee eyes on the back of the driver. He seemed completely uninterested about his passengers.

Rajkumar Babu said loudly to the driver: "We did not discuss a price. What is your going rate for taking us to the Mitra House, if you know where that is?"

The man seemed to shake his head a little. But no reply came. Then Rajkumar Babu said: "All right. I will give you a whole rupee, seeing it is late at night."

The man now gave something like a grunt, and Rajkumar Babu took it to be yes. He relaxed, and sat back, leaning against the bamboo-and-straw cover structure. He also felt a little sleepy.

The girls continued with their theory. "Since he will not even speak, how can we know for sure if he is not of this world?" asked Rupa.

"We can try to touch him and see how it feels. But he might get upset."

"It is all so dark. Otherwise we could look at a distant light and see if his body obstructs it." "So we are still not sure?"

"I am afraid not."

Suddenly one of the wheels fell into a rut, and the whole vehicle jarred. Upon this, the driver said some soothing words to calm the bullocks. So, he was not a speechless person after all.

"May be we are wrong," said Shona.

"That's disappointing! No hair-raising story here we could tell others. And to think this setting was so perfect."

Rajkumar Babu had dozed off. But Rani saw that they were now coming close to the Mitra House. She asked the driver to slow down and enter the gate on the right. But there was no reaction. Panicked, Rani now awakened her husband and told her that the driver was about to pass their house by. Rajkumar Babu called out loudly for the driver to stop. He did not. Upon this Rajkumar Babu became most angry, jumped out of the back of the cab, came around and confronted the driver face to face.

~^~^~^~^~^~

The discovery was made by a passerby in the morning. He fetched the police constable who fetched the doctor. Upon finishing his examination, the doctor said: "It appears to be a case of heart failure. It is strange though, for someone in such good health."

"So, no foul play?" asked the constable. As the doctor was considering his answer, the Assistant Station Master, who was on his way to work at the station, came to see what was the matter. After the constable explained, the ASM said: "This is very curious."

"What is?" asked the constable.

"You know, only last night as I was going by this house, something came to my mind. It was exactly a year ago last night that the big railway accident happened."

The constable suddenly grasped the situation, and said "Ram Ram Ram Ram…"

The doctor was new to the area, and said: "What accident? What's all this Ram Ram about?"

The ASM filled him in: "This deserted house we are standing in front of, it was not always like that. It was full of life. The Mitras lived here with their two lovely daughters. They went on a vacation to Silchar. A year ago last night, they returned by the 8:15 pm train. But about a mile short of the station, the train derailed. It was a very bad business. Many people died. And the entire Mitra family perished."

The doctor was also impressed with the coincidence. Then he asked: "But surely this is just a coincidence. What would that have to do with the driver having a heart attack, even if he did have it on the porch of this house?"

The constable had now been examining the grounds and the cart that was standing there, with the bullocks looking perfectly calm. He pointed out: "Look at the wheel marks. The cart actually turned from the road and came through the gate into the driveway of the house. It was bringing somebody into the house."

"Or a family," said the ASM.

"Anyway, I better take a good look all around," said the constable. He went over the grounds of the house, and then entered the empty house, the ASM and the doctor in tow. The inside was all furnished, but a layer of dust covered everything. They did not see any signs of anything having been disturbed. As they were coming out, the doctor saw a book lying on the night stand between what appeared to be the two beds of the two daughters. It was called The Phantom Coach.

Back to index . .

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That seashell summer

That summer Gopa – about ten years old then – and her two elder sisters, Sunanda and Mondira, went on vacation to the seaside resort of Puri with their parents. They had rented a cottage right on the beach. You walked out the door onto a porch and then stepped right onto the beach sand! This sandy expanse between the porch and the water's edge of course became wider or narrower with the tides. There were a few coconut trees around the cottage. They completed the picture in a such a way that you developed a sea-suffused mindset. All in all, it was an idyllic place for city-bred girls to be spending a few days in.

On their first morning the three sisters went out for a walk along the beach. The water had receded and bared the previous night's bringings of the sea: Shells of all description, kelp, stone chips nicely rounded by tumbling in the seasand, skeletal remains of sea creatures and so on. Seabirds were having their morning meal noisily, and did not mind the intruders. Gopa started to collect the more exotic-looking shells and place them in a sack fashioned from a beach towel. The elder sisters joined in this activity. Each time someone picked up a shell, there was a mini-conference as to whether it should be acceptred or discarded. In this way everyone enjoyed project. Eventually, with the sun becoming stronger, they returned to the cottage and waited for the sumptuous breakfast that would brought to right to the cottage by the maids of the this resort hotel.

After breatkfast there was a free period of about an hour for everyone to get ready for a full day's outing into the town and to the temple complexes there. Gopa took this opportunity to wash the shells individually, wipe them with a towel and set them out to dry on the countertop of the bathroom washbasin. The washing was not easy. Some of the conch-type shells had quite a bit of sand in them which needed some coaxing to come out. Then the mother said: "Gopa, don't dump the sand in the basin. It will get clogged up. Collect the sand and then throw it on the beach."

So then the whole family left. The sightseeing was most enjoyable and exhilerating, but also exhausting. They had lunch in town, and then did some window shopping. Eventually, when they came back to the cottage the light had just begun to fail. The maid came and took the orders for dinner. Again, the menu was quite extensive and an indulging father let the children order whatever they wanted. No restrictions here on vacation!

Now was the time for the whole family to sit down on the porch on beach recliners and talk about any topic anyone wanted to introduce. Gopa went inside to check on her shells, and came back out most agitated: "One of my shells is missing! Who took it?!"

By that question she meant one of her sisters. The two were always playing pranks on the little sister, and so it was a foregone conclusion that one of them pinched the shell. But both of them protested most sincerely. "Honest! Not this time," said Mondira. "Don't look at me," said Sunanda. But of course Gopa was not convinced.

"Well, you had so many shells. Are you sure one is missing? May be you lost count, or may be you are not remembering right," said the father.

"I am absolutely sure one is missing," replied Gopa. "Come with me."

She took her father by the hand to the bathroom and showed the empty spot where the shell had been. The father, who of course did not remember what the original arrangement of the shells was, still felt that there seemed to be a gap in the arrangement.

"OK. If you say it is missing then it is missing. Let's go back and figure out what happened."

There was a maid working within beckoning distance and she was summoned. She said that the cleaning ladies never disturbed guest's properties. If the shells were arranged on the counter, then that part of the counter would not be touched or cleaned.

So the suspicion turned again on the two elder sisters. But when they looked at the parents and denied making away with the shell, it became clear that they were not covering up a prank.

"So my shell just vanished mysteriously?" asked Gopa of her father.

The father was a famous scientist. He did not believe in lecturing the children, but in letting them learn logic and reason on their own. And he also tried to make the experience enjoyable.

"You just used two words – vanish and mystery. One has the sense of a miracle and the other the sense of something supernaturtal. Are you sure you want jump to those possibilities before you examine simpler alternatives?”

Gopa thought for a few moments as did her sisters. Then Sunanda asked: "Gopa, what would you favorite woman detective Krishna do if she were given this case?"

"She would investigate!"

"Good," said the father. "Investigate is a much better word. How would you go about doing it?"

Now Mondira spoke: "May be the best way is to say differently what you said in terms of vanishing and being mysterious. How would you say the same thing in the simplest way. What has happened to your shell – in the simplest description?"

" The only thing I can think to say is that the shell has gone. But that sounds strange!”

"Why strange?" asked the mother.

"Strange because shells do not go away. They are just things – like a pen or a hairclip. A hairclip does not go away!"

"OK, Gopa," said the father, "Let's go back to what the maid said about cleaning. Do you see any clues there?"

"Well ... no cleaning ... no dusting ... so any layer of dust would still be there! I will go and examine the counter surface very thoroughly this time."

As Gopa went back inside, Mondira asked: "Baba, do we know what actually happened? For I am stumped!"

"Me too," said Sunanda.

Both parents smiled.

Gopa came back most excited. "Now that I looked at the counter surface very carefully, there seems to be a very faint trail from where the shell was to the edge of the counter. It is as though the shell started walking, came to the edge of the table, fell to the floor, and then walked on the floor and out of the cottage - on to the beach! That is impossible."

"Very good, Gopa. You have solved the case most admirably. As to this being impossible, you are saying this because you do not have enough information. If you did, you would see that everything makes perfect sense. Now let me tell you about hermit crabs."

"What abou hermit crabs?"

"Hermit crabs, you see, are tiny creatures that borrow any suitable shell they can find and make their home inside it. The shell that you picked up had a hermit crab living inside it. Because of your handling the shell, the crab retreated deep inside the shell. You could not see it. Same thing when you were washing it. But when we all left and things quieted down, the crab ventured out. Seeing that the coast was clear, it walked away - with the shell on its back. Yes, it simply walked away."

The much-anticipated dinner arrived shortly after this. It was very lively because Gopa kept talking excitedly about how she would tell this story to her classmates and may be even write a story for the school magazine. The sisters teased her, asking if she fancied herself Detective Krishna. "Why not? She has solved the case!" responded the mother on the child's behalf.

Back to index

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The statuary from the stone quarry*

All the four members of the Bagchi family were excited – each in his or her own way – about the two-week roadtrip to the Lushai Hills area. Sayan and Deep had been there before. But their experience during the Lunglei Diwali left a deep impression on each, and they each longed to go back to these places. Moreover, the prospect of a roadtrip with their parents also was most attractive.

The trip actually was suggested by Mrs. Bagchi's elder brother, Goutam Bose, IPS. He was well familiar with the haunting, mountainous beauty of the Lushai Hills, and wanted his sister's family to see these places. As his guest – in a manner of speaking.

The IPS meant that Bose had passed the prestigious Indian Police Service Examination, and joined the police force already as a high level officer. He in fact rose quite rapidly from there, and had just become the Deputy Inspector General of Assam Police, headquartered in Shillong. This was the highest position attainable by an Indian in British India, and carried considerable power and authority. The highest position, that of the IG, was held by an Englishman. Under him came the Assam Police as well as the formidable military police force Assam Riflles. The Assam Police was headed by DIG Bose and the Assam Rifles was headed by one Col. Ronojoy Chatterjee. By happenstance, Bose and Chatterjee were friends from the college days. The young Bagchis had heard much about Chatterjee from their uncle (all good). The colonel in turn was himself something of an adventurer and enjoyed hearing about the exploits of the young nephews from their uncle.

The upshot of all this is that the uncle had told the boys that the colonel might be in the Lushai Hills area, and if so, would arrange to meet the family there. The brothers anticipated this meeting with great pleasure, for they had already had an image of this man as a great hero.

About a week before the trip was to begin, the Officer-in-Charge of the Silchar Police came to the Bagchi home to pay a visit. Mr. Bagchi had known him only slightly, and was surprised to see him come to his home. The OC got right to the point: "Sir, I am here about your roadtrip to the Lushai Hills. Perhaps you would be kind enough to go over a few details with me."

To make a long story short, he insisted that the Bagchis travel in an unmarked police jeep with a plain-clothes Government driver, and stay at Government circuit houses everywhere. He explained that this was no special favor, but that regulations provided that close members of the DIG's family be escorted in this particular area which was highly sensitive – both politically and militarily. The brewing Second World War made this all the more imperative.

Mr. Bagchi reluctantly accepted, but insisted on paying all the expenses to the Government. The OC smiled and said: "That has already been taken care of by the DIG. Enjoy your trip. Go wherever you like, whenever you like. Anything at all you need, just ask your driver. He will be with you the whole time, staying with you at the circuit houses."

~^~^~^~

The Bagchi brothers were constantly mindful of another facet of this trip. Their uncle, Mama, of course knew of their reputation as a mystery-solving, adventure-loving duo. His response to this quality in his nephews was to try to create and place problems before them that he made very difficult for them to solve. But he secretly hoped they would solve them. So the brothers fully expected that Mama would pose some problem along the way. Their task would be to recognize it as such and unravel it. So basically the brothers were prepared for anything – from a simple prank to an elaborate and well-disguised “conspiracy.”

If the roadtrip ended without their recognizing the plot, they would have to admit defeat – to themselves, that is.

~^~^~^~

The jeep came to their home promptly at the appointed hour. The driver, a stalwart bearded and turbaned Sikh, was most pleasant. He wore civilian clothes: trousers, a half-sleeved shirt and a cream-color turban. He introduced himself as Shardul Singh. “Please call me Shardul,” he said. The Punjabi-speaking Sikh spoke nearly fluent Bengali, resorting to Hindi when some Bengali word or expression escaped him. He surely had to be a policeman or a soldier or a secret service agent – but nothing about him betrayed that fact. The Bagchi brothers noticed he carried a shoulder bag that seemed to have something heavy in it. Must be a revolver. Also, when they climbed into the jeep, they saw a Sten Gun clamped to the back of the driver’s seat. Otherwise the jeep was unmarked, and had most comfortable seats.

When the driver saw the party eyeing the weapon, he said with a smile: “Please have no concern. This is just a standard precaution. There will never be any need to use it.”

After a very leisurely journey with tea breaks and leg-stretching breaks, they crossed into the Lushai Hills area in the early afternoon, and were presently in the little village of Vairengte. This is where they would stop for two nights. Vairengte was one of the World's most pristine and primitive jungles, and a stay here was a very rare experience. The circuit house – one of a network of Government guesthouses – was basic but comfortable and the staff their was most hospitable, waiting to attend to their every need and every wish. They served the afternoon tea as soon as the party arrived.

Over tea, Shardul Singh made a number of suggestions for sightseeing the next day, and the family decide to leave themselves entirely in his care. The Bagchi brothers became most at ease with Shardul-ji, as they started to call him.

