When I opened my eyes, an ink-blue night sky was spread over me and a soft rug of grass, under. Tufts of clouds floated in stealth across the moon. I could see stars twinkling between them. At a distance and all around, were silhouettes of trees. At that hour of the night they wore a somber look, as if bearing down from all sides. There was a drizzle softly descending like dew in the early hours of the morning. I realized that I was still lying in the golf course.
My throat was dry, so were the lips. But there was no way I could get any water here. So I just opened my mouth and let the rain drops find their way in. It was excruciatingly slow, nevertheless, a relief. I tried moving, but could not. Gradually, a sense of calmness came over me, as if my entire being was an integral part of the surreal setting.
The moon loomed large in the sky, like a bright silver coin fresh out of the mint. I could even see the dark spots on it. It was amazing that men had been there just two years ago, or was it three? I was not sure. My head felt a bit unclear. I think we were in class eight then. There were pictures of the Earth taken from above the moon, a blue beacon in the midst of unending blackness. Who could imagine that there were so much pain and conflict on that cosmic speck?
Kolkata was divided into vicious conflict zones in the South, North and in pockets elsewhere. Controlled by political parties of varying colours, each of the zones was a safe haven for people with compatible ideology or for those who had their heads down and lips shut tight. There were the ruling party, the lefts and the enigmatic ultra-lefts. Was there any other hue? I am not sure. All of them apparently wanted the best for the people but were in a diabolic dance of death amongst themselves. Body count went up by the day, especially of the young. Surprisingly, the rest of Kolkata seemed either oblivious of the conflict zones or preferred to look the other way.
The rain had picked up by then. Still I remained motionless. There was no point in trying to seek a shelter in the vast stretch of green. Instead, I drank some more drops of the clouds. They were in plentiful. I felt satiated, but weak. There was a growing numbness in my head and the body.
I was in class ten. Given the charged atmosphere in Kolkata, it was impossible not to have a political leaning. But my interest in politics was overrun by the urgency to study and make something out of my life. My childhood friend, Swapan, on the other hand, was deeply swayed by the dream to change the system and change it overnight. In fact, some evenings, we had arguments over the difference in our outlook and priorities. Sometimes these even turned out to be heated ones. However, eventually, we would leave our emotions aside and head home before my mother sent the younger brother in search of me.
The rain finally stopped and the sky cleared up, uncovering countless stars. “Tomorrow should be bright and sunny”, I thought. I realized that it was getting late and I needed to go home. Still, the thought of my friend crept back into my mind, once again.
Over time, Swapan became more and more impatient and intolerant. Our arguments were frequent and the intensity, stronger. It took a day or two to reconcile and not just the time to walk back to home. One day, at the peak of our debate, Swapan fiercely said that I have turned out to be a class enemy, an enemy of the working people. I was confused and even taken aback. The only class I was aware of was mine, class ten. I could not fathom how I can be an enemy of the people. Anyway, I decided to let it go. But, I was not sure if I knew my friend anymore. Eventually, Swapan decided to drop out of school. “It is a symbol of archaic, bourgeois system,” he said. “Also, I do not feel safe in the school area,” So Swapan decided to remain within his locality. It was a different zone, controlled by a different political party.
A meteorite flashed across the sky, bringing me back to the present. Shouldn’t I go home now? I thought. Mother would be getting anxious. But the moon, the grass, the eerie silence and the numbness nailed me to the ground. I felt calm yet sleepy and my strength seemed to be draining away. I slipped back into my thoughts.
Swapan and I rarely met after he had dropped out of the school. In six months, we totally lost touch. So when I was passing through his neighborhood this evening, I thought it would be great to drop by his home. Luckily, I did not have to go that far. Swapan was in a huddle in a nearby tea stall with a few other people who seemed to be college goers. I greeted him. Swapan did not share my joy. Instead, he seemed tensed and turned to the others and said, “He is the person I had told you about”. I was relieved. At least Swapan still thought of me and was not as far removed as I had assumed. He invited me to join. We talked till the street lights came on. They seemed like a fun bunch of people to be with. It was almost seven when I stood up and said, “I need to go home, now”. “We will also come along with you”, said Swapan. One of them, Arun, stayed back. He had a chore to do and said he would catch-up with us near the old temple.
