Wants and Desires: A Psychological Thriller

by Chitrangada Mukherjee

  He spoke to Sagota Bhattacharjee, next…

  Mrs Bhattacharjee: Dreams? What dreams?

  Atanu: Or nightmares…?

  Mrs Bhattacharjee: I don’t know what you mean. Why will I be dreaming when my son is dead! This is a nightmare!

  Atanu: You know…when I close my eyes, I see faces...Faces of people I--

  Mrs Bhattacharjee: I see Sukanto. My little boy in my clothes, standing expectantly. Not a word, just waiting…

  You know when Sukanto was a child, I used to dress him in my nightie. He would pick the oversized garment and walk carefully to avoid tripping. But he never said no, or threw tantrums. He complied. To please his mother. My Sukanto had a large heart. He was a good boy. And he always listened to his mother…then.

  Wearing my favourite yellow nightie, he stood in the long white veranda, next to me. And I sat on the large cane mora comfortably, with my legs folded in an ashon. He wouldn’t start unless I folded my legs and settled down. If I didn’t fold my legs, he would look at me and wait -- never saying a word.

  Then he walked, swinging his body, breaking into a dance in between. Smiling, giggling, carefree... He looked like a pretty girl, with those large green eyes, heavy lashes and long straight reddish hair -- shaking his tiny body and singing his favourite Hindi film songs. I laughed and laughed till my jaws hurt. He was four or five then.

  One day, his father came home early and saw us. He stood there silently watching, before we noticed him.

  “Baba, you have come in early!” He said in fear.

  I sat there -- like an invalid, unable to jump and defend my son. And protect him from his father’s silent rebuke. His baba looked at me like I was a dacoit who had robbed his son of his identity. Was it because I made my son wear a nightie?

  Sukanto and I stopped playing immediately.

  The breezy afternoon which was as pretty as a picture with grey rain clouds, hanging on top of the bright red hibiscus tree -- ready to wet the earth with a heavy shower, suddenly turned unpleasant. We never played again. Not even when his father went on trips to Udaipur or Kolkata and we had a couple of days, only to ourselves.

  Thereafter, he spoke to Jewel…

  Atanu: How are you…?

  Jewel: I’m fine. I don’t think about it much. I’m reading more these days. But sometimes my mind wanders like everyone else’s. What if Sukanto was alive? What if we were friends again? What if our lives were different?

  I see him still… Walking past my room silently, absorbed in himself. Sometimes checking in to see what I was doing. You know when someone dies, your mind remembers only the good things. Like, playing together in the garden happily -- without a worry. Chotoma celebrating his birthday -- cutting his favourite pineapple-cream cake and laughing over silly things. His father proudly watching his sole heir. And a thin, lanky boy standing next to them feeling happy…for him, for them.

  I want to tell you something, Atanu.

  Atanu: Tell me…

  Jewel: Please don’t disclose this to anyone.

  Atanu: I won’t.

  Jewel: Here.

  Atanu: School uniform?

  Jewel: Yes. Sukanto’s… I stole it.

  Not because he looked good wearing it, maybe he did. To me, its appeal lay elsewhere.

  Grey and white. These colours might be drab and unattractive to some, but to me those were the exact colours of my dream. In the beginning, I wanted to wear it -- waited for days looking for an opportunity to…

  I took it one afternoon when chotoma was busy with the maids and hid it in my steel trunk. No one looks inside that trunk: the child in me reasoned. After the initial euphoria of possessing it had evaporated -- I tried returning it. But failed, each time. There was someone around, always.

  He was in class eight then. Fortunately, he didn’t notice his missing uniform. And when he did, he forgot about it as soon as he got a new one. Chotoma was furious at the maids for days. But she never questioned me. At times, I wanted to tell her: it was me chotoma -- me. I want to go to school. Like Sukanto.

  Atanu: Do you feel the urge to possess things, now?

  Jewel: I’m not a kleptomaniac, Atanu.

  At the end, he spoke to Shayantika…

  Atanu: Is there something on your mind…? A thought, a dream….You want to talk---

  Shayantika: We were in a friend’s birthday party, one evening. It was late and a few of us stayed back. Sukanto was drunk, I wasn’t. I don’t drink. Not because I live with my parents or because I’m a doctor. I don’t like the taste of liquor. Sukanto couldn’t drive and all the rest were drunk too. So I suggested I drop him home. He agreed.