After tea, they all went for a walk in the “town” which was just the main highway with shops and other assorted buildings clustered around it. The view of the mountains all around was breathtaking. Back at the circuit house, they had an early meal – simple but delicious – and called it a night. The plan was to start at 8 am the next morning, and head into the deep and dense and dark bamboo jungles of Vairengte.

Sayan and Deep were up and about by 5 am. The parents were still fast asleep. Sayan said: “Deep, let’s enjoy this quiet morning with this gorgeous light breaking. Let’s walk to the town. May be a tea-shack will be just opening up its doors. We will buy the first cups of morning tea and sit by the road and see how the morning grows.”

As it happened, there was activity in one of the tea stalls. The shopkeeper had put a large aluminum tea kettle on open fire. He said: “Come back in a little bit, and I will have nice cups of tea ready.”

So they proceeded to walk towards the south end of the town, past the point where the rows of buildings on the two sides of the street ended. The road opened up, with 360-degrees view of the mountains. Next to the road, and at a little lower level, ran a rustic country lane, parallel to the road. It was mostly hidden from view by shrubs, but an occasional clearing offered a glimpse of the mud lane. It seemed that this lane ran the entire length of the highway, connecting one village to the next. It accommodated foot traffic as well as bicycles and bullock carts.

When they returned, steaming cups of tea were ready. The brothers sat down and sipped the morning’s first cup of tea with great relish. It was obvious to the shopkeeper that they were tourists, and he started a conversation in that vein. When he heard that the brothers would be traveling south the following day, he suddenly perked up. He asked, completey out of context: “Are you Buddhists?”

“No, we are Hindus. But we have great regard for Buddhism,” replied Sayan.

The shopkeeper then said: “I am pleased to hear you say that. So I will let you in on a program that is being conducted with as little adviertisement as possible. You are just in time to watch the Journey of Faith commence. If you time yourself to be in Kolasib about ten in the morning, you will witness a most auspicious event. ”

“Please continue,” said Deep.

“Now, this Journey of Faith concerns an old monk carrying a stone statue of the Buddha from the stone quarry in Kolasib, where the statue has been carved, to a monastery in Burma, just across the border from Champhai. This is the monk’s last act of devotion to the Buddha before he dies.

“However, this plan was made about five years ago when the monk was still in very good health and had great physical strength. He could have hoisted that statue piggy-back with straps around his shoulders and paddingss and carried it half a kilometer at a time. So, although very difficult, the task could be done in a few week’s time. But it took all this time for the local artisans – only two of them – to carve this statue out of a single block of stone. During this time the monk has fallen quite ill and is now near death. So there is no way that he could do it today. Yet he is resolved to fulfil his commitment to the Buddha.”

“He would not agree to have it trucked? Or accept help from others in carrying it?” asked Deep.

“No. And he is most adamant on this point. He plans to simply drag the statue, resting on the ground on its heels, a few inches at a time. So, an entire day’s labor would probably cover about half a kilometer, if that. If the monk lives to finish his project, it will take months or years. And the auspicious day for the installation of the statue in the temple is the Buddha Purnima – the Full Moon of the Buddha – which is just a week from now. Clearly this is not to be, but the effort that the monk is making is a most wonderful act of faith and devotion to witness. It is a blessing for any mortal being to witness this. The journey will commence from Kolasib tomorrow morning about ten. Just go to the south end of the town, and you will see a small crowd near on the foot trail paralleling the highway. Please be as unobtrusive as possible.”

Sayan and Deep thanked the shoopkeeper profusely. Then they started to pay him for the tea but he said, smilingly: “On the house. You are my beginning customers of the day. Offering you the tea is my day’s good deed. This means I will have good business throughout the day.”

Back in the guesthouse, the brothers told the parents about the Journey and they were most eager to witness this event. The plan then had to be broached to Shardul Singh. As he listened his eyes widened in surprise and perhaps awe. But his response was: “No problem. We will make an early start and be in Kolasib in plenty of time for this event.”

The party then set out to enter the jungle. The jeep would carry them only so far. Then they would be on foot. It tuned out to be an experience of a lifetime. When they returned in late afternoon, tea and refreshment were ready. They washed up and enjoyed the tea service. Afterwards, the parents went to rest and Sayan and Deep went for a stroll in the town. As they walked, Deep asked his elder brother: “Dada, I know we are all excited about this unique event tomorrow. But have you considered if this is not the trickery Mama is up to?”

“I have and I am. But there seems to be too much here to pre-arrange. This would be a monumental task to rig up just to execute a prank upon us. But it may be that the Buddhist event is real and Mama hatched some plan around it. Remember the exact timing of our trip was set by him.”

“True. On the other hand, how could he know we would get up early and be at this particular teashop?”

“He could not possibly. Let’s see – we were awakened by the sound of roosters and when we came to the town that teashop was the only shop open … Hmm … Anyway, let’s just keep our wits about on this.”

~^~^~^~

They arrived in Kolasib a little early and proceeded on to the end of the town, that is, the place where the dense pack of shops on the two sides of the street had thinned out. Indeed, they could see now that down from the raised highway, near the foot trail, a small crowd of about a dozen people had gathered. Clearly, this was not a public event. Probably only a handful of people, people in this village mostly, knew about it. The party proceeded most casually towards the crowd.

There, in the middle of the crowd, was laid out on the ground the gray stone statue of the Buddha, face up. The carving was quite exquisite, and the face characteristically serene. The artisans had clearly spent a great deal of effort in carving the clothing the Buddha. It had the real-life look of a loose-fitting attire. The hair was coiffed in the crown-like style charateristic of the Buddha images. The left hand was parallel to the body while the right palm was raised in blessing.

Next to the statue stood a dimunitive, very frail Buddhist monk in bright orange monk’s attire. The lush green of the land, the drab grey of the statue and the bright orange of the monk’s clothes created a visual feast. There were two other monks – much younger – who presumably had come to see their senior monk off on the final journey. Now they were performing some type of ceremony with flowers and burning incense.

After this ceremony ended, the two young monks touched the elder monk’s feet, and the latter touched their heads in blessing. Then the gathered crowd did the same, and the Bagchis joined. Just as the Bagchis were wondering if a Sikh would do obeisance to a Buddhist monk, Shardul Singh did so. The old monk now took his chador and twisted it to fashion a thick rope. He slid this through the armpits of the statue and behind the shoulder. He tried the loose ends of this rope together to form a loop. He now started to pull on the loop while facing the statue. After great effort the statue slid a few inches, its weight being supported by its heels. Seeing this, a bystander suggested to put something like a plank of wood under the heels to reduce friction. The monk explained to him, in kind words, that he could not use any type of “assist”. He had to do the task as it lay before him. He then slid the statue a few inches more. The Journey of Faith had begun.

The Bagchis watched this for a while. Then the crowd slowly dispersed, and the Bagchis were on their way to Aizawl. They would stay in Aizawl one night, go to Lunglei and then return for a longer stay in Aizawl. They figured that the Buddha Purnima would occur during their second stay in Aizawl. But of course in these few days, the monk would hardly clear the Kolasib area, let alone be in Champhai. In any event, a thought was taking shape in the minds of the Bagchi brothers: If Shardul-ji could use his official capacity to take them across to Burma, they wanted to be in that monastery for the Buddha Purnima. Who knows what might happen there! Could a miracle bring the statue there on time?

~^~^~^~

The visit to Lunglei naturally was a momory-stirring one for the brothers. Sayan seemed a little absent-minded to Deep and the latter understood. He did not say or do anything to disconcert his brother. The parents enjoyed the visit, what with Shardul Singh being such a good and caring tour guide.

Sayan broached the subject of the visit to the monastery to Shardul-ji, explaining why they wanted to visit. There was not much to explain really, but only to say that they wanted to see that place where the Buddha statue would have been installed if the Journey of Faith had succeeded.

Shardul Singh replied: “It may be possible. Let me make some inquiries. Normally, I would just show them my warrant card and drive on through the gatepost at the border. But with civilians along – especially civilians with no paperwork - it is a little more complicated. But I will try.”

“Thank you Shardul-ji. Let’s hope providence will favor us in this mission of faith. Boley so nihaal!”

This Punjabi expression, which for Sikhs means “He who says (the following) is blessed”, Sayan added for some reason. To this Shardul-ji immediately provided the standard Sikh rejoinder: “Sat Sri Akal.”

Throughout their stay in Lunglei, another thought kept popping up – for both Sayan and Deep. Where was Mama’s prank? Or did he decide not to do anything this time? The journey was more than half done.

Also, Col. Chatterjee never contacted them. They were looking forward to meeting him. He must be a busy man, and probably could not take the time off. They saw that Shardul-ji was stopping at the police station in each town along the way, perhaps to pick up messages from his office. So a couple of times the brothers asked him if there were any messages from Col. Chatterjee. There were not.

~^~^~^~

They returned to Aizawl in the late afternoon of the day before Buddha Purnima. The statue would have to have been in the monastery by tomorrow morning at the latest. But alas! That was not to be.

As they were entering the town of Aizawl and passing the road junction where the branch road to Champhai veered off, something caught Deep’s eye. A little distance from the road, near the jungle’s edge, he spotted a splash of orange color over the jungle’s green. Some exotic animal? Or another monk? He said: “Shardul-ji, would you stop for a second here please?”

As the car pulled up Deep showed the place to others. Everyone now became curious. Shardul Singh said: “There is a place up ahead from where we can get a better view.”

And what a view it was! It was the monk from Kolasib. He had laid down the statue and was resting. There was no doubt about it. And at the rate the monk had made his progress, there could be little doubt that he would make it to the monasterty in time.

But how was this possible? An intense discussion ensued as they drove on, with everyone trying to propose a theory. The theory Shardul-ji proposed seemed the most reasonable one. He said: “I don’t want to say the monk is making short work of his scared vow, but it may be that at night when no one is watching him, he hitches a little ride with the overnight lorry drivers. He only rides with them as much distance as is necessary in order to make it to Champhai just in time – and no sooner. It makes practical sense. May be the monk changed his mind about not accepting help. I don’t see anything wrong with this, and I mean no disrespect to him.”

After they checked into the guesthouse and had afternoon tea, Sayan and Deep took Shardul-ji for a little walk. There was much commiserating to be done. The brothers already had had their private discussion and had decided that Shardul-ji had to be taken into confidence.

Shardul Singh listened to the entire plan in silence. After dinner, the two brothers and Shardul-ji would leave. Shardul-ji would tell the parents that he was going to give the boys the most adventurous experience of seeing a pristine jungle by night, hear the night sounds, smell the night smells, sense the dangers stalking. But it would be perfectly safe, Shardul-ji would tell the parents. Then the three of them would drive to a place on the Aizawl-Champhai road from where they could see the monk pass – whether in a lorry or on foot or any other way. They would stay as long as needed to watch the passage of the monk. Then, if there was time, they would come back to the guesthouse, freshen up and have breakfast, and then leave for the monastery across the border.

This was too much for Shardul Singh to absorb. He was being asked to help the boys do things behind their parents’ back. That was an absolute no-no for him. At length he formulated his position. He pretended he had not heard anything the brothers just proposed, and said instead: “I would like to give you young gentlemen a feel of the jungle by night. It is quite a memorable experience. And it is quite safe to do. I will ask your parents about this. If they give their permission, we will set out right after dinner.”

~^~^~^~

The three of them stationed themselves around the large, gnarly trunk of an ancient tree. The tree was between the highway and the foot trail. From one side of it Sayan kept an eye on the foot trail. From the other side Deep looked upon the highway. Shardul Singh kept scanning his eyes three hundred and sixty degrees in case the brothers missed something. If the monk would be going to Champhai toninght, they would surely see him. The three of them talked in a low voice about random things, just to make sure no one fell asleep.

As the night progressed, the jungle truly took on a hauntingly enchanted aspect. It seemed that a new night smell arose. Night sounds floated over the quietness of this remote area where there were no manmade sounds at this hour. Occasionally a truck went by, and then everything was quiet again. From here it was possible to see inside the cab of the trucks. If the monk was seated there, they would see him.

Shortly after one am, as the spirit was sagging a little, they saw the headlights of a lorry approaching from the Aizawl direction. Deep and Shardul Singh fixed their eyes on it. By previous agreement, Sayan would not do that but keep his eyes and his attention fully fixed on the foot trail.

As the sound of the lorry grew and its light brightened, suddenly Sayan sensed some faint movement on the foot trail – approaching this way. Then all of a sudden, as if revealed by a lightning flash, the monk and the statue passed in front of him and vanished in the distance. They were moving at a fantastic speed! Sayan saw very distinctly what he saw, but he could not believe what he saw. He began to have self doubt. And now there was no opportunity for Shardul-ji and Deep to see it. The vigil was over. The monk had passed. But what exactly happened?

The lorry had come and gone. No one in it but the driver. Now Sayan told the other two exactly what he saw. He saw their eyes bulge out of the sockets. That meant they believed Sayan saw what he said he saw, but found the scene quite incredible.

At length Shardul-ji spoke: “It is most interesting that there are three of us, but only one eyewitness to this. If there were two eye witnesses, we could tell the story to others with some credibility. But with one eye witness, it is not a tellable story even if it is true. It is a miracle shown only to one person.”

They came back to the guesthouse and slept the rest of the night. The following morning the parents said they would go to the town and do some shopping, leaving the boys with the vehicle and the driver. The jeep arrived at the border post about ten in the morning. Shardul Singh asked the boys for their full names and ages, and then asked them to wait in the jeep while he went inside the office to see if a brief visit to Burma could be arranged.

