Wants and Desires: A Psychological Thriller

by Chitrangada Mukherjee

  Atanu: Did you hear anything before you slept or when you woke up in between?

  Mrs Bhattacharjee: No, I didn’t hear a thing. I didn’t sleep well, disturbed sleep. My stomach was bloated from the shinni.

  The house was silent and I don’t remember hearing anything unusual. I was almost awake. Must have slept for a couple of hours in between. And I got up late next morning, at 6.30. I usually get up at 5.30.

  I only wish, I hadn’t got up…at all.

  10 NOVEMBER, 2015

  Atanu: You feed them daily?

  Jewel: Yes. I feed them thrice a day. I don’t have an unending supply of food, but I eat less so I can feed them. I love crows. Fighters. Survivors. They don’t need to run away and find a peaceful corner to be themselves. They don’t hide to heal or lick their wounds. They exist as a crow among crows.

  Sukanto loved crows too. In fact Sukanto and I used to feed them together. But then he stopped after his father’s death. I saw less and less of him...

  Atanu: Oh…Do you remember that night? The night before Sukanto died…

  Jewel: We did Satyanarayan puja, like every other year. I helped chotoma with the cleaning and she said she was very happy with the puja this time. It made her feel good.

  Actually, everyone comes and visits Bhattacharjee Bari but never bonds with its residents. No one wants to just drop in for a chat. There was this Milli mashi from the neighbouring house, second large pink building from the right -- if you are facing the lane outside Bhattacharjee Bari. She is a curious soul and has a daughter, few years younger than Sukanto.

  Milli mashi used to visit quite frequently, mostly uninvited. She used to love chatting with chotoma. One day, I saw her running out of Bhattacharjee Bari, flushed and red-eyed. I had gone to get vegetables from the nearby bazaar.

  She usually smiles at me. But that sunny afternoon, her bright yellow sari, pan-smeared lips, large jet black bun and protruding stomach wiggling like a soft ball vibrated with an unknown fear. I saw her visiting once or twice a month after that. But her unhesitant couple of times a week visits became a thing of the past.

  Atanu: Hmm…Did you notice anything unusual that night?

  Jewel: There was nothing unusual about that night, Atanu. We cleaned, ate prasad and went back to sleep. I don’t remember much about the night because I slept like a log. I was tired. But I remember seeing Kalpana take shinni to Sukanto’s room. Kalpana usually walks at night around Bhattacharjee Bari – between 9 and 10. It’s her daily ritual. And that night I saw her walk too, a bit late though…

  10 NOVEMBER, 2015

  Atanu: How are things with you?

  Kalpana: Everything is wrong, Atanu. I don’t understand if I should start believing in reincarnation. As a proud student of science and a lover of mathematics, I never thought I will see the day, when a large part of me will start believing in superstitions. Maybe, I did something wrong in my past life… To be punished this way… An orphan and now a widow. Always the pariah.

  You know when I’m in the house, in our room, all by myself, I can still feel his presence. Sukanto’s soul is still among us. That day, I read up on souls. Some of us, our souls I mean, don’t pass on to the astral plane immediately. They stay back for different reasons. Some call it an unfinished business, the very premise for believing in ghosts and such things. But then there are some who stay behind because they love to stay where they are—among the known sounds, smells and familiar faces. But I’m not sure if their senses are as sharp after death. Souls are transient and devoid of the sensuous that chains us. Maya and moh….

  You know what the worst part is? I am his wife. His other half for better or worse. If he prospers and becomes someone great, I’m invariably the force behind--his strength, the very reason why he succeeded. But if he fails or dies, I’m the one to be blamed.

  Atanu: Hmm… Do you remember that night?

  Kalpana: That night…we finished puja by 8.30 or so. And Bhattacharjee Bari fell silent, at about 12 or later. Boroma was cleaning the house with Malati and Jewel. Boroma never stops until she’s satisfied with the cleaning. The floors must be as clean as mirrors. The corners must be swept, the utensils must be cleaned with soap and Dettol. Even the house will be swept with Dettol, the second time—after it has been swept clean with water, the first time.

