As Tista was taken away, Rivanah too rushed out. She didn’t stop for Ekansh. While he was busy with Tista, Rivanah took the elevator and went downstairs. She sat down on one of the seats in the waiting area and immediately broke down. A few people sitting beside her gave sympathetic glances, assuming some acquaintance of hers must be in a serious condition—not knowing it was her conscience on the ventilator.
Earlier she had to deal only with the fact that she couldn’t tell Danny what had happened between Ekansh and her that evening, but now her guilt discovered a stepsister named shame. Rivanah buried her face in her lap as she sobbed and shuddered. Someone in the seat behind her was staring at her. If Rivanah had turned around and looked, the person would have caught her attention. But she didn’t even lift her head. A few seconds later the person stood up and left. Rivanah was still sobbing when she heard someone say:
‘The heart leads but the mind misleads, Mini.’
Rivanah’s sobs paused instantly. In a flash, she turned around only to see a small recorder on the seat right behind her. She rubbed her eyes and stood up. She went to the row of seats behind her and picked up the recorder. She fast-forwarded it, rewound it but all there was in the recorder was a single sentence in a male voice.
The heart leads but the mind misleads, Mini.
She kept the recorder in her bag, knowing only too well who must have placed it on the seat. She was sure her chance to catch the person was long gone. Her phone flashed ‘Ekansh calling’ but she didn’t answer the call. Feeling slightly dizzy, she went out, wary of the people around her, and took a cab home. She slept till evening. Once her parents left for a function, she went to take a shower. Sitting naked on the bathroom floor under the shower, she only had one thing on her lips—a prayer for Tista. Ekansh had called her again, but she didn’t dare pick up the phone. The surgery must have ended but she didn’t have the courage to find out how it went. If Tista had died, Rivanah would die of guilt. If Tista lived, she would perish in shame. She was about to burst into tears again when her eyes snapped open. The water from her shower was still cascading down her body. But Rivanah could smell something. She stood up in a flash and turned off the shower. Something is surely burning, she thought, quickly wrapping herself in the towel. She unlocked the bathroom door and was about to step out into her room when the sight in front of her shocked her. There was a bonfire in the middle of her room, with flames licking the ceiling. She could feel the heat and knew the fire would soon engulf her as well, and yet she couldn’t move. Fear had clouded her instinct for survival.
The stranger is here to kill me. I’ll die in no time. Just like Hiya Chowdhury, she thought. As the fire in the room grew, Rivanah’s eyes fell on one of the many windows in her room. It had a word written on it in red:
Your
She looked at the next window.
End
Then the next one:
Is
The fourth window:
Coming
And then the last:
Soon.
Rivanah collapsed on the floor.
5
Mr and Mrs Bannerjee had rushed home after a panic call from their neighbour. By the time they reached, there was already a small crowd gathered around the front door, along with a stationary fire engine with its siren on. The firemen informed Mr Bannerjee that everything was under control; they had arrived before the fire could do some real damage. When Mr and Mrs Bannerjee went inside, they found their daughter huddled up in a corner of her room.
‘Someone was here, Mumma,’ Rivanah said, bursting into tears.
While Mrs Bannerjee hugged and tried to console her, Mr Bannerjee called up the police who arrived within half an hour. By then Rivanah had come out of shock and was able to speak clearly.
‘Do you have any idea how the fire started?’ Police Inspector Rajat Das asked Rivanah. He was the younger brother of one of Mr Bannerjee’s colleagues.
‘I don’t know. I was in the bathroom. I smelt something and came out to see my room engulfed in fire,’ she recounted, with fear still lurking in her heart.
‘Do you have enemies? Or did you fight with someone recently? Anything untoward?’ Inspector Rajat urged on.
Rivanah was lost in thoughts.
‘I’m asking because we have found some words on the window panes.’
‘What words?’ Mr Bannerjee was confused.
‘It said: Your end is coming soon.’
Mr and Mrs Bannerjee exchanged a worried glance.
‘Mini,’ Mr Bannerjee said, ‘are you hiding anything from us?’
Rivanah couldn’t tell them about the Stranger. Who knew what he would do if she involved the police this time. Forget the Stranger, she had a few skeletons of her own to hide from her parents. She looked at her father and shook her head.