Sayan and Deep could see the inside of the office through a large glass window. They observed something most odd. “Did you see that?” he asked Deep.

“Yes,” replied Deep. “What does it mean, Dada?”

“I am not sure, Deep.”

A little later Shardul-ji came out with a smile on his face. “We can go,” he announced proudly. The guard at the gatepost raised the bar and the jeep drove into Burma.

Shortly after crossing the border, they saw the monastery, its sparkling white playing against the lush green landscape of the Champhai Valley area. But when they walked into the monastery compound, a sad sight awaited them. A group of mourning monks were standing round the dead body of the old monk. Buddhist prayers were being chanted in a plaintive and sonorous note. The three comers simply stood their, heads bowed in solemn respect.

When the ceremony was over, they asked a young monk what was going on. The young monk said most excitedly: “This dead monk, he is the holiest of holy men. He carried a heavy stone statue from the quarry in Kolasib to here entirely on his own. It must have taken him many months, if not a year. But he arrived here in the nick of time for the statue to be installed under the auspicious Buddha’s Moon. No sooner did he deliver the statue to us than he collapsed.”

They went round to the temple and saw the grey statue installed on a pedestal, with votive offering of flowers and garlands adorning it. A monk there said that the installation ceremony would take place in the evening, under the full moon. The face of the statue looked even more serene in this setting. And the raised hand seemed to bless directly whoever was wishing the blessing.

Sayan stood there a long time looking at the statue most fixedly, while the other two went about seeing the rest of the monastery.

~^~^~^~

“Dada, we will never know what happened there in jungle that night. May be we should not try to analyze this. Just consider it a gift of faith to one that is of faith. But what is certain is that the monk affair is not Mama’s prank.”

“That’s true, Deep. But have you figured out what the prank is?

“Yes. But how do you handle it”?

“Let’s wait till the roadtrip is all over.”

~^~^~^~

They arrived home in Silchar in the noon. The parents invited Shardul Singh to stay for lunch, then rest a while and then leave. But he politely declined, saying he had to go back to his office and report in. He promised to visit again. Everyone thanked him effusively and came out to the jeep to see him off.

As Shardul Singh was about to put the jeep in gear, Sayan asked: “Is the beard real, Col. Chatterjee?”

The driver broke out in laughter. “It is real – I grew it just for this little subterfuge. But what gave me away?”

“Well,” said Deep, “you did very well in every way. Perfect, I would say. You even provided the Sikh rejoinder ‘Sat Sri Akal’ without a moment’s hesitation. What gave you away was not your fault. At the Burma border when you left us in the jeep and went inside the office, we could see you through a window. We saw you show the desk officer there your warrant card and say something to him. The officer suddenly sprang to his feet and saluted. Then he kept standing stiffly at attention the whole time. Then we saw you pointing to your beard and the turban. Clearly, you were explaining your disguise.”

“Then it is my fault. I should have parked the jeep more carefully,” smiled Col. Chatterjee. “Well, young men, I am very glad that you have seen through the prank. Otherwise both Goutam and I would be disappointed – even in our victory.”

Col. Chatterjee promised to come to lunch the next day as his real self, before he left for Shillong. The brothers looked forward to it, for they had come to like the man a lot. They also wanted to talk to him a little more about that night on the road to Champhai. Somehow that matter needed some kind of closure.

Sayan wanted to tame a little the sight he saw, so that it would not haunt him for the rest of his life. Rather, he wanted it to become in his mind a wealth of pure bliss. For there in that portentous jungle, amid the growing night resonances, the flashed image of a drab-grey stone sculpture carrying the orange-clad monk on its shoulder and walking at break-neck speed could be nothing but that.

[To see Sanchari De’s painting of what Sayan saw click here.]

*This story is based on Buddhist lore.

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The scented home of Santosh Shome

as told by
Basab De

A STRANGE VISITOR ARRIVES IN SILCHAR

This story was told to us children by my father on a chill rainy evening when the power had gone out and there was not much else to do. It is one of the fondest pleasures of Bengalis to have khichuri for supper on a rainly night such as this. So to the great delight of us children, Mother set about making that delicious rice-and-daal dish by candle light, on a kerosene stove. So there was added also a picnic atmosphere to the proceedings.

In that rising mood of anticipation the rest of us gathered round in the dark – with only moonlight through the window revealing the shapes of things inside the room. We sat on a large bed, making a semi-circle round Father, with our all legs tucked under one huge comforter. We all had on warm clothes which we pulled in a little tighter.

Now, Father read lots of English ghost stories and mystery stories. At this stage, after all these years, it is not known if the following story came from there and was told in the first person singular by him, with storyteller's license. Or was there a kernel of fact behind his narrative?

When Father built roads and bridges through the inhospitable jungles in the India-Burma border region, he met Santosh Shome. Shome had just been transferred to the region as a police Sub-Inspector. In that rough-and-tumble frontierland Shome found in my father a companionable Bengali he had a great deal in common with and befriended him. While Father lived in his makeshift tent in the construction site, Shome was settled in his government quarters with a young family: Wife Sujata and two daughters, five and three years old, named Sutapa and Sulekha. The family often invited Father to dinner and these were most enjoyable occasions for all present. The two girls were sprightly and a joy to be around. One noted in particular how close the two were. They were sisters, friends, companions . At the same time the elder sister also acted as a keeper of the younger: braiding her hair right, helping her with homework and so on. One other thing they had in common was that almost always they wore fresh roses in their hair – from the well-tended rose garden that the two were responsible for. So Shome's house was always and forever fragrant – with the natural scent of roses. It was as though this scent permeated everything in that family – its outlook, its mood, its collective mindset. The scent defined this home the way music might define another home and sports might define yet another home.

Living alone in a tent my father was not in a position to socially reciprocate the hospitality of the Shomes. So he instead brought highly sought gift of venison from his hunts or giant Mahasir fish that his laborers caught in the mountain streams. There was then great feasting around these delicacies, what with Mrs. Shome being a most accomplished cook.

Father lost contact with the Shomes when the former finished his work in the Kohima area and moved to another project in the Lushai Hills. Our family lived in Silchar that time. There was a period of keeping in touch with Shome through an occasional postcard but that too petered out. For Father the Shomes became a fond but distant memory.

~^~^~^~

In course of time Father moved back to Silchar and was working on jobs within easy reach of the town. One Sunday morning a very destitute-looking man with stubble beard and unkempt hair showed up at our front door and asked for Father. Father came to the door but could not recognize the visitor. Then the latter said: “Santosh Shome, from your Kohima days.” Father immediately embraced him with great joy and showed him in. An introduction to Mother followed and then tea was served. Shome explained that he was passing through Silchar and would leave the very next morning. But before that he had to see his old friend. Father let him speak on away whatever he wanted to speak on and listened with great interest.

Upon great request Shome agreed to come back later in the afternoon and stay for dinner. He would not agree to stay the night. First he said he preferred to stay in hotels because he talked in his sleep. Father assured him that we had a separate guestroom and so this would not be a problem at all. Then Shome said he had already reserved a room in a hotel in town. But Father knew the proprietor of that hotel and arranged to cancel the reservation without penalty. Shome then agreed to stay the night at our home and leave very early in the morning. All this is to say that Shome was not here to ask for any favors or handouts as his appearance might have suggested. Actually he would later spell this out as well.

As he was leaving for the time being he told Father: “Thank you for not asking anything about my appearance and not pressing me about my family. I am not a vagrant. I am well set for money. It is just that I have no will to groom myself and take care of myself. I will explain everything in the evening.”

As promised Shome returned in the late afternoon with gift of an ornate box of pastries from the Surma Bakery. These were the kind that cost quite a bit and Father was comforted to have this tangible evidence that Shome was truly not in any financial difficulty. The two talked until dinner time. The dinner went very well. After that Shome sat down with my parents and – in a very even voice – related the most heart-wrenching story of his life.

While the Shomes were still in Kohima a great tragedy befell the family: Sujata was diagnosed with cancer, a rather virulent form of it. No effort or expense was spared to cure her. But it was all to no avail. After a relatively short period of intense agony she succumbed.

The family picked up the pieces. Santosh Shome brought a middle-aged lady – who had no relatives – from his native village to live with his family and take care of the girls. This arrangement worked out very well and in time the girls became very fond of the lady. She in effect became like a doting and caring aunt. Also, the girls grew even closer to each other – if that was possible. Essentially the elder sister Sutapa took over the role of the mother to Sulekha.

And the scent of roses – sometimes of happiness, sometimes of melancholy – continued uninterrupted to permeate the family in all its days.

During the time the following incidents took place Shome was posted in Shantishahar. This town whose name translates to The Peaceable Town was anything but. It was adjacent to the India-East Pakistan border and was known to be a paradise for criminals. Shome was posted as the Officer in Charge (OC) of the Shantishahar Thana (police station.) He rented a house about half a kilometer from the Thana. It was an isolated two-story home surrounded by dense woods. The neighbors could not see this house nor could people from the house see the neighbors. Shome rented the entire second floor. The first floor (what in Indian parlance is called the ground floor) was empty. The access to the second floor was provided by a long, straight, one-flight staircase that rose from the courtyard in a gentle incline.

The floor plan upstairs was L-shaped. As one came up the stairs, crossed the open landing and entered through the front door, he stood at the angle of the ell. To his left was the short arm of the L – the bedroom where Shome slept. The long arm of the ell consisted of four rooms. The one next to Mr. Shome – the corner room – was the dining room-cum-kitchen. Then the bathroom, the room for the housekeeper and then the daughters' room at the far end. The front of the long arm was a long hallway – which provided entry to each room. The outside wall of the hallway was all glass, making the house most cheerfully sunny. Through this glass panel one could see the courtyard and the vast expanse of dense foliage that started at its edge.

With the family settled down smoothly and the daughters admitted to the Government Girls High School, Shome turned to the responsibilities of his new job. The daughters started a rose garden in the spacious and fertile grounds of the house and also planted several varieties of roses in large pots in that well-lit hallway.

With the scented aspect added back in, Shome’s new home was now made whole.

KUHAKARANYA – THE ENCHANTED FOREST

The task OC Shome found facing him was quite formidable. It was not something he was prepared for. But he was not daunted by it either. This particular town, because of its geopolitical setting, was a haven for crimes of all types: smuggling, highway robbery, home-invasion robbery, extortion etc – where the criminals resorted to violence and murder and arson at the slightest pretext. They did not want their authority questioned. The leaders of the criminal syndicates were actually in plain evidence in the town. Everyone knew who they were. The townspeople lived in abject fear of them and gave them wide berth.

This entire area was thus a bleak valley of fear. Girdling it was a forest of ancient leafy trees called Kuhakaranya. Kuhak means a mystery-laden enchantment and Aranya means a forest. So there – The Enchanted Forest. And the mystery was very much there. The forest – in the deep interior of it – was always misted. Especially when on the nights near full moon the moon shone down on this mist, the light in the forest took on an eerie opalescent glow.

But it was also in this forest that many of the criminals hung out – whether to hold meetings in a rustic hut there or to have hooch-guzzling sessions in the ancient, crumbling graveyard. The plantation-style hut was left over from the old logging days. It now looked like an abandoned, ramshackle structure. However, the interior was another matter. The crime syndicates had set it up to provide every luxury and comfort when they met and partied there. The outside was intentionally left as it was.

On weeknights hooch vendors opened up makeshift stalls in the forest and the criminals elements gathered round. The graves and the gravestones served the purpose of chairs. Hassack lanterns were lit, a generator was fired up and and raucous music played on the gramophone. If there was something poetic about Kuhakaranya, it was marred completely by these presences. Hooch was of course prohibited by law but there was nothing the police could do about this situation.

But the townspeople had the forest to themselves on Saturdays and Sundays which the criminal elements took off – mostly to sleep it off at home. This is when the enchantment was felt, the mystery was sensed and poetry condensed. This forest, Kuhakaranya, then seemed to be a pure bliss that girdled and hugged Shantisharar.

No one dared say or do anything that would be construed even remotely as taking sides against the syndicates. A story had that one courageous person named Zubeir Ali – a retired army man – had a run-in with one of these crime bosses. The very next day this crime boss himself assaulted Ali's daughter – a young girl whose beauty and grace were the talk of the town hereabouts – in plain sight of a gathering of bystanders. No one dared come to the girl’s rescue for fear of instant death. Afterward no one would testify to the police. Later that day the girl killed herself.

Of the five crime syndicates that terrorized this Assam-East Pakistan border region from their Shantishahar base and turned it into a valley of fear, the Chhota Munna group was by far the most virulent. Chhota Munna was the one who had assaulted the teenage girl. Years ago he had sneaked across the border from East Pakistan and was now illegally in India. He made no secret about this.

Chhota Munna’s two assistants, Shakil and Pappu, were in many ways even worse than the leader. Besides these three the gang had about fifty men in arms. The other syndicates were somewhat smaller in size. There was some type of an alliance of convenience among the syndicates.

The syndicate bosses met in the hut in the forest every Wednesday evening. Ostensibly these were business meetings – but what actually went on was a lot of partying, drinking, gambling and so on. Each party boss came with several men – so that during these meetings there were a total of about fifty men in arms in that house. However, so brazen were these criminals that they neither made any secret of these meetings nor did they have their men guard the perimeters. They were supremely confident of never being challenged by the police.

SUB-INSPECTOR AJOY BASU

OC Shome gathered this type of information as much as he could – without betraying any emotions. He did not act like the whipper-snapper type who came in from outside and wanted to straighten out everything in one fell swoop. He knew better than that. He also figured out that the police who would now work for him was largely corrupt and were on the take. Also, the judges and the local politicians of this District were not all trustworthy. As Shome learned more he began to feel that his first order of business was to figure out whom he could trust and whom not.