  I don’t know what came over me that night. It was past 11 and we were in Colonel Choumuni. The distance from Colonel Choumuni to his home at Kunjaban at that time of the night could have been covered in fifteen minutes, at the most. I just wanted him to stay longer than that, beside me. I kept driving slowly at first and then faster… I took a couple of rounds of Kunjaban -- went around Bhattacharjee Bari till giddiness kicked in. And then blankly drove away towards the city. I lost sense of time and…place didn’t matter. I just wanted him to stay with me, for a while.

  I dropped him home at around four. Thankfully, it was still dark so he sneaked in without any difficulty. He always carried an extra set of keys to prevent waking anyone.

  Strangely…you know…after that night, we moved apart, despite my frantic attempt to move closer.

  The Suicide Letter

  6 DECEMBER, 2015

  POLICE STATION, AGARTALA

  SP Roy and Atanu talk business.

  Mr Roy: Good morning, Atanu. Bosho.

  Atanu: Morning. I heard--

  Mr Roy: Who told you?

  Atanu: Malakar.

  Mr Roy: Shayantika did us a favour by breaking into Bhattacharjee Bari. We know for sure now that Proloy Sen doesn’t exist. He died when she was a child. She must have been very attached to him to have kept him alive for so long.

  Atanu: Sagota Bhattacharjee is mentally unstable.

  Mr Roy: You found out? Of course, you did. Sukanto knew about his mother’s illness, Atanu.

  Atanu: That could have been the reason why they didn’t get along. Mostly, children of mentally unstable parents have a tough time finding balance. They are certainly more prone to mental illnesses like depression.

  Mr Roy: Do you think Sukanto was depressed?

  Atanu: From what I understand from the Bhattacharjees and Shayantika, plus in the light of what we’ve recently come to know, I don’t rule that out as a possibility.

  Mr Roy: Mrs Bhattacharjee wrote that letter as Proloy Sen.

  Atanu: Well...

  Mr Roy: But then you already knew.

  Atanu: Give me some credit, sir.

  Mr Roy: Ha…ha…ha. I want you to show them Sukanto’s letter and see how they react. Ask them, get them to react to the letter and put that down in your report. By the way, Jewel wanted to know if you were working for us.

  Atanu: And...?

  Mr Roy: I covered up for you.

  Atanu: You covered for me?

  Mr Roy: I said you gave Proloy’s letter to us on Mrs Bhattacharjee’s insistence.

  Atanu: Which is the truth, actually. What did he say?

  Mr Roy: He was okay after she confirmed it. Atanu, show them the letter. This is our last card. If we fail to get anything out of them, the case is as good as closed.

  Atanu: I don’t think we should show the letter to his mother.

  Mr Roy: Why not? She is not as fragile as you think. And she is mentally unstable. She could have killed her son in a fit of rage. Executed it brilliantly and forgotten all about it. Showing her the letter might help us get a confession. We are this close to success, Atanu…

  Despite having reservations about the letter, Atanu meets Jewel first…

  Atanu: Was Sukanto good to you…?

  Jewel: You see…chotoma gave me a lamp. The huhrican. The one that has been with the Bhattacharjees for
more than three generations. A priceless heirloom. When there’s a power cut, you light it and read your books. I know you have started to read in English. You can take Sukanto’s books from his study. Don’t forget to return those though. Read as much as you can, baba. But don’t strain your eyes. Chotoma considerately concluded, sitting on one of the two yellow cane moras in my room. The guest room. Only the maids in the house called it the servant’s room.

  When Bhattacharjee Bari was lit with a generator to beat power cuts, I lighted my priced lamp. I continued to strain my eyes to decipher big and small English words in the thick and thin books borrowed from him. But I always left a note on his desk – to keep him informed. And I returned his books within seven days. Those were my rules and Sukanto didn’t seem to mind.

  Maybe Sukanto overlooked the guest house. Maybe I should have told him, sometimes we need to ask. Demand. Like how a child demands milk from its mother -- how else will the mother know! But I didn’t. I am not a child and I felt my childhood friend, my only friend, will read my mind.