  I took a large bowl of shinni for Sukanto. He eats in that brass bowl, which I believe is ten years old, but sparkles with the newness of a well-cleaned and gingerly maintained object.

  It was after 9, I don’t remember the exact time. Sukanto looked worn out, almost out of breath. I don’t remember him panting. But he did lick his lips a few times, during our short chat. I wanted to give the shinni and go for my daily night walk so I didn’t question him. I should have… He looked different that night. He asked me to leave the bowl on the large round mahogany table, right at the centre of his study room. His last words to me were: thanks, Kalpana.

  11 NOVEMBER, 2015

  Atanu is a regular at Shorgo too. He drops in often to talk to Shayantika...

  Atanu: How are you?

  Shayantika: I, I don’t know…

  Atanu: Do you remember the night before he passed away? Where you there at the puja in Bhattacharjee Bari?

  Shayantika: I wasn’t invited to Bhattacharjee Bari that day. Trust me, if I were, I wouldn’t go. Not on my death bed. They have insulted me enough and now they have killed him too. Sukanto was like his father. But somehow listened to his mother. Why else would he marry her?

  She called me once you know. I was in the hospital, rushing towards OT for an emergency case. A kid was profusely bleeding. There were signs of severe injury on her abdomen and she was still in her school uniform. The mother must have hit the child with a blunt object or kicked her in a fit of anger, after the child returned from school and later, rushed her to the hospital. After regaining her mental balance. You should have seen her. Standing there-- silently shedding copious tears; gathering sympathy from her family and people around. All the time guilty of hurting her own child.

  She told me her baby got hurt while playing outside the house. I knew she was lying. She didn’t look me in the eye, even once. We doctors can tell…

  You see, parents often take their anger out on children. Usual triggers: fights with spouses, financial worries, too many kids to look after, frustration, depression, their own history of abuse…

  Atanu: Oh…Kalpana called you?

  Shayantika: I was surprised to get her call. She addressed me as Shayan, just like Sukanto. I know what she was trying to prove -- she had heard about me from the horse’s mouth. And that he felt comfortable discussing me -- with her.

  I was stunned at her cruelty and audacity. I think only orphans do that. They don’t grow up with parents. So they learn little about emotions. There are no inhibitions either.

  “I know about you and wanted to check, how you were doing”. She shamelessly replied, when I asked her why she had called.

  I wanted to tell her so many things. But I think I said: “I know about you too. He told me. You know…when he is with me, he speaks more about the things he can’t share, with anyone else. He talks about him.”

  She said, she was glad -- I was such a good friend to him and hung up. She was cordial. But I could sense, she didn’t like what she heard. The call lasted for a few minutes. I was relieved, it didn’t stretch. I had a patient to attend. And I was the only doctor available that day to handle the emergencies. The other two were on a cosy vacation in quaint towns.

  Sukanto was no Greek god. Not even a great lover. The first time we made love, he was nervous and impatient. It was over before we knew. Like a hasty handshake -- the one in which you don't get a feel of the person because you're so taken in by the person you're touching-- for the very first time. I liked him much better when we cuddled or hugged or simply sat next to each other, without saying or doing much.

  Sex is a fantasy. And it’s attractive as long as it remains just that. The real act,
the Kamasutra, gets mundane, after a while -- often after the very first time. But you stick to the routine or to the person because you are in denial or simply because are in love.

  Atanu: Hmm…Did you speak to Sukanto that night or after?

  Shayantika: I didn’t speak to him after that night. I made a call at around 9, so I could hear his voice. But he didn’t pick up. He usually answers my calls. But that night he didn’t. He must have missed it. I sent him some messages later, at 10.30, but never heard back.

  You know I didn’t even meet him during Durga puja. He wasn’t there. He promised, we would have dinner together on Oshtomi… Kalpana called me on Shoptomi. Now, I understand… She wanted to find out if he was with me. But she got nothing out of me.

  You see the difference. There she was, mad with worry. Wondering where her mysterious husband had vanished -- at a time when people try their best to be with their families. And there I was -- the other woman, attending to a child. Trying my best to help her return to normalcy. The only hope of a mother, secretly ashamed of herself.