And indeed he found at least one person who seemed scrupulously honest: Sub-Inspector Ajoy Basu. Basu had somehow managed to not get caught in the web of corruption – perhaps by keeping a low profile and in fact, by not doing much of anything. One day Shome took him in the police jeep to a remote village, sat down in a tea-shack and had a very frank talk with him. Basu confessed that under the previous OC it was impossible to do what was right. Everything had to be handled in a way the criminals wanted. But if OC Shome was seriously willing to get tough and stick it out to the very end, Basu would stand with him. Shome asked if Basu had a good understanding of the real danger involved and Basu replied that he had a brother who could take care of his parents – and so he had no big obligations in life. He was saying he would risk his life to do his job.

Soon Shome realized that Basu was a man of exceptional courage. The two started meeting after-hours in Shome's home – taking care that these visits did not get exceptional notice. Basu filled Shome in on the lay of the land: Who all were on the take; who all collaborated out of fear; who all in the police department were likely to rise to the occasion to do the right thing if they had assurances; etc. Shome inquired if Basu had good practical training in firearms. He had. However, the police officers were not issued any firearms except for specific missions. He carried no weapons. Nor did Shome.

Something else happened over this period of time: Basu was only twenty-one years old – and he secretly took a fancy to the sixteen-year old Sutapa. He did not know if the feeling was reciprocal but he held hopes. He found the fragrance of rose in that house most engrossing. It started to become a part of him as well. He did not decline a single invitation to visit there.

Sub-Inspector Ajoy Basu told OC Shome that he would discreetly sound out some of the colleagues he felt could be trusted. This had to be done most carefully as there were informers within the Police Department. After about two weeks he came back and reported that there were a good many ready to stand with Shome if they could be sure that Shome would stick it out and not flee at the first sign of violent opposition. Shome assured Basu that he meant to finish what he would start.

For the first two months in his new job Shome remained seemingly inactive and ineffectual. Nothing changed from the way the police business was conducted under the previous OC. Then Shome took a week off to vacation in Shillong with his family. However, the Friday before he left he took a couple of steps.

First, he called Basu to his office and said: “Ajoy, I am elevating you to full Inspector, and leaving you as the Acting OC while I am gone.”

“Thank you, Sir,” replied Basu. “I appreciate the confidence.”

“Now, please come with me. I want to go visit Zubeir Ali.”

HAVILDAR ZUBEIR ALI

Inspector Basu parked the police jeep directly across the street from Zubeir Ali’s house – and next to a teashop-cum-stationery goods store. In front of the store were several tables and chairs set out. At one of these tables were seated the most infamous crime boss Chhota Munna and his two ever-present sidekicks. They watched the two men with great curiosity. The two officers walked across the street to Zubeir Ali’s door. As they did so Basu quickly explained to Shome who the men seated at the table were. This must be a regular hangout for Chhota Munna, said Basu.

In this small town everyone knew by sight the two policemen – even out of uniform. When Zubeir Ali opened his door and saw them standing there, he was not pleased. He had no love for the police. He asked rudely: “What do you want?”

“We are police officers. I am OC Shome. This is Inspector Basu. I am new here and I would like to ask you about the incident surrounding your daughter’s death.”

“What is the point? You police are all on the take. When this ‘incident’ as you call it happened I was not even allowed to file an official complaint with the police. Dozens of people witnessed this but nobody would be a witness.”

“I am here to do what should have been done then. Please cooperate with us,” said Shome.

“Well, I can see that you are not concerned about Chhota Munna watching you come to my house. So at least you have shown that much courage. Please come in.”