‘Hmm.’ Rajat stood from the chair.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, facing Mrs Bannerjee, ‘We shall be quick with the investigation. I’ll let you know if something comes up.’ He turned to Mr Bannerjee and said, ‘Do accompany us to lodge an FIR.’
‘Certainly.’ Mr Bannerjee followed Rajat to the door.
Rivanah was wondering whether she should tell the police about Argho. It was evident what his or the Stranger’s intention was: to kill her. What if she didn’t live long enough to tell them the name?
As Inspector Rajat took his leave, Rivanah blurted out, ‘Argho has been following me.’
‘Argho? Who is he?’ Rajat came up to her once again. Her parents were behind him.
‘He works with me in Mumbai.’
‘You never told us about this guy Argho before!’ Mr Bannerjee said.
‘And why has he been following you?’ Mrs Bannerjee was quick to ask.
‘I don’t know,’ Rivanah said, feeling her mind go blank.
‘There has to be some reason for taking his name?’ Rajat asked.
Rivanah was in two minds. If she told the police that she thought Argho was the Stranger, then she would have to tell them the entire story. What if the Stranger killed her if she confessed? Rivanah swallowed a lump and said, ‘I’m not sure. I saw him glancing at me in the office.’
‘Just glancing at you? Hmm. Anyway, do you know where he lives in Mumbai?’ Rajat asked.
Rivanah nodded.
‘What’s his full name?’
‘Argho Chowdhury.’
‘Did he follow you here to Kolkata?’
‘Yes.’
‘How are you sure?’
‘He was there in the recently held convocation in my college a few days back.’
‘Did he study with you in college?’
‘No.’
‘Then what was he doing in the convocation?’
Rivanah took her time before saying, ‘I don’t know.’
‘Hmm. Any idea where he lives in Kolkata?’
Rivanah shot him an incredulous look and shook her head. For a second, she thought of giving the inspector the phone numbers of the Stranger she had stored, but knew it would be useless since he never used them under his name.
‘Hmm, you said he works with you. So it won’t be difficult to hunt him down and check if your suspicion is right.’
Inspector Rajat finally took his leave followed by Mr Bannerjee. Her mother stayed back with her.
‘I don’t know what we have done to anyone to deserve all this.’
‘I’m not hurt, Mumma,’ she said trying to emotionally shelter her mother. I’m not hurt yet, she said to herself.
‘Can I please have some water? I’m very thirsty.’
‘Yes. You should have some salt water, actually. You are perspiring a lot,’ Mrs Bannerjee said and sauntered away. Mr Bannerjee came back and said, ‘You should have told us about Argho before.’
‘Baba, even I didn’t know it would come to this. In fact, I don’t have solid reason to suspect him. It’s just that when the inspector asked if I have anyone in my mind, only his face came to me.’
‘But why would he
do such a fatal thing? Does he have a grudge against you?’
‘I don’t know, Baba. I’m sure if the police nab him he will confess whatever it is. If he is the guilty one, that is.’
‘Did he do anything during or after the convocation?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Hmm.’ Mr Bannerjee went away.
Rivanah picked up her phone and went to her Contacts. She had to talk to someone. She scrolled down till she stopped at a name: Danny. And right below it was Ekansh. Calling Danny would have been the right thing to do. But right things always had consequences. What if Danny sensed her unsettled tone and asked questions? Telling him one thing would invariably lead to telling him a lot of things, which she knew would complicate their relationship. Ekansh too could ask questions but with him she now had the luxury to dodge them. Rivanah tapped on Ekansh’s name. She anyway had to inquire about Tista’s surgery. She had already ignored it for too long. The phone was answered on the second ring but Ekansh didn’t speak.
‘Ekansh, you there?’
‘Hmm.’ He sounded grim.
‘What happened? How was the surgery?’ Rivanah said, feeling a tinge of guilt that she couldn’t be there with him when the surgery happened.
‘Tista hasn’t gained consciousness as yet. She is under observation for twenty-four hours. I . . .’
Rivanah could sense he was crying.
‘Where are you right now?’
‘Home,’ he said in a choked voice.