  Can she say the same about her life? A housewife. Dependent on her husband’s money, married off by an uncle--who wouldn’t bat an eyelid, if she were to die suddenly. A stranger in her own home.

  Atanu: When was the last time you met Sukanto?

  Shayantika: It was Ponchomi. Sukanto appeared happy, happier than most days. He said he was finally going to have a vacation he was longing for. He was excited to meet up with his buddies and spend time in the scenic and lush green Jampui hills. I causally asked if he would want to come back. You know a part of me was always so unsure and distrusting of him. “I wouldn’t stay for long, Shayan. I will be back for our dinner. I’ve told no one. Kalpana and maa think, I’m going on a business trip”, he impishly retorted -- like an excited child, while opening his car door for me, in front of my house.

  ATANU

  On a sunny Sunday morning in December…

  Sitting in his spacious room, Atanu looks out at the tall mango tree in his backyard. His home, a gift from the government of Tripura to his government servant father is huge. There are four large rooms and a front and backyard -- for a family of four. He admits that his studio apartment in Delhi is tiny and louder in comparison. Here, he can hear the birds chirp.“It’s a parrot. A green parrot…” He says aloud.

  “ Dada, what are you saying?” A chubby girl with long braided hair, shouts from behind.

  “ I’m wondering about your boyfriend, Piu.” He answers playfully.

  Piu: Dada, please!

  Atanu: What you don’t have a boyfriend?

  Piu: No.

  Atanu: Liar.

  Piu: Do you like it here?

  Atanu: It’s alright…What are you thinking?

  Piu: Why do you go to Bhattacharjee Bari every day?

  Atanu: I don’t go there every day.

  Piu: I saw you, going in. I go for Chemistry tutions, near Bhattacharjee Bari… Mihir Sir, remember?

  Atanu: How is he? I wanted to go to school and meet our teachers.

  Piu: He is the same, hasn’t changed a bit in the last five years. I was nine when I first noticed him in school. I was with Mou. We were sitting and chatting in that large playground, near the Science lab. Lovely ladies chatting on a pleasant afternoon. He said appearing from nowhere. We didn’t know what to say…

  Atanu: He always knew his way around females. Does he still wear those bright shirts?

  Piu: Yes, he does. It looks good on him. And he knows that. Those girls in our class go gaga over him.

  Atanu: He enjoys that, doesn’t he?

  Piu: Of course. Men are like that.

  Atanu: How many men do you know, Piu?

  Piu: Not many, I’m afraid.

  Atanu: Good. For a moment, I was afraid.

  Piu: Dada, what happened to Sukanto? Was he killed?

  Atanu: I don’t know.

  Piu: But you talk to his family?

  Atanu: Hmm...

  Piu: A boy in my class lives close to Bhattacharjee Bari. He says, when he was a kid, he used to think Bhattacharjee Bari was haunted.

  Atanu: Why?

  Piu: He cycles around the house every evening, but hardly sees anyone. Barring a tribal man who hurries out of the house with a bag. He says that man lives in the house.

  Atanu: Hmm…

  Piu: You do know that Shayantika Majumdar is my paediatrician, still?

  Atanu: N-no.

  Piu: When I was in standard two, I wanted to be her. I used to play doctor-patient and pretend I was her. She would give me chocolates--Gems and call me by my full name, Poushali. Maa told her once, about you. She was like: Oh, Atanu. I don’t remember him.

  Atanu: Hmm…

  Piu: I’ve met Sagota Bhattacharjee too.

  Atanu: Where?

  Piu: She came to Poltu’s wedding wearing a lovely dark green saree, with golden borders. Poltu works in their hotel.

  Atanu: I know where Poltu works. I’m going out.

  Piu: Where? You didn’t eat breakfast…Dada you’re so thin, if you don’t eat you’ll disappear.

  Atanu: I won’t. Need fresh air, will take my bike and hit the roads… Tell maa, I’ll be home for lunch. Where’s she?

  Piu: She’s doing puja. You know how she takes hours to do puja. She will clean the corner, then the idols, cut fruits---

  Atanu: I know…I know…She has always loved doing it. I think she loves it the most.