Zubeir Ali asked his housekeeper to make tea and they sat down with the visitors. Shome asked Zubeir to narrate the incident in as much detail as possible.

~~~~~ZUBEIR ALI’S NARRATIVE ~~~~~

I am fifty-two years old. Last year I retired from the Army with full pension as a Havildar and settled down here. I was then a widower with one teenage daughter and a housekeeper – an elderly lady who has been long with my family. My purpose here was to set myself up in business as an independent contractor – doing small jobs. I had a little bit of success and the prospects looked good. But truly my life revolved around my daughter Sonali. She was the apple of my eyes, the light of my life, my reason for living. And of course through her I felt the presence of my dear wife.

Sonali was a most lively girl. She had slowly recovered from the loss of her mother and begun to find joy in life again. She had a most beautiful musical voice and liked Tagore’s songs. She hummed them all day. Not that she spoke the lyrics. She just hummed the tunes. It got so that I could recognize every song from the tune. When she hummed it sounded like a plaintive guitar playing the song. That is how perfect and refined her notes were. The music set the tone of my home and my life. I was most happy. But this was not to last.

One day while I was at a job site overseeing the construction of a Quonset hut at the edge of Kuhakaranya, I was approached by three men. The biggest and the tallest of them – clearly their leader – greeted me first and introduced himself as Chhota Munna. He then introduced his associates. I had no idea who they were or why they were visiting me. But they clearly knew something about me.

Chhota Munna said: “Havildar Saheb, you are a very tall and strong and imposing man – with such a neat military bearing. I could use a man like you in my organization. You will bring respectability to my organization.”

I said: “I am sorry but I don’t know about your organization.”

“Well, we provide security to businesses in return for a monthly fee. We protect them from harm.”

“Harm from whom?”

“From us,” Chhota Munna laughed heartily.

Suddenly I understood everything. This was the crime syndicate and the protection racket I had heard so much about. The soldier in me reared his head. But I controlled myself and said: “Sorry, I must decline. I am happy doing what I am doing.”

“Havildar Saheb, please reconsider it. You are raising all alone a daughter who is coming into youth – already famous hereabouts for her beauty. Soon naughty boys and bullies will be taunting and jeering and heckling her in the streets. I can protect her from all this. You will have a good friend in me.”

“I can protect my daughter fine. My answer is still No. Good Day to you all.”

Upon this Chhota Munna laughed very loudly, almost derisively. He said: “Suit yourself, Havildar Saheb.”

As the three were leaving one of Chhota Munna's aides came to me and whispered in my ear: “Nobody turns down Chhota Munna like this and gets away with it. You have not heard the end of this story.”

OC Saheb, I have seen action with the British India Army in North Africa. That is my concept of danger. I could not see any danger here in this peaceful little town. So I did not heed this warning. It was a mistake – a mistake that would turn my world upside down.

The following morning my daughter said she was going to the post office to mail some letters. The post office is in the railroad station building – only about five minutes’ walk from my home along a busy broad road. It would never have occurred to me that there was anything unsafe about this errand.

A little later, however, a neighborhood boy came running to me and said in a panting voice: “Uncle, Uncle, come quick! They are attacking …”

I started following him immediately and asked him questions as we both ran. The Chhota Munna gang had been taunting my daughter. Then Chhota Munna himself attacked her on the broad platform of the station while a group of spectators watched idly. No one protested. Chhota Munna’s aides stood round, toting their guns.

As I arrived there, my blood boiling, I found my daughter lying on the platform – hardly conscious. A couple of people were attending to her and had summoned a rickshaw to take her home. The criminals had left the scene. I took my daughter home. The housemaid took charge of her and I went to fetch a doctor. When I came back with the doctor it was all over. My daughter had asked the maid to bring her a cup of tea and then, when the maid was gone and she was alone, she hanged herself from the rafter. The music left my home forever.

From that moment on I have been like a walking dead man. The light had gone from life. I had no will to live, no will to get up in the morning, no will to eat, bathe etc. The neighbors got together and saw to the last rites for my daughter.

On the day my daughter died I had got up just enough energy to go to the Thana to file a timely complaint on the assault. No one who was present at the scene would agree to be a witness. Everyone explained that they were most outraged at what had happened but that Chhota Munna had said clearly: “You testify, you die.” No one doubted in the least that he meant it.

At the Thana the then OC said: “If there are no witnesses there is nothing I can do.”

I asked him to at least enter my complaint into official record. He would not do it.

The next day I went to see Judge Chatterjee and pleaded with him. I told him: “You are the leader of this town as far as the law is concerned. Please do something for my daughter.” He said it was a police matter. There was nothing he could do. He said: “You should have thought of the consequences when you picked a fight with Chhota Munna.”

Since the burial of my daughter Chhota Munna had started hanging out at the teashop directly across the street from my home – as if to be constantly on my face. I constantly think of ways of taking revenge. But he is always surrounded by heavily armed men and I do not own any weapons of any kind. But it is the thought of revenge that keeps me alive. Otherwise I would have followed my daughter long ago.

~^~^~^~

OC Shome and Inspector Basu had listened without making any interruptions. Now everyone sat in silence for a few moments. Then Shome spoke: “I am leaving town for a few days. Could you come to the Thana first thing tomorrow morning and file an official complaint with Inspector Basu? Once we have your complaint on file we can act on it. Say in your statement what you have told us just now. Everything – Judge Chatterjee and all. That will account for why the complaint was not filed when the incident actually happened. That way I can act on it now – even at this late date.”

Replied Zubeir Ali: “I don’t know what you can do against Chhota Munna. Even if you have the courage, you are outgunned and outnumbered – and you will not be able to match his viciousness and cunning. While you contemplate how to do things by the book and according to the law he will shoot you dead – without the slightest hesitation. The townspeople will be reluctant to help you. But I will come and file the complaint. This is more than anything any official has done.”

“Good. There is something more. In order for us to take action you must give me your word that you will not try to take the law into your own hands.”

Zubeir Ali was silent for a long while. Then he said: “I do give you my word.”

“In that case I have a proposition for you. You were a sergeant in the army and thus you are amply qualified for police work. My department is now short-handed and the position of a police Sub-Inspector has come vacant. I am offering you that position and you can start working tomorrow – right after you have filed your complaint. This way you will do something useful with your life – and also participate in that cause which is preoccupying you.”

Zubeir Ali was not prepared for this. He looked vacantly at the two visitors. Then Shome said: “Sleep on it tonight. You can give Inspector Basu your decision tomorrow.”

As the two officers approached their jeep they saw Chhota Munna stand up. He was a tall, broadly built man with arms as big as a small tree trunk. He had a handsome face with well-groomed hair and thick black beard. But the appearance was marred by his red lips and teeth – so stained from chewing betel nut wrap. His eyes were bloodshot. On the whole the handsome face had a cruel look about it.

As the officers were boarding the jeep Chhota Munna shouted out: “OC Saheb, what’s the deal with your visiting Zubeir Ali?”

Shome did not react or respond. He sat down and Basu took the steering wheel. Shome said: “Ajoy, let’s get out of here.”

“Right,” said Basu and started the engine. Chhota Munna called out: “OC Saheb, you have two beautiful young daughters. Take good care of them.”

Basu could see in Shome's face that the latter was trying to control his emotion. He put the car in gear and drove off. After a few seconds he said: “Sir, now you have a better appreciation of the enemy. Sometimes I think – as Zubeir Ali just hinted – that our laws are not enough for him.”

“I don't know whereof you speak, Ajoy. But we will do everything by the book – such as it is.”

SHILLONG

OC Shome’s brother-in-law lived in Shillong. He had a large house in Laban that comfortably accommodated the four of them. Shome left his family in the good hands of the hosts and went off to attend to some business of his own.

Arun Dam was an early mentor of Shome in the police force. Dam later rose to be a Police Commissioner and was now in retirement. Dam was most happy to see his protégé from the old days arrive at his doorstep nine am in the morning. He embraced Shome and asked: “How come you are alone? Where are the rose-fragrant young ladies?”

“Sir, I will bring them another day. Today I am here to ask for your help on a certain matter.”

“Well, let’s talk over breakfast then.”

A seasoned professional, Dam quickly grasped the whole situation from Shome’s equally professional, concise narration. Dam said very resolutely: “My advice is: Get out of there! You have two lovely young daughters who lost their mother and you are about to place them in harm’s way. I can talk to people and get you an immediate reassignment. Get out of there without delay!”

What Dam said struck a chord with Shome. He considered the advice and for a few moments, vacillated. Then he recalled his conversation with Basu whom he had given assurances that he would be with them to the end. And now, at the very first opportunity to escape, he was considering taking up that option.

Shome most fervently explained that he was duty-bound and honor-bound to stick it out. If he escaped now, he could not live with himself. “I cannot go back on the word I gave to Inspector Basu and his associates. They have already got things started based on my assurances. So I would be helping them up a very thorny tree and taking away the ladder. But you are absolutely right, Sir. I will leave the girls here until it is safe for them to go back.”

“Basu! Ajoy Basu?”

“Yes, Sir. You know him?”

“Ajoy comes from a very illustrious family. His uncle Parashar Basu is the Inspector General of Assam Police. His father Harihar Basu retired as Brigadier General in the Army. He is now a military advisor to Jawaharlal Nehru. Ajoy's elder brother Bijoy is a rising star in the Civil Service. Young Ajoy is destined for the position of Inspector General. But for now he has to pay his dues in all kinds of places, like everyone else. I understand that he does not like people to know about his family background. He would like to rise entirely on his own steam. Anyway, I did not know he was in Shantishahar.”

Now OC Shome realized why the criminal elements in Shantishahar leave Basu alone. Surely with their extensive underground network they knew about Basu and they did not want the wrath of the Indian Army brought upon them. So it was not Basu that needed Shome. It was the other way round. Ajoy Basu saw in Shome a good partner in what he, Basu, probably wanted to do all along!

Dam asked Shome to leave his telephone number. Then the two started reminiscing about their days together.

The following morning Shome got a call from the IG's office. Could he come to meet with the IG and if so could they send a car for him? In less then an hour, Shome found himself seated across the desk from the Inspector General of Assam Police and the Assam Rifles.

The IG was one of those very effective people who were very economic with words and with time. He said he had been briefed by “Arun”, and he was ready to extend any help. What exactlydid Shome need?

OC Shome had already prepared a list of what he needed for the plan he had in mind. He gave the IG a brief overview of the plan and then presented the list. The IG asked: “Why do you ask for men from the Gorkha Regiment? If you want an armed military force, why not the Assam Rifles? It is a lot easier for me to give you men from the Assam Rifles. For the Gorkhas I have to ask the Army.”

“Sir, I feel that Gorkhas would be the most distanced from this situation, completely trustworthy as to their loyalty and of course, the most fearsome. It is abject fear that I wish to visit upon all the criminal elements in Shantishahar.”

“All right then, do it your way. Leave this list with me. Someone will contact you by tomorrow at the latest. Good luck. And by the way, how is our boy Ajoy handling his job? Make sure you put him through the paces. Fair field and no favor – and all that.”

“Sir, Inspector Basu is doing his job very professionally. He will work like everyone else – no more, no less.”

“Very good.”

Shome’s brother-in-law was most pleased to host the girls and their maid for their entire summer vacation. So Shome returned to Shantishahar alone.

THE PLAN

The first day back in Shantishahar, Santosh Shome disclosed his detailed plan to Inspector Basu and Sub-Inspector Ali. However, Shome did not let on that he knew about Basu’s antecedents. After finishing his description Shome added as a concluding thought: “These criminal elements are remarkably complacent. They do not even dream of anyone taking a stand against them. This overconfidence is our advantage, our edge – and we are going to exploit it for all it is worth.”

“Sir, it seems to me that you are speaking of abbreviating the course of justice,” was Basu’s first comment.

“I am wide open to the suggestion of a better plan.”

“No, I don’t have a better plan. What you say is perfectly lawful and it works for me.”

“And you, Zubeir?”

“I am one hundred per cent with you, Sir,” replied Zubeir Ali.

Under the darkness of that very night, a large, coffin-shaped box was delivered to Shome's home by a truck. There was a storage room downstairs and the box was placed there. The following day saw Shome taking a guest – a Nepalese or Bhutanese by appearance – around town. The two then entered Kuhakaranya. After a full day of being introduced to the lay of the land, the plain-clothed Commander of the Gorkha detachment force of twenty-five men returned to his temporary camp, about half an hour’s drive from Shantishahar.

Early that evening, a Wednesday evening, the entire police force – minus the traffic constables – was gathered in the Thana. There were about thirty men and they crowded into Shome’s office. Shome now addressed them: “Inspector Hamid, Sub-Inspector Ghosh, Constable Chaurashia and Constable Biswas – I am sorry but you will have to placed in the holding cell for the rest of this evening. We will let you out tomorrow morning at which time you will be dismissed from your jobs. The charge is collaborating with the criminal elements. I am now operating under the direct authority of the Inspector General of Assam Police and so don’t even think of making trouble over these dismissals.”

As prearranged a few policemen moved in immediately and took these stunned men into custody and placed them in the lock-up. These men would not be able to communicate with anyone until the following morning. Then Shome spoke again: “The rest of you, you have an idea what this is about. So you also know that this is a dangerous mission. Anyone of you is free to beg out at this time. There will be no consequences to your career if you do. But if you beg out, we must lock you up for tonight – so that you may not communicate with anyone. Who wants out?”

No one responded. Shome said: “All right. You men climb into the two trucks out front and come to my home. There you will be given rifles and ammunition. These are standard police-issue rifles that you are trained on and so there should be no problems. When you are in my home Inspector Basu will give you a detailed briefing about the operation.”

NIGHT MOVES

Kuhakaranya seemed, looked and felt especially portentous this night. And the mist was hanging heavy. They were approaching the hut. The night was near new moon and thus quite dark . The hour was midnight. OC Shome had chosen the timing so that the drunkards would have left by now and there would be no other civilians in the forest other than those in the hut. As he and his men were stealthily deployed – in a crescent shape, facing the front door of the house and about 200 meters from it – there were no signs from the well-lit house that the people inside were aware of any goings on outside. OC Shome and Inspector Basu stood at the midpoint of the crescent formation – the OC with a loudhailer in hand. He signaled everyone to be ready – the operation was about to commence. He then spoke into the loudhailer:

“You there in the house! This is the Shantishahar police. We are here to arrest Chhota Munna, Pappu and Shakil for the assault on Sonali Ali. I want them to come out with hands in the air and surrender. We don't have any business tonight with the rest of you – and we don't want any trouble.”

There was great commotion in the house – judging from a flurry of movement visible through the window. Then a window was opened slightly and through it a head peeped and shouted: “I am Chhota Munna. What the devil do you think you are doing? I am the one who orders the police around. Do you have a death wish? Who are you? Identify yourself.”

“I am OC Santosh Shome. Chhota Munna, I don't want any trouble. Please surrender yourself peacefully. You will receive a fair trial.”

“I have already warned you once, you puny little man. Clearly, you don’t know much about me. Now go home and look after your two pretty daughters. What I have done toZubeir Ali’s daughter I can do again."

Inspector Basu whispered in Shome’s ear: “He is buying time as the men inside are readying their weapons and taking positions.”

Shome spoke again: “You there in the house! Do you hear there? Hear me now and hear me well. I am not bluffing. This a large, well-armed police force. And we are backed by the Indian Army. You do not stand a chance. If you start something, you will all certainly die. All we want is for Chhota Munna and his two aides to surrender. The rest of you can go home. I will give you safe passage.”

There was a period of silence. Probably the crime bosses were conferring. Let us wait and see how much hold Chhota Munna has on these bosses, thought Shome. Now Chhota Munna came back to the window and shouted again: “You must be joking! Indian Army – ha ha ha. And I know all about this police force. The minute the shooting starts, they will pee in their pants and flee. I tell you all for the last time, go home and stay alive!”

Shome handed the loudhailer to Inspector Basu as he himself gave the final signals to his men that the action was about to commence. Inspector Basu said on the loudhailer: “You men in the house! This is the last and final warning. I will give you one minute. Chhota Munna, I am Inspector Basu. Come out with your hands in the air. Otherwise we will fire tear gas canisters into the house. I repeat, there is no reason for all of you to get hurt.”

Shome whispered: “I think we have done everything we could, by the book.”

Said Inspector Basu: “Even so, it does seem to me that we are taking advantage of Chhota Munna’s disbelief about what we can do. He still thinks we are bluffing. We are taking advantage of that. But it certainly is by the book.”

“You have qualms about this?”

“None at all. Let's get on with it.”

In the event it was Chhota Munna that got on with it first. There was a volley of gunfire from the house – from cracks opened in the windows. However, in the dark the shooters inside the house had no targets and were firing haphazardly. At this end the police were all lying on the ground, out of the way of the flying bullets. There came now another volley of fire. Shome issued the order to fire tear gas canisters through the window. Several canisters went forth, smashing the windows and exploding inside the house. Then flames were visible inside the house. Within seconds men started staggering out of the house, firing wildly.

As arranged previously the police remained lying on the ground and firing from that position. They took good aim and made each shot count. But while some fell, other criminals kept advancing. Shome gave two short bursts of his whistle: The signals for the Gorkhas to come in.

The Gorkhas had formed another half-circle, so that between the police and the military they had the house completely surrounded. Now they suddenly appeared in view with their battle cry that – in this dark jungle night smelling of cordite and tear gas – curdled the blood:

Jai Mahakali!
Ayo Gorkhali,

meaning:

Glory be to the Great Kali!
The Gorkhas have arrived.

The criminals were stunned. It was as if – given another few seconds – they would have realized their untenable position and surrendered. But no allowance was made for that anymore. The Gorkhas first fired their rifles as they advanced and as they were within the hand-to-hand combat distance, they used their bayonets with great facility.

It was over. Every man that came out of the house was on the ground – dead or wounded. For the police and the Gorkhas there was not a single casualty.

The house was now engulfed in blazing fire. Everyone waited to see if anyone else came out of the house. Three men did – with their hands raised up in the air. The flames lit up their faces. Even so Shome could not recignize them. He never really looked at their faces when he went to Zubeir Ali’s house. A policeman told Shome: “Sir, these are Chhota Munna, Shakil and Pappu.”

“The cowards let all these men die for them and are now surrendering themselves,” said Shome. His men advanced and hand-cuffed the three. Shome saw in Chhota Munna's reddened eyes hatred and vitriol. Neither Shome nor Basu spoke to Chhota Munna. They let the subordinates handle the prisoners like petty thieves.

Now Zubeir Ali appeared, holstering his revolver with his right hand while wiping off the sweat of battle from his forehead with his left. He said: “Sir, I don't like this at all. We should have finished the job right here. Instead we have ended up with three live criminals.”

“I know what you mean, Zubeir. But once they surrendered there was nothing we could do but arrest them. I had made allowances for their cunning but not for their cowardice.”

“I have a very bad feeling in my gut about this, Sir,” Zubeir repeated in great concern.

Presently two other men staggered out of a side door of the house and shouted: “Please, we are just cooks. We have nothing to do with anything.”

One policeman knew them and vouched for them. Upon this Shome said to Basu: “We need for the story of what happened here to get around – but not from us. These men are perfect. Let them go.”

Basu told his men to let the cooks go. With this the operation ended.

At this point Mother popped in. She wanted to know what side dish we wanted with khichuri. The choice was omelets or pakoras. We unanimously voted for pakoras – those delicious dumplings of assorted chopped vegetable mixed in batter and deep fried. We asked Mother to add plenty of chopped green chilies and cilantro in the mix. Our anticipation for the evening meal grew apace.

The rain continued unceasingly. The power had not returned. The story resumed.

OMINOUS DEVELOPMENTS

The story of the raid was reported widely nationwide and the eyewitness description of the two cooks made it clear that the criminals were accorded every opportunity to surrender or leave the scene. Moreover, their somewhat exaggerated description of the Gorkhas descending with their battle cry struck the fear of god in the minds of the remaining criminal elements. Crime subsided to nearly nothing in that area – literally overnight. The hooch business came to an abrupt end.

On the Sunday morning after the raid of Wednesday night Shome came to his office for a bit – mainly because he felt bored sitting at home alone. He found Inspector Basu there having a cup of tea in a leisurely Sunday morning mood. “Good Morning, Sir,” said Basu and poured him a cup. Shome invited him to come to his office for a chat. He asked Basu: “How are the prisoners in the lock-up?”

The lock-up was in the same building and so they were not speaking of some distant situation. Basu replied: “They have been unusually quiet. We have kept them in separate cells and have not allowed them to communicate with anyone but their lawyers. We will have to produce them before Judge Chatterjee on Tuesday for arraignment. Then we wait for the State Police to take charge of them. That may take a while – what with paperwork and red-tape and all.”

“I see. I wanted to ask your advice on when it would be safe to bring the girls back. If they stay much longer in Shillong they will begin to miss classes.”

Inspector Basu thought for a considerable while. Then he spoke, as if thinking out loud: “Well, the only person who might want to do them harm is Chhota Munna but he cannot do anything himself. That does not mean that we should not consider the situation very dangerous. He could hire someone on the outside through his lawyer. We have no control over that but we should remain vigilant. I would say if we post round-the-clock police guard in your house and if your daughters have police escort to and from school, things should be safe. For the time being your daughters should not go out for any other purposes – this is what I would recommend.”

“Good. There is a family coming here from Shillong and the girls can travel with them. I will send a telegram. They will arrive here Wednesday then.”

Secretly Inspector Basu was glad. But the policeman in him told him that he should take the security situation in his hands. He said: “Don't worry, Sir. I will take personal charge of their security.”

“Thank you, Ajoy. But do it by the book. Don’t extend to my family any special favors. Now, there is another matter you have not told me anything about. It concerns Judge Chatterjee…”

The Inspector sat up in his chair. “Sir, this is a problem area. But I don’t see how the arraignment could go wrong. How can he not bind the criminals over for trial and refuse bail? After all, this is an open-and-shut case.”

“OK. But let's keep an eye on him.”

On Tuesday evening as OC Shome was about to start for home his telephone rang. It was the Government prosecutor. He said: “I am sorry, Shome. The Judge has bound the criminals over for trial but he has also set bail. He said it was a bailable situation. But he said that he was being careful to set a high bail so that, practically, the criminals will not be able to make it.”

“What is the bail?”

“It is one lakh rupees each.”

“Do you think this is a bailable situation?”

“Absolutely not. I am as surprised as you are. I don't know what has got into Judge Chatterjee.”

“Is there any way to appeal or delay this?”

“I’ve already considered our options. I am afraid nothing can be done in short order. Sorry, Shome!”

Shome knew that Chhota Munna could easily raise three lakh rupees. He regretted that he did not pursue the suspicions of corruption of the Judge more vigorously during the last few days. Clearly, he miscalculated the malignancy of the situation.

As Shome was pondering what to do, Basu came in. “You’ve heard, Sir?”

“Yes, Ajoy. We were blind-sighted.”

“I blame myself for not being more proactive about the Judge. I have just now received a report that the Judge met with Chhota Munna’s lawyer privately in town. We can pursue this but it is a long process and it does not help with the immediate situation. The release of the criminals will have to go through. The bail can posted as early as tomorrow morning. We will then receive the order to release the detainees tomorrow afternoon. We will have no choice but to let the vicious criminals simply walk out of here. Anyway, Sir, you better stop the young ladies from coming back.”

“Unfortunately, Ajoy, they have already started on their long train journey. It is too late. They will be here tomorrow afternoon. Tomorrow I will have to see that there are fresh roses in vases all over the house.”

The somber Inspector now smiled a little. Secretly he was a feeling a pleasurable warmth: The expectation of seeing Sutapa after the long absence.

OC Shome now said in his official voice: “We need to do a number of things immediately. First, alert Zubeir so that he will be on guard. He will be an immediate target for Chhota Munna. Second, place the judge under round-the-clock surveillance. Third, let Commander Gurung of the Gorkha Detachment Unit know that Chhota Munna is being released. I would not put it past Chhota Munna to find one of the Commander's off-duty men in town and take revenge. And finally, contact the State police and cancel the prison handover plans.”

“I will see to all these, Sir,” said the Inspector. “Was there anything else? What about posting two constables at your house, round the clock.”

“Make it one constable. I am the head policeman responsible for the safety of all citizens. It is not right that our resources should be devoted to protecting my family.”

Shome said this quite firmly and so the Inspector did not protest. Shome now added: “From now until the matter clears up you and I will carry side-arms at all times. Zubeir as well. We have enough handguns and ammunition in the locker?”

“Yes, Sir. We have .455 Webleys which are quite handy weapons.”

“Good. Now I have a favor to ask of you. I will have to be here tomorrow afternoon to oversee the release of the prisoners. Would you mind going to the station and bringing my girls home?”

“My pleasure, Sir.”

A SCENTED HOMECOMING

At the station the girls were surprised to see Basu and not their father. Basu explained. He thought – or he imagined he thought – a glint in the elder sister’s eyes that told him she was actually happy to see him.

When they arrived home Constable Rahman was already on duty there. He had found a wooden stool and had stationed himself right at the foot of the long staircase that descended from the upstairs quarters. He would be here till midnight when he would be relieved. Inspector Basu conferred with him and made sure he understood the danger. He then checked the constable’s rifle and told him not to hesitate to use it if the need arose. Inspector Basu then said Goodbye to the girls, assuring them that their father would be home shortly. He left for the office.

Shome returned home about six – after stopping at the market to pick up some things for a nice welcoming evening meal. The reunion of the father and the daughters was one of great rejoicing. After the OC washed up and gave the maid instructions to make a special meal the three sat on Shome’s bed – the father in the middle, flanked by the two daughters facing him. The fragrance of rose mingled with the animated speech; there was a great deal to catch up on. The girls gave a day-by-day account of their time in Shillong after Shome had left.

The maid then served an elaborate meal. The three sat and ate as the stories continued. Suddenly Shome felt very happy – life was so good to him. He was no longer mindful of the dark cloud overhead. He thought about his long-gone wife with great longing. He felt her presence through her daughters. They finished up the session and shortly the girls retired to their room. OC Shome picked up the day’s newspaper and started scanning his eyes over it.

The telephone rang. Shome answered and heard the caller: “Shome, this is Judge Chatterjee. I have something of a rather urgent nature to discuss with you. Can you come over for a few minutes’ chat?”

Shome was puzzled. This was most unusual – for a judge to call a police officer and ask him to come to the judge’s home in the evening. This must be important, Shome thought. Without further deliberation Shome answered: “Sir, I will be over in fifteen minutes or so.”

Shantishahar was a very small town and the office zone was even smaller. The Judge's residence was only a few minutes’ walk from Shome’s. Shome then knocked on the girls’ door and when they responded he entered. The room was rose-fragrant as always. Both girls were in bed, reading. Shome explained that he had to step out for a little bit on urgent office business. “Constable Rahman is just outside. Don’t open the door to anyone unless the constable is with them.”

“Don't worry, Baba. We will be OK,” said Sulekha.

“Good. Look after your little sister, Sutapa.”

“I will, Baba. As I always do.”

Shome dressed and left, telling the constable to stay alert. The constable stood at attention, saluted and said: “Don't worry, Sir, I will sit on guard right here on the bottom step of the staircase. The young ladies have nothing to worry about.”

The girls put down their books, turned off the light and did what had become a habit with them: Lit a candle on a nightstand. One candle lasted the whole night. They preferred this light instead of electric light or full darkness.

~^~^~^~

The judge exchanged elaborately pleasantries and seemed not to be coming to his point. Shome then fidgeted visibly. The Judge seemed to get his point and said: “Shome, I am sorry to bring you out this time of night but there has been something on my mind and I wanted to speak to you about it. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No tea, thank you. Don’t worry, Sir, it’s no problem for me to have come. Tell me what you have on your mind.”

“It is about letting these criminals go out on bail. I thought I had set the bail high enough that they would not be able to make it. But clearly it was not high enough. So I feel somewhat uneasy about this.”

“To be quite frank, Sir,” said Shome, “I was perplexed at your decision to set a bail amount – any bail amount. But you did what you saw fit. And anyway there is no going back now. Was that all you wanted to discuss?”

“That is all, Shome. I am glad to see you are not too upset.”

“I don’t take business personally, Sir. I am a policeman and not a legal expert. But your decision has made my job more difficult and potentially more risky. I have to tell you that. Good night, Sir. I have left my girls home alone and I must return to them.”

“Good night, Shome. And thank you for coming.”

As Shome came out on the street and started walking back towards his home, suddenly a most disturbing thought occurred to him: This was not an important matter at all! Why did the judge call him away from his house at this time of night? If he had an urgent need to express himself, surely he could have done it over the phone!

Shome looked around for the undercover policeman who was supposed to be surveilling the judge and spotted him lurking under a tree. Shome summoned him and asked him to go to Inspector Basu’s home and send him to the OC’s home immediately. Then do the same for Zubeir Ali.

BY CANDLELIGHT

The sisters had just drifted off to sleep when they heard knocking on the front door. Sutapa said: “Baba can’t be back so soon! Anyway, I will go and see who it is.”

“I will come too,” said Sulekha.

“No, you stay in bed. I will see who it is and come right back.”

“OK, Didi, if that's what you want.”

Sutapa lifted the mosquito net gingerly, got out herself and then tucked it back in place behind her so that no mosquitos could get in and bother Sulekha. She then picked up the candle by the stand, opened the bedroom door and walked the length of the glass-enclosed hallway to the front door. Before opening the door she asked: “Who’s there?”

She heard an indistinct response but the word “Constable” was clear. This must be Constable Rahman. She opened the door.

Sutapa could not recognize the tall man with blood-red eyes and thick beard standing there. Before she could say anything the man whisked her out of the house to the open landing at the top of the stairs. Sutapa saw the glint of a broad sword in moonlight – the kind of sword used for beheading of goats is some temples – just before it moved in a huge arc. Then it came back. Her head was severed clean.

The head fell on the first staircase step with a thud. Then it rolled down to the next one, then the next one. Thus, thud, thud … one could count every step until it reached the last one and then rested on the ground.

With a cruel smile the tall man went down the stairs.

After a couple of minutes passed by Sulekha called out: “Didi, who is it?” She heard no response. She called out again: “Didi, why do you not answer? I am afraid.”

Now she saw the candle light approaching. Slowly it came to the door. Sulekha relaxed and waited for Sutapa to come to bed. From her lying-down position she saw Sutapa approach the bed, candle in hand. But she did not speak. Now Sulekha asked: “What's the matter, Didi, has something happened?”

Still no response. Sulekha sat up full on bed and rubbed her sleepy eyes. Now she saw. Her Didi did not have a head. Blood was spurting out from the neck. Sulekha fainted.

~^~^~^~

As Shome reached the mouth of the narrow lane that led from the main road through the woods to the clearing where his home was, he saw Inspector Basu approaching in a bicycle. Shome waited for Basu and the two started walking together toward the house – Basu walking his bike.

As the clearing came into view Shome saw the staircase but the constable was not anywhere near it. He remarked the same to Basu. Basu suddenly became alert. He let his bike drop to ground and pulled out his revolver. Then the two simultaneously saw that something round was lying on the ground just at the foot of the staircase. In the dim light it was not quite discernible. Basu was the first to recognized what it was and nearly retched. But he quickly got hold of his faculties. He grabbed Shome by the shoulder and turned him around. Then he said firmly: “Sir, please keep looking that way. I have no time to explain.”

Basu took off his jacket and placed it over the object. Most thankfully he now saw Zubeir approaching in his bicycle. Basu took several steps towards Zubeir so as to be able to speak privately in whisper. Only a few words and the professional soldier Zubeir grasped the situation. Basu told him to take charge of the OC while he himself went inside the house and looked for the other girl and the constable. But as he turned he heard groans. The constable was sitting on the ground only a few feet away, propped up against a tree trunk – bleeding. His hands and feet were tied together with a strong rope which was looped around the trunk of the tree.

Basu then asked the OC and Zubeir to untie and examine the constable. As the two bent down to do so Basu quickly marked the spot where the round object lay as well as its orientation, for purposes of investigation. Then he wrapped the object in his jacket, picked it up and started up the stairs. The OC had to be properly prepared before the extent of the events were presented to him.

The front door was open. Basu had the package in his left hand and the revolver at the ready in his right. He entered the house. He saw the clear trail of blood in the hallway and followed it to the girls’ bedroom. The sight he now saw – not entirely unexpected because of what he had already seen – caused his knees to give out and he collapsed on the floor. The package fell to his side.

With some difficulty he gained enough strength and tiptoed over the headless corpse on the floor to the girl lying motionless on the bed. Basu checked for signs of life and found that she was still breathing. He covered her in a blanket. Then he took a comforter from the bed and covered the body on the floor, along with the head.

Basu ran down the stairs, took Zubeir aside and said: “There is no time to lose now. I will explain everything later. But first, go upstairs and call Dr. Sen. Then call the station and have them send several men. Then call the coroner on call. It’s Dr. Mirza."

Without any words Zubeir was off. Basu bent down and examined Constable Rahman’s wound. He was stabbed on his right shoulder but the bleeding seemed to have stopped. Basu said: “Rahman, you will be fine. Just hang in there till the doctor arrives.”

Constable Rahman said: “Sir, don’t worry about me….”

“Yes, I understand,” Basu cut him off. Then he turned to the OC: “I am so very sorry, Sir, but the very worst imaginable has happened. I very strongly recommend that you go and stay in your room. Don’t go down the hall. Let us take care of things. I will give you only this summary which I must: Sutapa is dead. Sulekha is barely alive.”

Shome looked at Basu vacantly, like a man in a trance. He opened his lips to say something but he could not utter a word. Then he bent down and squatted on the floor. He kept staring up the staircase. It was as though all his senses and every bit of energy had left him.

~^~^~^~

A dazzle of activities followed: The doctors arrived; Constable Rahman was transported to a hospital; Sulekha received as much care as she needed but her heart was too weak and she did not respond to treatment; by dawn she died. All pitched in to help: the policemen and their families, neighbors and many others saw to the cremations and related rituals. Through all these Shome remained in a daze, never speaking, never reacting to anything. Before the cremations the bodies of the two sisters were laid out ceremonially – fully covered in flower except for the faces. This is the only time Shome looked at them. The truth about the slaying of Sutapa was known to very few people – a few policemen and the doctors – at this stage. Shome was not told.

A couple of days passed during which Zubeir Ali stayed with Shome the whole time. Inspector Basu became – for all practical purposes – the Chief of Police. He visited Constable Rahman everyday in the hospital. Luckily, the knife wound – though deep – did not reach any bones. So his wound was disinfected and stitched up and he was healing apace.

On the third day Inspector Basu came to the hospital with a box of sweets. He asked the constable: “Rahman, are you up to giving me a full account of that night?”

“Yes, Sir. I have been wanting to do that. Now may be as good a time as any – while the memories are still fresh. However, I think that toward the end that night I may have become a little delirious – you know, because of the loss of blood – and I think I was seeing things.”

“Nevertheless, tell me everything that you saw and remember. Just tell me informally – in your own way.”

