Nikhil Khasnabish

(“The Meeting” is a story about the Assamese people’s emotions toward their most beloved and famous festival, Bihu.)

In the college library, Sumit sat on the chair in the corner and opened the book on the demography of Assam. He flipped through the book. It was dust-covered. Author’s name was worm-eaten. It would come to his use. He was not in a mood to read the book in the library. The book in his left hand, he came out of the library. Dolly was cheerily coming with a girl, from his opposite direction. He hastily walked toward the hostel building and left the campus, unseen. He had to attend the Bihu meeting. Ansuman was surely waiting for him. He reached the rain tree and stood in its shade, waiting for a rickshaw.

      A student got off his bicycle. “Why are you standing here, sir?”

      “Waiting for a rickshaw.”

      “It’s noon. You can’t get any rickshaws now. I’ll send one if I can find at the turning.”

      All students didn’t dislike him. Within minutes, a rickshaw arrived. Sumit did not know the rickshaw-wallah. He got on the rickshaw and put the books on his lap. “Do you know my home?”

      “Yes, sir,” the rickshaw-wallah answered. 

*

Sumit and Ansuman reached the Sunjuri Library Hall in time. There were none but Amit and some of his friends. Sumit sat on a chair.

      Ansuman sat on the chair near Sumit.

      “I doubt the people will arrive in time,” Sumit said.

      “We can’t wait long for the people. We’ll go back if they don’t turn up in the scheduled time.” Ansuman looked around.

      Smoking a cigarette, Gunadhar Mahanta arrived. “Oh, you’ve come!” he said both to Sumit and Ansuman and sat on the chair next to Sumit. “When will it start?”

      “Only the organizers know,” Sumit answered with annoyance. 

      “The scheduled time is over.” Gunadhar Mahanta gave a long pull at the cigarette.

      Sumit looked at his watch. An Ambassador car stopped at the gate of the Hall. Amit speedily ran up to the gate and opened it. 

      Munin Bora got out of the car, grinning as if to show his premolars. He proudly walked toward the stage, ahead of Amit.

      Amit was smiling to show his courtesy. Munin Bora pompously came up to the stage.

       “When did you come, Mr Mahanta?” Munin Bora asked.

      “Before you and after Sumit,” Gunadhar Mahanta said. “Amit, now we can start the meeting.”

      “Yes, Sir.” Amit looked around and took the microphone. “All the audiences are requested to come in. We’ll start the meeting soon.” 

      Munin Bora furtively looked at Sumit and Ansuman on his right. He took off his spectacles, rubbed his eyes and wiped them on his handkerchief and furtively looked at Ansuman again. Sumit nudged Ansuman. “What are you thinking of?”

      “I want to leave.”

      “Why?”

      “I doubt that it’ll start,” Ansuman whispered.

      “You’ll learn about our integrity here,” Sumit said and glanced at Munin Bora.             

      “Sumit, I’ll have to go to the toilet. I must leave.” Ansuman stood up, bowed to Gunadhar Mahatma and went out. 

       “I propose the name of Sri Munin Bora-sir to grace the meeting, kindly occupying the chair for the president,” Amit said into the microphone.

      Bhaskar Chakrabarty rose among the audiences. “I second Amit Barkataki’s proposal.” 

      The audiences loudly clapped their hands. Aglow with delight, Munin Bora sat in the cushioned chair for the president. Now Sumit sat in the chair next to Gunadhar Mahanta.

*

“Sumit, won’t you tell me anything about the meeting?” Ansuman took the diary from Sumit’s hand.

      “Open the diary to page sixty-six. You’ll know everything about the meeting.”

      Ansuman obeyed him. Many lecturers mounted the rostrum and made speeches, shouting and throwing their hands in the air, to carry the audiences. The audiences expressed their thunderous appraisals of Mahanta-sir’s speech. Bhaskar criticized last year’s committee, which misappropriated a lot of money collected by the young boys of Sunjuri. Bhaskar did not like some committee members who stringently spent on the functions, saved money and filled their personal pockets.  He mentioned that they, while collecting money, promised the people that they would bring the famous artistes of Assam to the Sunjuri Bihu Pandal. He regretted that they had not invited any artists of renown. He condemned the organizers for cheating the people who gathered at the Bihu Pandal with hopes and returned home with frustrations. He vociferously rebuked the money collectors, organizers and the corrupt members. “So I suggest that the names of all corrupt people should be dropped and condemned to protect the image of the Sunjuri Bihu, the most important cultural gathering in our locality. We can never allow the grasping people to mar the important festival.” Gunadhar Mahanta again rose and said, “I support Bhaskar’s views.” Nobody in the meeting, except those involved in last year’s scandal, disagreed w with him. But the people whose names were going to be dropped did not remain silent. Jagat Hazarika rose in the audiences and shouted, “Tell us the names of those corrupt people in the meeting. If you don’t tell us their names then we will think that the blames put on them have been concocted with some devious motives.” The audiences droned, supporting Jagat. Bhaskar, who was standing near Gunadhar Mahanta, handed him a sheet of paper from his pocket. Gunadhar Mahanta clearly read out the names, including Jagat Hazarika. Just hearing it, Jagat roared like a wounded tiger and lifted a steel chair above his head and attempted to throw it over the audiences, to the rostrum where Mahanta-sir and Bhaskar were standing side by side. The man sitting near Jagat grasped his hands to hinder him. “I’ll see them. My name is Jagat Hazarika. Name a dog after me if you don’t see I haven’t dirtied my hands with the blood of these slanderers,” Jagat said and went out with the speed of a flurry, knocking, trampling and elbowing the people on his way. Nobody said anything. Mahanta-sir kept standing at the microphone, gawking at the audiences and not caring for Jagat departing the Hall defiantly. He cleared his throat, coughing, when, after some time, Jagat’s friends stood up almost simultaneously and started going out, heads down. Then resolutions were taken as preventive measures, to avoid future mismanagement and misappropriation. A new committee was formed with cultured and honest members. Amit couldn’t decline to become the secretary to the reception committee, disobeying Mahanta-sir.

 Ansuman closed the diary. “Very funny! You can also speak through your diary. How is Mr Bora?”

      “He’s a fine gentleman.”

      “I don’t like to go to the invitation.”

      “No. You can’t decline it.”

*

Sumit knocked on the door of Munin Bora’s drawing-room.

      Ansuman stood behind him.

      Gitika Bora, Munin Bora’s wife, opened the door. “Please come in.”

      Sumit and Ansuman entered the room.

      “Please sit down.”

      They sat down.

      Munin Bora came in and shook hands with them. “I’m really happy to receive your at my residence.” He sat on the sofa.