Nikhil Khasnabish

(“An Absolute Necessity” is a story about the importance of kindness. Albert Rynjah goes to Professor John Lyngdoh’s house with a pistol in his pocket and a clear goal: to kill the professor. Lyngdoh writes the controversial book Inside a Hotel, which reveals illegal activities in a hotel used by smugglers and militants. This put Albert’s childhood friend, Zachary Wahlang, at risk, since Zachary works there against his will. At John’s house, Albert is offered a cup of tea as it is a cold morning. Can he assassinate John Lyngdoh?)

Albert Rynjah looked around closely, then went along the concrete path through the garden up to the first step of the veranda. He looked around again. He reached into his right trouser pocket and felt the pistol which now felt a bit warm. He exhaled some steam through his mouth. The morning was no less cold than the night. He rubbed his hands against each other to warm them up. He touched the lock of the wrought iron door, looked behind, and then turned his back to the wind that was off the hills beyond the pine forest. When he looked away from the geometric designs on the door he’d shaken, sending tremor all through the house, he heard footsteps announce movement inside and quickly adjusted the canvas hat, blood hitting his ears, the lips compacting, a strange warmth spreading throughout his body. As he thrust his right hand into the pocket, felt the pistol again, and saw a young girl come out, he withdrew his hand from his pocket. He looked at her face. On her face were signs of deep sleep. She was extremely beautiful. He looked behind at the garden full of flowers: the leaves of the flower plants and the blades of the grass, which were allowed to grow at the feet of some plants, were wet with dew. ‘Good morning! How can I help you? I think I didn’t see you before.’ She didn’t wipe the smile off her lips.

      ‘May I meet Mr John Lyngdoh?’

      ‘Daddy is sleeping. On a Robibar in Ka Tlang, he sleeps till 8:00 am,’ she said, her eyes in his. ‘On a Sunday in winter, you can meet him only after he returns from church.’

      He stepped back. ‘I’ll come some other day.’

      ‘You may come in for a cup of tea. It’s Nai Nohprah. December. You must be cold. She offered him a smile of welcome. ‘Call me Iris. I wouldn’t have asked you to a cup of tea if it’d been Ka Lyiur, summer. You’re shivering withcold.’ She opened the door for him.

      ‘Thank you.’ He turned his face to the garden. He understood she was talkative, but he didn’t understand if she’d joked with him. Whatever, the simplicity and innocence her face radiated instantly conquered him. 

*

‘Do you mean to say you are really here to kill my Daddy? Is he your enemy?’ Iris asked.

      ‘I mean business,’ Albert said.

      ‘May I know your name?’

      ‘I can’t tell you my name.’

      ‘What’s the harm in telling me your name?’

      ‘You can’t understand the harm.’

      ‘Is Daddy your enemy?’

      ‘No. But I’ll kill him.’ He scowled.

      ‘You can’t kill him. You don’t look like a killer whatsoever you try to look. One can’t be a killer without the killer instinct. It seems that you don’t have that instinct,’ she said with a dry smile. ‘Are you a militant?’

      ‘I’m a hit man. Did you see a hit man before?’ He stifled his smile.

      ‘No,’ she said. ‘But you aren’t a hit man. You aren’t a killer. You don’t look so at all.’ She swallowed. ‘Why does a man kill a man?’

      ‘For some people killing is fun. It gives them sadistic pleasure.’

      ‘You’re talking like an abnormal guy.’

      ‘I’m not normal at the moment.’ He knitted his brows in a frown. ‘How many members are there in your family?’

      ‘Daddy, Mom, and me.’

      ‘Is your Mom also sleeping?’

      ‘Yeah. They don’t get up early like me.’

      The instant he put the pistol on the centre table, she stood up and flinched back, fear in her eyes. He picked up the pistol and got up.

      ‘Shut the door behind you,’ he said, a note of command in his voice.

      She looked reluctant to obey.

      ‘You can’t go out of this room without my permission. Just obey and save yourself. Don’t shout.’ Snickering like a villain, he closed the door and returned to the sofa. ‘Iris, see how beautifulthis weapon is! It’s Browning GP 35. Weight: 1.01 kg. Barrel: 4.41 inch. Length: 7.75 inch. Muzzle velocity: 1.160 ft per second. Magazine: 13-round box. Cartridge: 0.354 inch. This robust pistol is hard-hitting and very reliable. There are thirteen cartridges in its magazine.’ He heaved a sigh and smacked his lips. ‘I don’t understand why weapons are designed so beautifully to kill people. For some people, killing is an art.’

      She was frightened stiff. Though her lips broke, she didn’t cry.