~~~ CONSTABLE RAHMAN’S NARRATIVE ~~~

When OC Saheb left I decided to stand at the foot of the stairs rather than sit on the stool. I picked up the rifle, slid the bolt home and held it in a firing stance – but with the muzzle pointing to the ground. So I was very fully alert to the situation. Suddenly I heard some rustling in the woods to my left and looked that way. At that moment Shakil pounced on me from the rear and thrust knife into my right shoulder. My rifle fell to the ground. Pappu immediately gagged me so that I was not able to raise an alarm. The two of them dragged me to the tree and tied me up to the trunk – the way you found me. I was completely helpless to alert the young ladies. All I could do was to sit there and observe even as I was bleeding profusly.

I am so sorry, Sir, that I have failed in my duty. I am prepared to take any punishment or dismissal from job. I deserve it.

“Don’t worry about punishment,” said Basu. “I don’t see any negligence on your part. We underestimated the threat. Go on.”

After Shakil and Pappu finished securing me there came out of the darkness the tall figure of Chhota Munna. He looked like a huge monster, carrying a menacing sword – the kind they use to behead sacrificial goats in the Hindu worship ceremonies. Now Shakil and Pappu stood guard at the foot of the stairs with their revolvers at the ready. Chhota Munna strode up the stairs, the sword dangling by his side from his right hand. He knocked on the door. Now I saw through the row of glass window of the upstairs hallway the elder daughter approach the door, carrying a candle. Then I heard Chhota Munna say through the door “It’s the constable.”

Directly the door was opened Chhota Munna dragged the girl out onto the landing, took her candle and stood it on the floor. He then forced her down on the floor with her head extending freely over the first step of the staircase. There he beheaded her. I saw the head roll down the stairs, making a thud at each step. At that point I fainted. So that is all I can tell you.

“You said something about being delirious.” said Basu.

“Well, Sir, this is truly my hallucination but if you insist I will tell you.”

“Go on.”

