Nikhil Khasnabish

(“The Humanity of a Poor Girl” tells the story about kindness of a girl affected by the Assam Agitation, who saves a wanted criminal. He learns about her difficult past and her struggles with poverty. When she recognizes him, he encourages her to report him for the reward, but she chooses not to out of kindness.)

Imdadul Hoque looked in the direction of Sifung Passenger on Platform 4, before going past the young soldier who asked him to stop. The soldier searched his bag and scanned his beard with his eyes. When the soldier allowed him to go, he walked away fast, his shoes sounding hollow, along the flyover, then down the steps, and then to Counter 11. When would the army go out of Assam? Would Assam return to normal soon? However, in presence of the army, people felt protected. Though he needed to urinate, he didn’t do so because it was 2:30 pm. Sifung’s scheduled departure time was 3:15 pm.

      Anxious and tensed, he drank a little water from a bottle, then joined the line at the counter, his eyes watching the people around. The clumsiness of the ticket seller made the line grow long, and the women passengers got the advantage of their gender and short line.

      ‘Do I know you?’ the young man, who stood almost next to him, asked.

      ‘I don’t know you.’ Imdadul stared into his eyes, then looked at the Bishmay magazine in his hand.

      ‘Don’t you live at Tihu?’

      ‘I live at Sarupeta,’ Imdadul lied.

      ‘I’ll go to Barpeta. I think I saw somebody like you at Tihu. I have a relative there. Would you buy me a ticket to Barpeta?’

      ‘I’m sorry, I can’t help you.’

      Just on buying the ticket, Imdadul left the counter. He took the westerly flyover, where the soldiers didn’t ask him to stop. He came down on the platform and walked straight to the train. He found himself in a moderately crowded compartment. He was pleased that there were not any known faces in there. He sat down next to the woman near the window. Nauseating stink of excreta and food leavings over the sleepers was coming through the window, and he clamped the handkerchief to his nose to prevent the stink. Why did those passengers prefer the compartment? Certainly they weren’t on the run, like him. He hesitated to lean over the woman and spit. So he felt compelled to swallow the saliva. Now the wind began to blow and the stink became a little faint. He placed his bag on the opposite berth, climbed onto it, took off his shoes, and put them at the far corner to save the bottoms of pyjamas from the dirt on the heels and the toes of the shoes. Though the bag didn’t feel like a real pillow under his head, it didn’t feel much unlike a pillow, either. He had a tiresome bus journey from Nagaon and needed some rest. The moment he was about to lie down, that man appeared in the compartment.

      ‘I know you,’ the man said with a smile and got out.

      Who was that man? Did the man really know him? Imdadul immediately decided to take Chilarai Passenger via Goalpara Town and stay the night at his friend’s at Bongaigaon. Once he got out, he convinced himself that he must continue reading newspapers to avoid the attention of the spying people as long as he’d remain at the station. He bought two copies of the Ajir Axham and The Assam Tribune. He spread the Ajir Axham on the floor of the platform, sat down, and opened the Tribune. After Sifung had moved out of the station, he rolled the Tribune and put it in the side pocket of the bag to read the Ajir Axham.

      At 5:46 it was announced that Chilarai Passenger had been cancelled. What would he do now? He had only one hundred and twenty three rupees in his wallet. It wouldn’t be possible to check in at a hotel. Neither was it safe to spend the night on the platform. Sweat surfaced on his forehead, on his whole body. His throat went dry. Though there was enough water in the bottles, he felt as though he were too weak to take one out.

      He strode out of the platform, adjusting the topi. He took the gravel path along the railway track towards the Panbazar flyover. As it was early November, it grew dark at 6:48. Where should he go to spend the night? When he was surveying the surroundings, his eyes fell on the abandoned compartments, and he walked up to them. There were some places where the light didn’t reach well. He found a compartment and climbed in. He heavily sat down, drank a little water, and felt good. He partially opened a window so he could watch the evening. Though no people came in that direction, he didn’t wish to keep the door unlocked. He would’ve felt more secure if he could lock it. The other three doors were locked. As he got on the berth, he noticed the light that sneaked into the compartment couldn’t dispel the darkness from the upper berths. He felt hungry. But no food was with him. He whisked the handkerchief to ward off the aggressive mosquitoes, which couldn’t bite only his feet because he was still wearing shoes. Now he would’ve smoked a cigarette if he had one with him. By the time he thought to take off his topi, the sound at the door made his fingers stop moving. A woman climbed into the compartment, and he leaned close to the wall. She sat down. He became aware of his breathing. She was looking at the door time and again. As a cloud of mosquitoes now landed to feast on him, he had no choice but to silently move his hands and head. A few minutes later, a young man hurried into the compartment. His spirit seemed to be up, and it was about his look that he was ready for something. Imdadul kept watching them.