      ‘A friend gave me this pistol. I don’t know if he loves killing. But he gave me the pistol to kill your Daddy. Why don’t you sit down, Iris? I can shoot you even while you are standing. Standing or sitting makes no difference,’ he said.

      With some hesitations, she sat down and the way she was staring at the pistol showed that she wasn’t listening to him.

      ‘Talk to me, Iris. Iris, shoot questions at me. I love to answer your questions. I love …’

He picked up the pistol. ‘I only wish to kill your Daddy. Not you and your Mom. If I’d wished to kill you, I wouldn’t have drunk tea,’ he said slowly and steadily, his eyes fixed in hers.

      Unable to check her sobs, she wiped her crimson cheeks on her pinkish palms. ‘Why do you want to kill my Daddy? He is a very good man.’

      ‘I want to kill your Daddy because he’s a very good man. And because he’s the author of Inside a Hotel.’

      ‘Is being an author a crime?’

      ‘Sometimes it is. Mr Lyngdoh is very harmful. He’s more harmful than a hit man. He’s a killer of peace, rest, and sleep. Does a man like your Daddy deserve to live?’

      ‘Please, please don’t talk like this. I can’t live without my Daddy. He is next to my soul. He’s a very good man. He lives like a virtuous Christian. He loves people. He gives a lot of money to charity. Students love and respect him as a sincere and disciplined professor. I’ll burn all the copies of Inside a Hotel. I promise. I’ll apologize to the people who’ve felt hurt. I’ll beg for his life at their doors. Just promise me you won’t kill my Daddy. Please just promise.’ Her hands joined together like in a prayer, she knelt down before him. ‘You can’t kill my Daddy. You can’t be a killer. You can’t be a hit man. You’re very handsome. You’re a very handsome young man. Really very handsome!’ She looked up at his face through her tears, her hands still joined together.

      He leaned forward and caught hold of her arm joints and helped her stand up. ‘I understand you, Iris. But I can’t help you. I can’t help you even a little bit. Even a little bit, Iris. I’m helpless. Believe me, Iris. Believe me. I wish I could help you. But I can’t. Iris, I can’t. I can’t, Iris!’ He swung out of the warmth of the room. After looking at the sun behind the fogs, as he was closing the gate, he saw her standing on the veranda, the garden between them. It looked more beautiful than before. While going along, he enjoyed the wind blowing chill into his face.

*

A wild animal kills another animal when it’s driven by hunger or a need to defend itself. But why does a man kill a man? Does he do so out of hunger, or out of necessity? Even a wild animal is better than a killer. Zachary Wahlang, his childhood friend, wasn’t a criminal. His circumstances forced him to receive the pistol from his boss, the hotelier. Only smugglers didn’t do unauthorized business in the hotel. The hotel was also a clandestine shelter for militants. For them the hotelier sometimes worked as a mediator. Had Mr Lyngdoh not written Inside a Hotel, those activities would’ve continued unnoticed.

      Albert looked at the empty glass, the wine hard in his head. He emptied the bottle into the glass. Why did he take the pistol from Zachary? To kill Mr Lyngdoh? Certainly not. He took it to save both Zachary and Mr Lyngdoh. While Mr Lyngdoh was an admirable person, Zachary was his close friend. Zachary’s father had been killed in the Indo-Pak war. At that time Zachary was very young. For his mother’s heart bypass, Zachary and his elder brother sold their house to the hotelier. Losing the house wasn’t their sorrow. Their sorrow was their mother couldn’t survive the operation. Except his brother, now Zachary didn’t have any other sympathetic relatives. His brother lived at Latum Bai.

      Albert let out a deep sigh. He wouldn’t return the pistol to Zachary. Now he must do something for him. He’d take Zachary with him to Kolkata. He’d tell his maternal uncle everything about what had happened to Zachary in detail. Uncle would be able to find a job for Zachary in a hotel there. Iris! Had he fallen in love with her? He smiled. With his master’s in English from NEHU, he’d be able to find a job very soon. But would he be able to wait till he found a job? In Kolkata he’d buy some gifts for Iris. Would Iris accept the gifts? Anyway, he must meet Mr Lyngdoh and tell him everything before going to Kolkata. He must save his life. At Christmas he’d pray for his life.

      Albert looked at the empty glass while putting on his nightdress. As he lay down supinely, he felt the whole roomrotate. So to let the wheeling feeling pass out of his head, he thought of Iris. Dew was dropping from the corrugated tin sheets of the roof onto the leaves of the plants beneath the eaves.

      ‘Iris, you’re beautiful. You’re so beautiful!’ he murmured. He tucked the quilt under him. ‘Iris, you’re very beautiful. To hell with you, you bloody hotelier you … Oh, my Iris! You are really very beautiful…’