When I came to, I took in the scene in front of me. The head at the bottom of the staircase, the headless body at the top. The assailants were gone. They must have left me alive so I could tell you who did the deed.

Now the headless body stirred. It got up and picked up the candle by the stand, still lit. It walked back all the way along the hallway. On this sight I fainted again. I came to when you all arrived on the scene. But please don’t place any credence on what I just said.

“Thank you, Rahman. Please rest now.”

JUDGE CHATTERJEE

This was about three pm on Firday. Inspector Basu came back to the police station and sat at the desk of OC Shome. He saw a report on the surveillance of Judge Chatterjee. As he read it his face took on an increasingly concerned aspect. It was a report from Sub-Inspector Hussain.

“About 12 midninght following the incident in OC Shome’s home three men were observed to go into the Judge’s home, moving furtively and slinking under the shadows of the trees. They had parked their vehicle some distance away and carried a large suitcase. The suitcase was observed to be one of those cheap metal varities with garish painting of flowers. They stayed in the Judge’s home for nearly an hour and then came out, without the suitcase. When they were leaving, they passed under a street lamp. Their faces could be seen. They were identified as Chhota Munna, Shakil and Pappu. The surveillance agent did not intervene as he was alone and unarmed.

“With the senior officer being preoccupied with the incident at OC Shome’s home the next morning, Sub-Inspector Hussain decided on his own to go to the Judge’s home and interview him. However, the Judge did not let him in but sent him away with most rude and abusive language. For this reason the disposition of the suitcase could not be determined.”

Inspector Basu asked for Sub-Inspector Hussain who happened to be at his desk. When he came and sat down Basu said: “Tell me as well as you can remember what conversation took place between the Judge and you.”

“Well, Sir, I did not want to lose any time after that suitcase was delivered. I went to the Judge’s residence and knocked on the door about seven am and he answered the door himself. I identified myself and asked him to forgive the intrusion and the early hour. I then told him that there was an urgent matter I needed to talk to him about. Upon this he exploded. He said: ‘I am a Judge of the Indian Judiciary. How dare you come to my home and ask to interrogate me. Get lost before I have your job.’

“I then told him politely but firmly that we could bring him in and interrogate him in custody. He then laughed derisively and slammed the door on my face.”

“He did not even want to know what this urgent matter was about?” asked Basu.

“No, Sir. I thought that was strange.”

“Well, Hussain, the suitcase may have been disposed off by now but that much cash money – and tainted money at that – the Judge would not take to a bank. It must be still in his home. So we need a search warrant. The courts are still open. Let me see if I can reach Associate Justice Karlekar.

Inspector Basu called the courthouse and identified himself as the Acting Police Chief. Upon that he was connected to the Associate Justice. The Inspector made an appointment to come round and see him immediately. Then he and Hussain walked the short distance to the courthouse.

The Associate Justice was a man of great gravitas. Inspector Basu told him the background in as few words as possible and asked for a search warrant to be executed upon Judge Chatterjee’s residence3, the grounds and his vehicle. The Justice replied: “Are you mad or what? Execute a search warrant on a sitting Judge? You better drop this whole thing if you know what’s good for you.”

“Sir, just to be clear on this point, are you saying that in spite of evidence of criminal activities you will not issue a search warrant?”

“You can pursue this as a judicial misconduct issue through proper channels. It will take years to wind through the bureaucracy. And chances are nothing will come if it. Judge Chatterjee is a very powerful man with friends in high places.”

“Thank you for seeing us on such a short notice. ”

The two officers left his office. They stood on the veranda for a few moments as Basu was formulating in his mind what to do next. He decided. “Come with me, Hussain,” he told his colleague. “Judge Chatterjee must still be in his office. It’s only four pm. If we don’t act immediately the Associate Justice will warn him and things will get complicated.”

Judge Chatterjee indeed was in his office, just down the hallway. The two officers simply barged in, ignoring the objections of the secretary in the front office. Inspector Basu said: “Judge, you need to come with us to the station. We need to interrogate you under caution about your connection to the Chhota Munna criminal enterprise.”

For a flitting moment they saw fear in Judge’s eyes. But the latter recovered quickly and said: “Your conduct is most insolent. Let me deal with it right now. Give me a moment while I call the Inspector General of Assam Police whom I know well.”

The Judge really did not mean to make the call. He hoped for the two policemen to cow down and beg his forgiveness. But Inspector Basu said: “All right, Sir. But we will wait right here.” So saying Basu sat down on a chair facing the judge. Hussain followed suit. He, Hussain, was completely discombobulated at this turn of events and fully expected to lose his job within next few minutes.

A trunk call was made to Shillong and the Judge’s name caused the IG to take his call promptly.

“Hello IG Basu! This is Judge Chatterjee from Dhubri District. Remember we met recently at a party at the Deputy Commissioner’s residence in Shillong?”

The other side of the conversation could not be heard. But after an exchange of elaborate amenities the Judge came to the point: “IG Basu, I need your help with an issue with the local police. It seems that some uppity officers think that they can treat me like a common street person. They have no respect for the Judiciary. It almost seems that they are out to cut me down to size.”

After the other side responded the Judge said: “Thank you ever so much. I knew I could count on your help in reining in these rogue policemen. Actually, two of these officers have insisted on sitting here as I call you.”

On hearing the response to that the Judge, with a look of glee on his face, handed the phone to Inspector Basu, saying: “The IG wishes to speak to you.”

Sub-Inspector Hussain now nearly collapsed. When earlier he saw that the Judge was so readily able to reach the IG, he knew for sure he would be out of a job, just as the Judge had threatened. But now seeing that the IG wanted to issue his instructions right away to Inspector Basu, the full measure of his predicament sank in.

Inspector Basu spoke calmly into the phone: “This is Inspector Ajoy Basu, Acting Chief, Shantishahar District Police.”

Basu heard nothing in response. He was not sure if the IG was still on the line. At length he heard the grave and official voice: “Inspector, what is this rum business about?”

“Sir, the Judge is suspected of being an accessory to the brutal murder of a young girl. He lured away the girl’s father on a flimsy pretext. As soon as the father left, the murderers struck. Later the same night the murderes were seen visiting the Judge’s home with a large suitcase – which we presume contained the payoff. The following morning one of our officers visited the Judge’s private residence – so as to keep this matter out of public view – to make inquiries. The officer spoke most deferentially but the Judge threw him out, threatening him with job loss. We then asked an Associated Justice to issue a search warrant for the Judge’s home. He declined. So I am taking the Judge to the police station to interrogate him in custody, under caution. Now, Sir, please let me do my job.”

“Do your job by all means. But if you aske me, based on what you have just said, you are being too deferential to the Judge. Your job is the safety of the citizens – and not observing hierarchical niceties. Do you understand my point?”

“Yes, Sir. I do. Thank you, Sir.”

Now Basu saw the Judge signaling that he wanted to talk some more with the IG. Basu said on the phone: “Sir, the Judge would like to speak to you again.”

“No. Goodbye, Inspector.” The IG closed the line.

“The IG does not want to speak to you anymore,” said Basu to the Judge. Then he turned to Sub-Inspector Hussain and asked: “Have you got your handcuffs on you?”

Hussain felt around his belt and indicated that he did. Inspector Basu stood up: “Judge Amalesh Chatterjee, I am arresting you on suspicion of being an accessory before the fact to a murder. When we bring you to the station and book you, you will have the opportunity to retain legal counsel.”

Hussain cuffed a dumb-founded Judge with his hands behind his back. Hussain asked Basu if a vehicle should be summoned to transport the Judge. “No, we will just walk the short distance,” replied Basu. The significance of this was not lost on anyone. The mighty Judge would be paraded through some of most crowded areas of the town in handcuffs. In fact the first person who saw this strange sight was Associate Justice Karlekar who happened to be in the hallway.

Back in the station as others were processing the Judge’s arrest the two officers sat in Shome’s office. Hussain asked: “Aren’t we overdoing it a little bit with humiliating the Judge?”

“Hussain, the Judge is our only lead to the Chhota Munna gang. Without him we may never find them. Once the Judge understands the hopelessness of his situation he will start to cooperate. At least that is the plan.”

“I see. And another thing. The IG is Basu. You are Basu. I mean … er … you were speaking to the IG the same way you speak to OC Shome. I mean, telling the IG ‘Let me do my job!’ If I were you I would be shaking in my boots speaking to the IG.”

“My dear Hussain, as you well know, Basu is a most common last name among us Bengalis. As to shaking, how do you know I was not?”

“Fair enough. But why did you change your mind about bringing the Judge in for questioning and arrest him instead? Did you want to teach him a lesson for calling the IG?”

“Not at all. It’s his privilege to call whomever he wants to call. With the information we have on him, we can and should arrest him. But we did not – out of respect for his position. That was wrong. By leaving him on the outside we may be endangering lives. So I corrected my own mistake.”

THE THREE MAIDENS OF KUHAKARANYA

Once or twice a day when Shome drifted to slumber, Zubeir Ali came to his own home to see that the housemaid was all right and if she needed anything. During these visits Zubeir noticed that the storekeeper across the street was making nice to him. With the Chhota Munna gang in hiding the man probably thought he ought to get in the good graces of the police.

This afternoon when he saw Zubeir he called out: “Havildar Saheb, come in to this humble man’s store for a minute.”

When Zubeir walked over the storekeeper offered him tea and started casual chitchatting. While at this he asked most casually: “Of course you have heard about the Three Maidens of Kuhakaranya?”

Zubeir admitted that he did not know anything about the Three Maidens.

“It is a very recent development. A number of people have sighted – at different times of night and on different nights – three apparitions of young girls, one without head and one with a hangman’s rope around her shoulder. At the same time they also heard a plaintive wailing, like a sad song. The sighting has always been around midnight and seen only by those who were in the forest then – you know, the few drunkards that still hang out there.”

Zubeir was stunned. This news cut him to the very core and the professional soldier in him did not analyze the news. He asked the storekeeper when the best time to see these apparitions would be.

“Well, tonight is as good as any. There have been continuous sighting up until the last night. So tonight is a good bet. I would not wait.”

When Zubeir returned to Shome’s home Inspector Basu was there. Over cups of tea Zubeir told the story to both Shome and Basu.He left out the headless part. On hearing this story, at long last, the forlorn Shome showed some signs of life. Eventually all three agreed that nothing was to be lost by venturing into the forest. The plans were made accordingly for the three of them to enter Kuhakaranya near midnight that night.

On his way home Basu stopped by the office to see how things were going with the Judge. It was a good thing he had stopped. For Hussain had much to report. The Judge broke done completely and threw himself at the mercy of the police. The details of his statement could wait but there was something of an ominous note in the statement. Apparently, rather than fleeing the jurisdiction or staying in hiding, Chhota Munna planned a grand comeback as the supreme crime lord of this entire area. He would do so by establishing a legend about himself. The three policemen – OC Shome, Inspector Basu and Sub-Inspector Zubeir Ali who challenged his authority – would all die exemplary deaths. Shome by beheading and Zubeir by hanging. Basu would be executed. That way an aura of supernatural power would be added to the Chhota Munna legend. The Judge did not know when or how this would be done but he knew that it would be done soon – in hours or days. There was no time to lose. The danger was real and extreme.

Inspector Basu gave Hussain certain instructions, to be executed that very evening. Then he went for a walk in the town park on his way home. He needed to think. Too much was happening all at once. There could be little doubt that the Three Maidens of Kuhakaranya is the trap. But if they did not take Chhota Munna’s bait because of the danger involved, how else would they apprehend him?

Basu also realized that he could not take extra policemen with him. Chhota Munna would spot this and not come. So it would have to be three police officers against three or more murderous villains. The venue of the meeting was Chhota Munna’s home court because he had set it up. In the event of a gun battle, the grief-stricken OC Shome would be practically useless and Zubeir Ali would probably have to look after Shome. That left only Basu with a six-chamber revolver that cannot be quickly reloaded. Carrying a rifle would make it too obvious that they anticipated danger. In the end Basu decided to have a heart-to-heart talk with OC Shome.

After a light supper he arrived at Shome’s home and found him and Zubeir seated at dinner. Good sign that OC Shome is eating, Basu thought. He sat down next to them but declined the offer of food and tea. He explained to them how this Three Maidens of Kuhakaranya was actually a Chhota Munna plot. He asked if they still wanted to go. They did.

Now Inspector Basu spoke with utmost seriousness, addressing Shome: “Sir, the best situation I can make of this is the three of us against three murderous thugs. They have the advantage having chosen and set up the location. We are going in blind. So for all our sakes we need for you to be at your sharpest and most alert. We need for you to serve as a fully effective gun hand. If you do not snap out of this melancholy you will be endangering all our lives.”

OC Shome remained silent for a while. He finished his meal and as he stood up he said: “You can count on me.”

That was all Basu needed to hear. He felt a whole lot better. Now the three of them got down to discussing the nitty-gritty of the plan. They still had a few hours’ wait. They would start at eleven pm.

~^~^~^~

At nine pm the storekeeper was closing his shop. Just before he shuttered the door Sub-Inspector Hussain barged in with two constables carrying the regulation nightsticks. Hussain said: “I will ask you some questions. You have one chance and one chance only to answer fully and truthfully. If you do not the constables will start on you with their sticks. Then we will take you to the jail. One way or another we get the answers.”

It seemed that the storekeeper did not fancy the beating and started to give forthright answers. Chhota Munna had hired three young girls from the orphanage outside the town to act as the “Maidens”. One of the girls wore sparkling white dress but covered her head in black velvet. This is how she looked like a headless apparition in the dim, heavily misted view in that light-and-dark forest setting.