On our way, we crossed the pond, half filled with water hyacinth, and the evening market. Arun joined us, as planned. I noticed that the people on the streets gave way to the group as they saw us approaching. It appeared that Swapan and his friends were well known around here. Some of them kept staring at me for quite some time. I guess they were wondering who the new member was. Anyway, at almost the fag-end of the journey, we took a short cut through the golf course, sneaking through the large hole dug under the boundary wall. It was the same one that Swapan and I had used since our childhood.
As the pack walked silently across the course, a sudden lightning sliced through the sky, lighting up everything and everyone nearby. I noticed something shining in Arun’s hand. The pack had stopped by then, as if lighting was the signal they were waiting for. I realized that I was surrounded. All around me were shadows of people, beyond them were those of the trees. Only Swapan stood at a distance, looking the other way. Before I could grasp the situation, one of them gripped me from behind and Arun stepped forward. He sunk the dagger into me; once, twice, thrice, and then I lost count. I slumped to the ground. All of them, except Swapan, came and stood over me. “End of another class enemy,” Arun said. “The path to revolution is a difficult one. There are no friends, mother, brother or father in this journey.” Then the shadows faded into the night. After a vain attempt to move or cry for help, I lost my consciousness.
Clouds had floated in again, so had the rain. It was a downpour this time. Nature seemed to be trying to ease my pain and cleanse my wounds. But they were too many and too deep. Tonight mother would wait till dawn. Brother would go from one house to another in search of me. Father would run from pillar to post to trace his son who had gone for the tuition. But all would return empty handed.
I struggled to keep my eyes open. Consciousness was slipping away yet again. Still I could feel the rain hammering down on my face. I could feel the blood flowing out of my body and seeping into the grass. “Down the veins and up the roots,” I smiled to myself and finally shut my eyes.
Tomorrow should be bright and sunny.
My throat was dry, so were the lips. But there was no way I could get any water here. So I just opened my mouth and let the rain drops find their way in. It was excruciatingly slow, nevertheless, a relief. I tried moving, but could not. Gradually, a sense of calmness came over me, as if my entire being was an integral part of the surreal setting.
The moon loomed large in the sky, like a bright silver coin fresh out of the mint. I could even see the dark spots on it. It was amazing that men had been there just two years ago, or was it three? I was not sure. My head felt a bit unclear. I think we were in class eight then. There were pictures of the Earth taken from above the moon, a blue beacon in the midst of unending blackness. Who could imagine that there were so much pain and conflict on that cosmic speck?
Kolkata was divided into vicious conflict zones in the South, North and in pockets elsewhere. Controlled by political parties of varying colours, each of the zones was a safe haven for people with compatible ideology or for those who had their heads down and lips shut tight. There were the ruling party, the lefts and the enigmatic ultra-lefts. Was there any other hue? I am not sure. All of them apparently wanted the best for the people but were in a diabolic dance of death amongst themselves. Body count went up by the day, especially of the young. Surprisingly, the rest of Kolkata seemed either oblivious of the conflict zones or preferred to look the other way.
The rain had picked up by then. Still I remained motionless. There was no point in trying to seek a shelter in the vast stretch of green. Instead, I drank some more drops of the clouds. They were in plentiful. I felt satiated, but weak. There was a growing numbness in my head and the body.
I was in class ten. Given the charged atmosphere in Kolkata, it was impossible not to have a political leaning. But my interest in politics was overrun by the urgency to study and make something out of my life. My childhood friend, Swapan, on the other hand, was deeply swayed by the dream to change the system and change it overnight. In fact, some evenings, we had arguments over the difference in our outlook and priorities. Sometimes these even turned out to be heated ones. However, eventually, we would leave our emotions aside and head home before my mother sent the younger brother in search of me.