      The man went out. She did her blouse, adjusted the sari, and then slipped the cardigan on. When she put a rolled paan into her mouth and took a step to the door, Imdadul felt his tension go down. Unable to check the irritation in his throat, though he coughed as low as he could, she looked back. She took the pencil torch from her handbag, shone it around before focusing on his face. He put the topi on. She demanded his identity. Within seconds his mind returned to system, and, a leering smile at his lips, he got down the berth and stood before her, and demanded her identity with more emphasis than hers.

      ‘I saw and listened to everything. I love you. I’ve followed you for a month,’ he said.

      ‘You love me? O my! If you love me take out one hundred fifty rupees. Quick. I can give you love for one hundred and fifty rupees. OK?’  She giggled.

      ‘I don’t measure love with money. I don’t wish to buy your love. For your love, I’ll just give you my love.’

      ‘Even after watching me do that?’

      ‘Would you shine the torch on your face?’

      ‘My body is more important than my face.’

      ‘I believe my love will make you a good girl. I want to make you my own. Only my own.’

      ‘You’re a munshi or a maulvi?’

      ‘A maulvi.’

      ‘Don’t you feel ashamed of talking like this to a prostitute? Don’t talk like this, maulvi-saab.’ She giggled. ‘Even a maulvi can’t resist the temptation of my abundant sex! The present state of your mind won’t last forever, maulvi-saab. So do now what you want. Right now. Quick. For one hundred and fifty rupees.’

      She took his right hand and led him to the seat. She reached into his left breast pocket, her left breast pressed against his right arm joint.

      ‘What’s your name, maulvi-saab?’ She lovingly ruffled his hair he’d made slick with Shalimar coconut oil and combed back.

      ‘I’m sorry.’ He got up. ‘I won’t be after you from now on. You don’t trust me.’

      She pulled him down to the seat and kissed his beard over the smells of her zarda-paan.

      ‘Farida Khatun lives with me. If she gets your love, she’ll give up her dhanda. We call our business dhanda.’ She caught her sneezewith her hands. ‘I’m a Hindu.’

      ‘Am I not a man?’ He tried to see her face. ‘You may think it’s not easy to love a prostitute. You may think I’ll be upset with you soon and ache for another woman. Trust me. I can ignore what I saw in here. If you think my enthusiasm will calm down, that I’ll either give you a divorce or stealthily slide out of your life after I get what I wish to get from you, you are wrong. I know a woman in such a profession doesn’t have a positive life. Yet I don’t like to hear anything negative from you.’

      He touched her back.

      ‘Give me a chance to change your life. Give me a chance. Just a chance and your trust in me will help me do what I want.’ He gripped her arms to show that he became romantic. ‘I’ve seen many girls in my life. But they can’t attract me like you. You attract me most. I want to marry you. What’s your name?’

      ‘Lily.’ She eased onto his lap, tweaked his cheek, and then rested her chin on the base of his neck. ‘You’ve spoiled my business.’ She slithered out of his lap and kept gazing at his face for some time. She flicked a smile,picked up the topi from the seat, handed it to him, and looked in her handbag. ‘I’ll take you to my house. Will you go?’

      He nodded.

*

They took an auto-rickshaw to the poor section of the locality at Rihabari, where she lived in a low-rented house.

      ‘Here people know us as workers in a construction company,’ Lily said while keeping the handbag at the peg of the calendar. ‘Sit down.’

      Imdadul sat on the oldsofa with a worn out cover and without the back pillow, then drank a little water. Where was he really? The disorderly things giving the congested room a poor look. No decorative pieces of furniture. A pair of beds, tables, a dressing mirror, and a squat wardrobe. Posters of film stars on the walls. The paan stains glaring like an amateur painter’s endeavours. The plaster peeling off. With many efforts, he concealed his discomfort. When she opened the window above the lane, the street noises to his annoyance rose above the water gurgling through the bowels of the drain past the room, being accompanied by the cool breeze laden with stink.

      ‘The landlord doesn’t allow unknown people into the compound. It’s a very secure area. Lily-bai one day brought Fauji into the room. We had to give a lot of explanations to justify his visit.’ Farida looked away from him.

      ‘I’ve come here as Lily’s lover.’ He chuckled.

      ‘Give up this thought, maulvi-saab.’ Lily sat on the bed, cross-legged. ‘Farida, take the money from the drawer. Buy chicken. We’ll eat chicken tonight.’

      ‘Why are you looking at my face so critically, Lily?’ Imdadul asked.