  Piu: Ya…and shutkir chutney…

  Atanu: Ha-ha…

  Piu: Dada…?

  Atanu: Yes?

  Piu: Agartala is a small town. Everyone’s connected. Her aunt is his sister, he is her uncle, her uncle is someone’s friend…you know like a chain… so news spreads really fast.

  Atanu: What news?

  Piu: They are saying the police is clueless.

  Atanu: And…?

  Piu: Are the Bhattacharjees mad…dada?

  Atanu: Where are my glasses?

  Piu: Its right next to you on the chair…When will you learn to find your things?

  Atanu: You’re there to find.

  Piu: Until your wife comes in--

  Atanu: That will not happen—

  Piu: You won’t marry?

  Atanu: Piu-buri…don’t worry, you can get married to your boyfriend.

  Piu: I don’t have one.

  Atanu: That boy you chat with all day—

  Piu: You read my messages!

  Atanu: I didn’t.

  Piu: Then how did you kn—

  Atanu: You’re glued to your mobile.

  Piu: So?

  Atanu: And you’re fourteen so it must be a boy.

  Piu: Uff…Dada! Do come back for lunch. Baba will be joining us.

  Atanu: How come? He is not busy today?

  Piu: He wants to eat with you.

  Atanu: Wow!

  Piu: Dada, please…

  Breakthrough

  5 DECEMBER, 2015

  AGARTALA POLICE STATION

  11 AM

  It’s Mr Roy’s tea time and he doesn’t like skipping tea for anyone. He raises his brows and clears his throat, when he finds Mrs Bhattacharjee calling on his mobile. Taking one good swig from the tea-glass, he gulps down the hot liquid, inhales deeply and answers the call.

  “ Hello, Mrs Bhattacharjee…”

  A hysterical female voice rambles. After hearing her out for a minute, Mr Roy cuts in.

  “ Ok, Ok…Do you want us to intervene? I know you’re calling for help Mrs. Bhattacharjee. Please calm down and don’t do anything before we reach. We will be there in fifteen minutes...Yes, fifteen…not fifty”.

  When he reaches Bhattacharjee Bari with Inspector Malakar, he is not thinking about his tea anymore. Instead, he’s confident of making a breakthrough.

  Mr Roy: You were trying to break into Bhattacharjee Bari…Shayantika?

  Shayantika: No-no. I had come to visit Jewel and I just happened to see what Sukanto’s mother was doing. I didn’t break in
or…cause harm.

  Mr Roy: Then why did Mrs Bhattacharjee call us for help…

  Shayantika: Ask Jewel. Please…

  Mr Roy: Malakar, can you get him?

  Malakar: Sir, I have already searched his room and looked around.

  Mr Roy: Then, ask Mrs Bhattacharjee?

  Malakar: She says, he went to get vegetables from the nearby GB market. He should be back in some time.

  Mr Roy: Get his mobile and check for calls and messages sent and received.

  Malakar: Right, sir.

  Mr Roy: Shayantika, I know your father. Do you want me to call him?

  Shayantika: Yes, please… I feel tired. I want to go home. I-I don’t know…why this is happening. This is such a cruel joke. She killed him and you are protecting her.

  Mr Roy: Who killed him?

  Shayantika: Mrs Bhattacharjee. She killed Sukanto.

  Mr Roy: I am not sure if the mother can be charged with killing her son. Unless there’s evidence supporting the act. Plus, he wasn’t actually murdered. We have a suicide letter. Why are you laughing?

  Shayantika: You think he committed suicide?

  Mr Roy: W-why not?

  Shayantika: He may have written a letter but I doubt if he killed himself…

  Mr Roy: Maybe someone forced him to--

  Shayantika: His mother did. She is the criminal. Don’t you see? She wanted him to die.

  Mr Roy: Why?

  Shayantika: Because he loved me…

  Malakar: Sir? Sir…?

  Mr Roy: Yes, Malakar?

  Malakar: No calls or messages from her number on Jewel’s phone. No outgoing calls made to her number, either.