The rain finally stopped and the sky cleared up, uncovering countless stars. “Tomorrow should be bright and sunny”, I thought. I realized that it was getting late and I needed to go home. Still, the thought of my friend crept back into my mind, once again.
Over time, Swapan became more and more impatient and intolerant. Our arguments were frequent and the intensity, stronger. It took a day or two to reconcile and not just the time to walk back to home. One day, at the peak of our debate, Swapan fiercely said that I have turned out to be a class enemy, an enemy of the working people. I was confused and even taken aback. The only class I was aware of was mine, class ten. I could not fathom how I can be an enemy of the people. Anyway, I decided to let it go. But, I was not sure if I knew my friend anymore. Eventually, Swapan decided to drop out of school. “It is a symbol of archaic, bourgeois system,” he said. “Also, I do not feel safe in the school area,” So Swapan decided to remain within his locality. It was a different zone, controlled by a different political party.
A meteorite flashed across the sky, bringing me back to the present. Shouldn’t I go home now? I thought. Mother would be getting anxious. But the moon, the grass, the eerie silence and the numbness nailed me to the ground. I felt calm yet sleepy and my strength seemed to be draining away. I slipped back into my thoughts.
Swapan and I rarely met after he had dropped out of the school. In six months, we totally lost touch. So when I was passing through his neighborhood this evening, I thought it would be great to drop by his home. Luckily, I did not have to go that far. Swapan was in a huddle in a nearby tea stall with a few other people who seemed to be college goers. I greeted him. Swapan did not share my joy. Instead, he seemed tensed and turned to the others and said, “He is the person I had told you about”. I was relieved. At least Swapan still thought of me and was not as far removed as I had assumed. He invited me to join. We talked till the street lights came on. They seemed like a fun bunch of people to be with. It was almost seven when I stood up and said, “I need to go home, now”. “We will also come along with you”, said Swapan. One of them, Arun, stayed back. He had a chore to do and said he would catch-up with us near the old temple.
On our way, we crossed the pond, half filled with water hyacinth, and the evening market. Arun joined us, as planned. I noticed that the people on the streets gave way to the group as they saw us approaching. It appeared that Swapan and his friends were well known around here. Some of them kept staring at me for quite some time. I guess they were wondering who the new member was. Anyway, at almost the fag-end of the journey, we took a short cut through the golf course, sneaking through the large hole dug under the boundary wall. It was the same one that Swapan and I had used since our childhood.
As the pack walked silently across the course, a sudden lightning sliced through the sky, lighting up everything and everyone nearby. I noticed something shining in Arun’s hand. The pack had stopped by then, as if lighting was the signal they were waiting for. I realized that I was surrounded. All around me were shadows of people, beyond them were those of the trees. Only Swapan stood at a distance, looking the other way. Before I could grasp the situation, one of them gripped me from behind and Arun stepped forward. He sunk the dagger into me; once, twice, thrice, and then I lost count. I slumped to the ground. All of them, except Swapan, came and stood over me. “End of another class enemy,” Arun said. “The path to revolution is a difficult one. There are no friends, mother, brother or father in this journey.” Then the shadows faded into the night. After a vain attempt to move or cry for help, I lost my consciousness.
Clouds had floated in again, so had the rain. It was a downpour this time. Nature seemed to be trying to ease my pain and cleanse my wounds. But they were too many and too deep. Tonight mother would wait till dawn. Brother would go from one house to another in search of me. Father would run from pillar to post to trace his son who had gone for the tuition. But all would return empty handed.
I struggled to keep my eyes open. Consciousness was slipping away yet again. Still I could feel the rain hammering down on my face. I could feel the blood flowing out of my body and seeping into the grass. “Down the veins and up the roots,” I smiled to myself and finally shut my eyes.
Tomorrow should be bright and sunny.