      ‘You look innocent!’

      He took off his topi.

      ‘How did you receive the scar?’

      ‘I knocked against the door of a moving bus.’

      She looked into his eyes. ‘You are too young to be a maulvi.’

      ‘You sound different. You look like a good girl from an honourable family. You must have a bitter past.’ He offered her a faint smile.

      She got up to shut the window. She sat on the squat bamboo stool and leaned against the edge of the bed.

      ‘I’ll require time to tell you my story.’ She let out a deep sigh and brushed back the hair from her forehead. ‘You’re the second man to ask me to tell my story. The first man was Fauji.’

      ‘I wish to know your story.’

      She swallowed and looked at his face. ‘I’m from Sipajhar. Farida is from Mendipathar. I joined the Assam Agitation when I was a BA final year student at Mangaldoi College. After the day’s programme, one evening, I was returning home alone. Two policemen saw me. They dragged me into a nearby bush. They raped me in there. Then two other policemen appeared from nowhere and swooped in on me. They left me only after describing indelible marks on my pristine body. The lack of identity helped the policemen get off scot-free. That misfortune made me a heroine in public life, but in private life, a metaphor for stigma.’ She looked down at the floor, her chest heaving.

      ‘Don’t stop, Lily.’

      ‘The people, who knew me, didn’t forget about the rape, though they forgot about the cause for the agitation. My lissom body attracted people like magnet. I used only refusal as my defence. The stigma made me a burden to the family. I wished to redeem myself of the stigma and help the family. It wasn’t possible for me to do anything without a job. Then I began to often come to Guwahati to find a job. I failed to become a graduate. My stigma and photos were published in papers. I carried the paper cuttings with me. In Guwahati, I happened to run into one Pratik Dutta. He was from Udalguri. He listened to my story. He sympathized with me. He promised to help me. He was also an agitation leader, and had some acquaintances in the Government, he said. He also promised he’d find me a job and live together forever. I found my dream man in Pratik and began to live together. Ranen was my first love. He was a very good young man. But he couldn’t go against his family. His family rejected me outright.’

      ‘Go on.’

      ‘Then I didn’t have to wait long for discovering the beast in Pratik. One day he brought two men and allowed them to tear and eat every soft part of my body. A pistol was pointed at my mouth. I couldn’t resist them. I couldn’t shout. It was the second horrible nightmare in my life. Pratik had sold me to them. I glanced at the pistol on the table I was standing at to answer their questions on my past. They were drinking and asking me questions and laughing. I suddenly picked up the pistol and quickly emptied it. First into Pratik, then into the other two. The pistol was devised with a silencer. I slowly walked out of the house with my belongings. I threw the pistol into a drain. And then I ended up at the railway station at Paltan Bazar.’ She wiped her face on the end of her sari. She looked tired, and dejected. ‘Rape after rape. Was I born only to be raped? Once a woman is raped, she’s raped forever. My hunger and needs made me a prostitute. What can a raped and escaped criminal depend on except this profession?’

      ‘Don’t you ever wish to meet Ranen?’

      ‘Now I’ve become too dirty to meet him. I’m now just people’s Lily. People’s Lily can’t be Ranen’s Seuji again. He’s a very good young man. Very honest. Very sincere. Very best.’ She wept with her lips, pressing the eyes with the sari. ‘When I went to Ranen’s to see him, after being the instant heroine, his younger brother called me a prostitute, beat me, and pulled me by my hair, out of their compound. After that, I didn’t dare to see him again.’

      ‘Lily, I’ll leave now.’

      ‘Are you afraid of me?’

      ‘Why should I be afraid of you?’

      ‘It’s better to leave. Farida is not like me. She has bad contacts. You don’t look like a maulvi. You look like a Hindu.’

      ‘Why don’t you believe me?’ He drank up the water of the bottle, then stepped out of the room.

      She came out. ‘Gagan, listen. You’ll find a hotel at Adabari. From Adabari take the first bus to your destination.’

      ‘Who’s Gagan?’

      ‘Imdadul Hoque, who is standing in front of me right this moment, who is dark-complexioned, and whose height is five feet and six inches, is Gagan Talukdar. Gagan Talukdar, the notorious bank robber, whom the police have been searching for more than a year. The moment I shone the torch on your face I discovered the real person. Your beard couldn’t hide your identity. A beard can only hide the cheeks. Not the lips, the nose, the eyes, the eyebrows, the forehead. The more you tried to hide the scar, the more my attention went to it. I didn’t bring Imdadul Hoque into my house. I brought Gagan Talukdar. And I brought him knowingly.’ She looked towards the gate. ‘Gagan, you didn’t trust me. But I trusted you with my story.’