She knew he needed her. Did Tista tell him that she knows? The emotional desperation to be there for Ekansh made her uncomfortable. But a truth from within struck the bell of her conscience—Ekansh was more a part of her now, when they were separated, than when they were together. Whether she accepted this truth or not was a different story.
‘Ekansh, I’m coming to your place,’ she said in one breath and cut the line.
Though she tried to coax her father, he wouldn’t let her leave the house on her own—not after what had happened. Rivanah had to lie that an urgent office work had come up, else she wouldn’t have insisted. They reluctantly agreed. Mr Bannerjee dropped her at Ekansh’s place. She didn’t tell him it was his place to avoid unnecessary questions. Her father offered to wait outside but she promised to call him once she was done. After Mr Bannerjee drove away, she walked for half a kilometre and reached Ekansh’s actual house. The lights were off. She pushed the gate open and noticed a faded board on it: Beware of dog. Ekansh used to have a bulldog named Engineer. It was a joke between Ekansh and her that engineers studied to become MNC dogs. Every time she entered through the gate, Engineer would come and wag his tail until she put him on her lap and let him lick her face. The dog had died the year they graduated but the board had remained intact. Ekansh probably never got a pet after that. She rang the doorbell, and Ekansh’s mother answered the door. If she was surprised to see Rivanah, she didn’t show it.
‘Hello, aunty,’ Rivanah blurted awkwardly.
‘How are you, Rivanah?’ Ekansh’s mother usually called her Mini. The way we address people tells us so much about our relationship with them, she thought.
‘I’m okay, aunty. Is Ekansh—?’
‘He is in his room,’ his mother answered before she could finish.
Rivanah walked in as she closed the door behind her. Sensing she wasn’t very inclined to talk, Rivanah took the stairs to Ekansh’s room. As she stood outside the door, she took a deep breath to negate the flashes from the past which were becoming clearer and clearer every second. This was the room in which they had secretly kissed so many times.
Rivanah knocked on the door.
‘Mom, I told you to leave me alone.’ Ekansh’s pitch had an irksome tinge to it.
‘It’s me, Ekansh.’
Ekansh let her in and shut the door. Before she could say anything, he hugged her tightly, almost crushing her ribs. The way his hands gripped her back always aroused her before—and it was no different now.
‘Ekansh . . .’ she murmured. He half broke the hug and then tore away from her, probably sensing she was uncomfortable.
‘Any news of Tista?’ Rivanah asked quickly, not wanting to give time for memories to return. After all, Tista was the reason they were together in his room. Whatever they had between them was not supposed to be set on fire again. Deep relationships probably never die, she thought, and always have the potential to be rekindled.
‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘Tell me she will be all right.’
Rivanah had never seen Ekansh behave like a kid. It just told her how much he loved Tista. During their relationship, she had never believed Ekansh could love anyone more than he loved her. But now, getting a glimpse of his love for Tista, she had mixed feelings. She wasn’t sad about it. But she wasn’t happy either.
‘She will be all right.’ Rivanah understood that Tista hadn’t told Ekansh anything yet, or else that would have surely been his first question to her.
A few silent moments and a stare later, Ekansh added, ‘Thanks for coming here. I needed you.’
Words like these from your ex can steal your peace, especially when the real you knows you aren’t over him completely.
‘I’m going to Mumbai the day after.’
Ekansh sat down beside the window without a word. He was staring at the floor. Rivanah could tell he was thinking hard.
‘I know it is still early, but do you have any idea when Tista will be discharged?’
‘Rivanah . . .’ Ekansh raised his head and looked straight at her. It wasn’t a normal look. It looked like something of uber importance had dawned on him and she was interrupting that realization. She had a hunch that whatever he was about to say could alter a lot of choices in her life. It made her heart beat faster.
‘Just say it . . .’ Rivanah said.
Ekansh shook his head and said, ‘Nothing.’
There was most definitely something but why won’t he say it? Rivanah wondered.
‘You can be honest with me, Ekansh,’ she said, feeling her throat go dry as she spoke.
‘That’s the problem. If we are always absolutely honest, we won’t be able to live in peace.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Rivanah frowned slightly.
‘It’s because peace is an illusion created by either ignorance or acceptance.’