The police arrived at the orphanage and could easily find the three girls in question. They said they had been told their nightly appearance in the forest as the Three Maidens of Kuhakaranya was no longer needed . They had been paid handsomely for their work thus far by Shakil.

But just in case the girls were not telling the truth, Sub- Inspector Hussain left a constable to watch the door of their house from a discreet distance.

THE ANCIENT GRAVEYARD

Shortly before midnight the three officers arrived at the edge of the forest. They left the jeep there and followed the trail the storekeeper had told Zubeir to follow. There was a slight breeze, causing the tree branches to sway and create a moving light-and-shadow effect on the ground. The three men – all brave by virtue of their profession – all felt a tinge of fear. It was as though death was stalking in this forest. Death in many of its facets: beheading, hanging, shooting. Suddenly a thought came to Inspector Basu: What if Chhota Munna has a number of men hidden in this forest? Even if they took out the three villains, would they themselves survive?

In about fifteen minutes they arrived at the place the storekeeper had described – that ancient abandoned graveyard of that was overgrown with trunk roots of large trees that surrounded the tombs. Among these trees was a banyan tree with a trunk the size of a small house. The forest was sparsely treed and one could see great great distances through the forest – especially now in this faint moonlight. No drunkards were in evidence tonight.

The three of them stopped just short of the graveyard and squatted under the cover of some low shrubs. As they now started to scan their eyes over the ground they saw the elaborate preparation. About in the middle there was set up a makeshift sacrificial yoke. It was an upright U-shaped bracket made of wood, normally used in animal sacrifices in worship rituals. The neck of the animal is placed in the trough of the U and then secured with a wooden pin over the neck. The slayer then stood to one side, slowly brought down the sword to see that it fell on the right part of the neck. Then he lifted the sword and executds the powerful beheading stroke. Only, this particular bracket was larger – large enough to accommodate a human neck.

Near to there a rope was hanging from a horizontal branch of the banyan tree, with a noose at its bottom end. Then, on a high tombstone a red cross was marked, as if to serve as a place for execution by a firing squad.

There was no mistaking what this place was set up for. Chhota Munna had thought carefully about the disposition of each one of them. When it would be all over, word would spread like wildfire. Pepole from the town would arrive tomorrow in throngs to see the scene and the timeless legend of Chhota Munna would be born. What a fearsome legend it would be! People would never again enter Kuhakaranya after dark. Naughty children would be admonished by their mothers: “Do your homework or Chhota Munna will come get you….”

Inspector Basu’s thought process was interrupted by the sound of a familiar voice that came from somewhere out of the dark: “Police Sahebs, I am glad you have come. But you will not see the Three Maindens of Kuhakaranya tonight. They were just a bait to bring you here. Instead you will meet your maker tonight.

“And please do not try to do anything foolish. We have several guns all around covering you. But I do admire the courage of the three of you coming here alone without any reinforcement.”

Chhota Munna now came out to the graveyard area, followed by Shakil and Pappu. The other gunhands were probably behind the trees or upon them. Chhota Munna was carrying a long and broad sword and had a revolver tucked in his belt. Shakil and Pappu carried rifles, ready in their hands.They carried revolvers in addition. Chhota Munna continued: “Now, come on out here in the clearing. No point in hiding anymore. Leave your revolvers on the ground there and come forward, very slowly.”

Inspector Basu now asked Shome in a whispering voice: ‘Sir, do you want to take charge or do you want me to?”

“I will take over, Ajoy. Thank you.”

Suddenly Shome looked like the alert man of action he was in that night raid on Chhota Munna gang. He whispered his instructions in clear, concise terms: “It is dangerous and foolhardy for us to try to arrest these men under the circumstances. They have threatened to execute us. So we have to just take them out. I will take full responsibility for this decision. On my count of three you will fire, each taking out the man opposite you. Do not waste ammunition, for we may need every single bullet. Take one head shot and make it count.”

Now Shome spoke in as loud a voice as he could summon: “You men hiding out there! We have come to apprehend Chhota Munna. We have no business with you. We are police officers. If you harm us you will die tonight for sure. Although we did not bring any help with us, this forest is now completely surrounded by state police and soldiers from the Gorkha Brigade. Not even a jackal can escape. But if you stay out of this I will guarantee that we will let you go.”

Shome changed to his whispering voice and said: “Let’s hope that bluff will work. The fear of Gorkhas is certain to work. That’s all we can do. Now take aim. Chhota Munna is getting suspicious about what we are up to.”

They each knelt down on one knee with the other knee in the horizontal position. They took aim with the heavy Webley revolver in a two-handed grip. If they could hit the men in the head the large .455 caliber bullet will completely shatter the skull. The thugs would be instantly neutralized.

“One,” whispered Shome. The three men were approximately facing the three of thugs. Pappu and Shakil were pointing their rifles in this direction, now that they heard Shome’s voice and could pinpoint their location. Chhota Munna had dropped his sword and drawn his revolver. There was not a second to lose.

Suddenly now they saw the three thugs turn their eyes at the same time to their right, looking into the misted depths of the forest. Something had distracted them. Shome signaled the firing line to hold and waited to see what this was about.

Now they heard Chhota Munna shout angrily: “Shakil, I told you that the girls must not come tonight!”

“Yes. And I asked them not to and paid them off in full. I don’t understand why they have still come.”

Shome whispered: “It seems that the Three Maidens of Kuhakaranya are approaching. We have to be careful that they don’t get caught in the crossfire. Let’s wait and see what develops. But don’t relax your guard. The count is still at One.”

It seemed to the three policemen, who could not see what the thugs were looking at in the depths of the forest, that the girls were approaching the thugs. Suddenly, Chhota Munna cried out: “Boys, these are not our girls. It’s a trick! It is OC Saheb’s trick!”

Chhota Munna raised his revolver and fired wildly in the direction of the girls. Shakil and Pappu also fired their weapons in the same direction. Then Chhota Munna suddenly started foaming at the mouth. He muttered in barely audible voice: “These are bhoots! Guns are no good against them. Save me! Save me!” And then Chhota Munna collapsed to the ground, senseless it seemed. Shakil and Pappu dropped their rifles and stood petrified. They were shaking quite visibly.

The three officers still could not see what the thugs saw and only heard Chhota Munna’s description that these were ghosts. But now they saw that Shakil was moving in a zombie-like trance as if following some signals from the unseen apparitions. He dragged Chhota Munna’s body to the beheading bracket, stuck the neck in it and secured it by the horizontal pin. Then Pappu started moving, also most mechanically. He picked up the sword and came and stood over Chhota Munna. He raised the sword and slowly brought it down to Chhota Munna’s neck to adjust his position so that the fell stroke would come down on the right spot. He raised the sword again and looked into the forest for a final order. At this time Chhota Munna regained consciousness and became aware of his situation. He kept calling out the names of Shakil and Pappu. But Pappu seemed to get the go ahead. He brought the sword down with a tremendous thud. Chhota Munna’s head rolled several feet and then came to a stop. His body thrashed around for a few moments and then became very still.

Shome signaled everyone one to stay put. Now they saw Pappu climb on a tombstone and put the noose around his neck. Then Shakil came forward and pushed Pappu. The latter was now dangling from the tree with the noose around his neck. His feet kicked out a few times and then went limp.

Now Shakil walked over to the high tombston with the red cross marked on it. He stood with his back resting against the stone. He seemed to say a prayer. Then took out his revolver and shot himself on the right temple. His head slumped but his body kept standing upright against the tombstone.

There was no other movement in the forest. If the thugs had back-up people, they were not now in evidence. The three officers got up and came to the graveyard. They looked in the direction the thugs were looking at. Nothing. Or rather, there was something. They smelled roses. And then came faint music as if from a guitar. There were no rose plants or bushes anywhere near there nor were there any sources of such music in that forest in this night.

Inspector Basu saw both Shome and Zubeir raise their right hands while looking into the mist, as if in thanksgiving and affectionate blessing. Instinctively he did the same, meaning to say Thank You and Goodbye.

Basu wondered to himself. Three executions were to take place. Three executions took place. The aggrieved parents did not fire a single shot – they remained blameless of the thugs’ blood. And Basu was also spared the gun battle.

LEAVING SHANTISHAHAR

The official story was both truthful and credible. There was a falling out among the thugs. Pappu killed Chhota Munna and Shakil killed Pappu. Shakil then committed suicide. The police saw nothing of the Three Maidens of Kuhakaranya.

A great peace settled on Shantishara – such as the townspeople could not remember ever having known. Even petty crimes unrelated to the crime syndicates stopped. Young women could walk the streets alone at night alone without any fear. Kuhakaranya became a most enchanting part of the life of the town. In another few years, the word would spread and tourists would come from far to experience Kuhakaranya. The town began to see economic prosperity.

Shortly after the Three Mainden incident, as luck would have it, Shome got a tranfer to Guwahati as the Superintendent of Police for the area. He welcomed the opportunity to leave this place of heart-wrenching memories, but also regretted having to part with his dear colleagues who he came to see as family.

It was unavoidable that Shome would learn the true manner of his elder daughter’s death. He had to read and sign the police reports. But he said nothing about this. He maintained the exterior of a professional, effective officer. Inside he was dying a private death.

A great many people turned out to say Goodbye to him at the railroad station – not only the entire police force but also a large contingent of the townspeople and school children. Shome was quite overwhelmed by this outpouring of gratitude. In the end, just before the train started to pull out of the station, he found himself facing Basu.

Too many thoughts crowded in Shome’s mind at the same time. Here was a young man barely out of his teens. Yet he was put through the ordeal of fire that would by trying for the most seasoned policemen. But Basu had dealt with it all in a manner of quiet confidence, maturity and professionalism. What can you say to such a man? Shome finally managed these words: “I wish I had a son like you.”

“You do, Sir,” replied Basu. “Good luck, Sir. And keep in touch.”

Next stood Zubeir Ali. Shome had for sometime been feeling a deep sense of kinship with him. Now, before he could arrange his words, Zubeir voiced his thoughts: “Sir, we both have three daughters now.”

“Absolutely, Zubeir my brother. Let’s hold them well.”

~^~^~^~

As the train gained speed Shome began to look ahead. He looked forward to spending much time at the temple in Pandu – and hang out with the holy men there. The unusual promotion and the tranfer to this coveted assignment seemed a little curious to him though – as though someone was pulling strings for him.

While settled in Pandu Shome spent most of his spare time seeking company of godmen – assorted sadhus, yogis, boiragis, bauls and so on. He felt a deep peace just by sitting near such people. While the wounds deep within him were never going to heal, salves were applied to them by this means.

One particular sadhu Shome became most attached to lived on the hills of Kamakhya Temple. This was a most reclusive individual that discouraged people from coming near him as he sat under a deodar tree in the woods and meditated all day. But people nevertheless came to see him. He did not converse with them. People would touch his feet, sit near him a while and then quietly retreat. This was considered to be a blissful thing to do. Apparently people felt some beneficial effects of this bliss in their real life.

But Shome had no expectation of any tangible benefit. He just felt a profound sense of healing – one that could not be described in words. He came there every Sunday – without fail. He pretty much sat there the whole day, until it started to grow dark.

After a stint of ten peaceful years in Pandu, Shome retired – moneywise quite comfortable. About the same time, however, something happened that devastated him.

After he retired he had started to go to sit near that sadhu twice a week. But this period did not last long. One day the sadhu opened his eyes and spoke to Shome for the very first time in over ten years of their association: “Kalyan Ho. Shantih ho.”

That blessing meant: “Let goodness befall you! Let peace befall you!” The sadhu then paused a second and said: “I leave you tonight. Let fragrance hold you. Let music hold you.”

The sadhu passed away that night. After that Shome somehow lost all interest in life, in taking care of himself. He gradually took on the aspect of a vagrant. He was constantly on the move. Wherever he was on a given day, there was his home. He lived for one reason and one reason only: His evenings.

At that point Shome suddenly stopped his narrative. My parents naturally expected to hear some elaboration of that curious last comment. But it was not to come. Shome got up and my parents did not pry.

Mother stepped in to announce that dinner was ready. Father said that the story had nearly ended. The rain kept up a steady pace and the power was still out. We were glad for all these. For they continued the mystery of this rainspun evening which had lent atmosphere to the developing story.

THE EVENINGS OF SANTOSH SHOME

Now, as we were listening to this story, the whole time a subliminal thought was traveling in our minds alongside the story! This was not an impersonal story. Father had already indicated in the beginning that we would ourselves become privy to the ending of this story. For we remebered well that houseguest of one night a couple of months ago – largely because of that generous box of mouth-watering pastries.

Of course we only saw him to exchange pleasantries and at dinner. We did not know anything more about him then. The storytelling with our parents took place after dinner when we were attending to our homework at another part of the house. We knew nothing about the following events until now.

Shome left early next morning to catch his train before most of us were even up. Mother got up early and made him a cup of tea which he gratefully drank, sitting in the kitchen. Later that morning Mother saw that my five-year old sister, whose pet name was Tikin, was sleeping in. She slept on a bed that was up against a wall which divided that room and the guestroom. The guest bed was also pushed up against the same wall. When Mother woke Tikin up, she said: “I could not sleep last night, what with all the talking and singing going on in the next room.”

(At that, Tikin nodded, indicating she remembered the incident.)

Mother was stunned. She asked: “Who were talking?”

“Well, the pastry man and three girls were talking and laughing. And one girl was singing from time to time. Not singing really – just humming.”

“You were probably dreaming, Tikin. Anyway, go brush your teeth and come to breakfast.”

Mother immediately entered the guestroom. There was no mistaking the lingering smell of fresh roses in that bare room with nothing there but a bed and a bare nightstand.

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RETURN TO VOLUME 1

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