      He followed her into the room.

      She took out a folded poster from between her saris in the wardrobe. ‘Look at this poster.’ She spread it. ‘Fauji gave it to me.’

      ‘Where did Fauji get it?’

      ‘Don’t know.’

      He took it from her. He read the description beneath the picture. Was his height five feet and eight inches? His exact height was five feet and six and half inches. Dark-complexioned. Right. Height and complexion were not his problems. The problem was his scar. He ran his right middle finger over the scar. Without the scar he would’ve been able to easily pass asImdadul Hoque. He mentally cursed the scar and passed the poster to her.       ‘Who’s this Fauji?’

      ‘My real lover. He gave me the poster and asked me to look for a man like you with the scar. For five lakh rupees.’

      ‘Was he a soldier?’

      ‘No. Don’t ask me more about him.’ She folded the poster lengthwise.

      He sat down. They perhaps collected his photo from his house. It was in his album. ‘This poster is the proof of my exact profile.’ He took off the topi, touched the scar. ‘Yes, I’m a bank robber. We robbed fifty lakh rupees from the last robbery. Twenty-five lakh rupees directly came to my pocket because I was the leader of the gang. If I’d been aware of the closed-circuit camera, I wouldn’t have committed that robbery. Now I’ve been on the run for more than a year. The gang members couldn’t help revealing my real identity to the police. They had little choice when the police interrogated them atrociously. When the police will catch me, they’ll certainly apply the techniques of their interrogations on me too, until they get the last piece of information about all the robberies. So, by hook or by crook, I’ve tried to avoid the police dragnet. I collected sixty-five lakh rupees from the robberies. My target is one crore. I don’t know if I’ll be able to fulfil my dream target.’

      ‘But you don’t look like a robber. You don’t look like a maulvi either.’

      ‘I know my photos have continually appeared in the regional dailies. The current issue of the Ajir Axhom also carries my photo. So my priority is to avoid the police and the spying people. In the guise of a maulvi.’

      ‘Why didn’t you choose any other camouflage?’

      ‘People don’t normally suspect a maulvi.’ He smiled. ‘Anyway, it’s quite natural that people will look for me for the reward. I don’t have sufficient money on me to check in at a hotel. So I took shelter in the compartment to save myself from the wrong hands, though I didn’t know whether they were sneaking around, or had flocked to catch me, blocking the possible exits.’ He breathed noisily. ‘Lily, don’t you miss your home?’

      ‘I miss my home very much, Gagan. I miss the khar Ma especially cooked for me. I miss the Bhogali cakes Ma made for us. In this life I think I’ll never be able to visit my home again. I miss my parents, brothers, and sisters like anything. I should’ve listened to them.’

      ‘I also miss my home very much.’ He heaved a deep sigh. ‘May I buy a pack of cigarette here around?’

      ‘There is a shop. I don’t go to that shop. Your lips are reddish. Do you smoke cigarettes?’

      ‘Before Bonti’s interference, I used to smoke a full pack every day. Since she plucked the cigarette from my lips, I haven’t lit any. Today, after a long time, I wish to smoke a cigarette.’

      ‘Who is Bonti?’

      ‘Bonti Dutta. To me, she is the most beautiful of all women I’ve ever seen.’

      ‘Even more than me?’ She laughed.

      ‘Her mind is no less beautiful than her figure. A person can never be beautiful without a beautiful mind. Forgetting about her even for a moment is next to impossible. If her father hadn’t dishonoured me as a poor college dropout, I think I wouldn’t have become a bank robber. I became a bank robber to become a crorepati. To become richer than her father who is a schoolteacher.’ He combed his hair with his fingers. ‘Report me to the police, Lily. I’ll wait for your return from the police station.’

      ‘I told you to spend the night in a hotel at Adabari and take the first bus to your destination.’

      ‘Go to the police station. The money will be useful to you.’

      ‘I’m a prostitute, right. But I’m not greedy. I don’t trust Farida. She’s very greedy. I repeat she has bad contacts.’ Lily tore the poster into pieces, opened the window, and threw them into the drain.

      Lifting his gaze from Lily’s eyes, Gagan stashed the topi in the side pocket of the bag, took his pen and diary, and then wrote his permanent address on a piece of paper from it. ‘Find me at this address if you ever need anything.’ He stood up, passed it to her. He combed his hair and beard at the life-size mirror, not minding the street noises eating up the gurgles of the drain.

      ‘Won’t you wear the topi?’

      ‘No.’ He lifted his bag. ‘I suggest you marry Fauji as soon as you can and give up the dhanda.’ Then, before stepping down the veranda, he looked back at her. He’d remember her forever.