What are you trying to ignore, Ekansh? Or accept, for that matter? She desperately wanted to ask him but didn’t, since she understood his point. She was oscillating between honesty and peace herself as far as her confession to Danny was concerned. Thinking about Danny, she wondered if she should tell Ekansh about her conversation with Tista. One look at Ekansh, however, and she knew he wouldn’t be able to handle it.
‘I’m not sure when I’ll be in Mumbai,’ he said.
‘I get it. Let me know when you visit Tista next. I need to see her once.’ And apologize to her with all my heart, she said to herself, knowing full well a verbal apology would not be good enough to cleanse the dirt of guilt within her.
Rivanah’s father came to pick her up from exactly where he had dropped her. Later in the night, when Rivanah joined her parents at the dining table, Mr Bannerjee gave her a bunch of papers.
‘What’s this, Baba?’
‘One of Rajat’s constables was here when you were out. It has the names of the passengers who travelled to Mumbai from Kolkata yesterday. The name you’d mentioned . . .’
‘Argho Chowdhury,’ Rivanah chipped in.
‘Right. Argho’s name is on the list, and the police have confirmed from the CCTV footage that he did go through the security check at the airport yesterday.’
He couldn’t have set fire inside my bedroom, she thought.
‘If he has flown back to Mumbai, then what am I to check in these papers?’
‘These papers have the names of passengers who flew from Kolkata to Mumbai after the incident. The police want to know if you recognize any name.’
Rivanah kept flipping through the pages, going through ea
ch name with utmost focus. She paused on one name: Prateek Basotia.
6
Rivanah gave the papers back to her father saying, ‘I don’t know anyone from the list.’ She had to first check if Prateek, her school senior and ex-colleague, was indeed the Stranger or not. But if he was, why would he call her to his place like he had done months back and then humiliate himself by recording his own self in a compromising manner only to help her out?
‘What happened, Mini?’ Mr Bannerjee asked.
‘Nothing. I think I’ll retire now. Goodnight, Baba, goodnight, Mumma,’ said Rivanah, pushing her chair back. She got up and walked straight to her room.
Once inside, she opened Facebook and unblocked Prateek from her blocked list. She immediately went to his profile. His cover photo was of a woman’s mehendi-adorned hands with a wrist full of red bangles. Her hand was holding a man’s hand. The profile picture was of Prateek with a girl. A look at his About Me section confirmed her guess. His relationship status was ‘Married to: Rati Agarwal Basotia’. Rivanah clicked on the hyperlink and Prateek’s wife’s profile opened. She appeared to be a typical Marwari girl with a domestic vibe. A casual glance at her timeline told Rivanah that she had checked-in at the Yellow Chilli restaurant in Bangur Avenue with Prateek Basotia at . . . Rivanah saw the time. It was about the same time the attack had taken place. Had Prateek paid someone to do it? He had all the reasons to be upset with her. Rivanah scrolled down Prateek’s timeline. He had got married three months back. On a hunch she ran to her parents’ room.
‘Baba?’ Rivanah said. The lights in the room were off. Both her parents woke up, startled.
‘What happened, Mini?’
‘Relax. I just wanted to check the passengers list once again,’ she said, switching the lights on.
‘It is right below that book,’ Mr Bannerjee said pointing towards a table. Rivanah picked it up.
‘Keep it with you tonight,’ Mr Bannerjee said sleepily. Rivanah nodded and took the papers with her. She switched the lights off before leaving the room.
Back in her room, Rivanah opened the page which had Prateek’s name on it. And right below was: Rati Agarwal Basotia. The two had clearly travelled together from Kolkata to Mumbai. Why would a guy who got married few months back take such a big risk of attacking a girl because of a grudge? What will he get out of it? It wasn’t Argho if the police were to be believed, and now it was almost clear that Prateek’s name was a coincidence. Then it could only mean the Stranger was still at large . . . unless . . . there were not one but several people involved. The thought itself made her heart skip a beat. What if there were not one but multiple Strangers? As Rivanah lay in bed, she kept wondering if she was missing out on any detail from the first day she had landed in Mumbai. An hour later, she fell asleep with a myriad of directionless thoughts.
Forget Me Not, Stranger Page 3