  Shayantika…In her bright yellow sarees on Saraswati puja -- year after year, trying hard to blend into the alien life of the Bhattacharjees. She was always kept out, but I felt better when she was around. Because when she was here, I became an insider. Especially to chotoma, who frequently asked for help: Jewel, we need to finish preparing prasad. Can you call and check if the priest is on his way? The red-faced, plump, garrulous priest was a constant, every year. Just like Shayantika.

  I could see her getting upset with each passing year. Disappointment slowly seeping in.

  During her visits, she always spoke to me and when she called or messaged—sometimes quite late at night, after she was done with her hospital work, I felt good. My nights which were dedicated to books, earlier, were now spent listening to her anguish over Sukanto.

  Sukanto must have sensed it. I found him in my room one day. Sitting on my mora and looking out at the garden that I tended and beautified with seasonal flowers and lately, with vegetables. My room was always left unlocked. I never felt unsafe or in need of solitude in Bhattacharjee Bari.

  “ So how are things, brother?” He said looking at the books on my bed.

  “ Not bad.” I said.

  “Reading a lot these days?” He asked raising his head and looking at me.

  “ Trying to catch up…” I said.

  “ With me?” He said laughing.

  “ Yes.” I murmured.

  “ Ha… ha… Can I be of any help to you?” He said.

  “ How?” I asked.

  “ Depends. What do you like?” He said.

  “ I’d like to learn about the use of technology in business. Do a course maybe…” I said.

  “ Hmm… Let me think about it and tell you in a few days?” He said looking away. “What else?” He said getting up.

  “ Nothing, much.” I said.

  “ Shayan was telling me about you the other day.” He said standing next to this bed.

  “ Good things?” I asked.

  “ Ha…ha…yes. You two talk, I heard?” He said half-smiling.

  “ Yes, sometimes.” I said.

  “ How often?” He asked. He wasn’t smiling.

  “ Once in fifteen days… or so…” I said.

  “ Good, good…You guys are friends…Let me know if you need anything else.” He said turning towards the door.

  Ten days after our chat, he was dead in his sleep.

  Atanu: Hmm… Sukanto wrote a letter. Here…

  Jewel: Where did you find this?

  Atanu: You didn’t know?

  Jewel: No.

  Atanu: The police found it right next to his body. I got someone to get a copy for me. I thought you may want to see what he thought about you. It could help attain closure…

  Jewel: Oh... He wasn’t happy with me. I wish he had spoken…He kept it all inside him, bottled up…

  Atanu meets Shayantika, next…

  Atanu: Did Sukanto listen to you…?

  Shayantika: How do you know, if he is listening to you? You talk, explain, analyse…But he isn’t listening -- just politely gesturing and you are fooled.

  This is my biggest fear. That people don’t get me. They reject me in their minds. Sukanto rejected me. He was kind enough not to show it. But he was like the rest. And I was duped for a long time, through all those long magical afternoons, lovely romantic evenings and candid confessions.

  Atanu: Is that so…?

  Shayantika: I don’t know…Maybe I had moments… like patches of honesty with him. Even Mr Roy understood that.

  Atanu: Mr Roy?

  Shayantika: Yes, he was there that day at Bhattacharjee Bari…And that woman! I never stopped him from marrying you. No, his father never conditioned his will and Sukanto knew it. Is that her final blow? Telling me this now! When all I’m left with are memories of a man who never honoured my love.

  Atanu: When did she tell you this?

  Shayantika: That afternoon when I went to Bhattacharjee Bari to meet Jewel. And she called the cops! I was done with her and the rest of them, including that hypocrite Jewel. I wanted to get out of that place. She stopped me and said, she wanted five minutes of my time. I didn’t want to talk to her. But Mr Roy insisted.

  Atanu: Oh…

  Shayantika: I’ve no clue why she called Mr Roy. I was there to talk to Jewel and recollect our bitter-sweet love for Sukanto. Talking to Jewel calms me down. And I wanted to go to Sukanto’s study. To be near him, through his things, one last time…

  I slowly walked over to his study. Jewel didn’t want me to go. The study door was left ajar and the floors were wet. The room smelt of Dettol. I was hoping to find his perfume, the one he wore, which smelt like a cross between the flora and fauna of a faraway land. The old study table stood like it was waiting for him. I know it sounds funny but I went and hugged it.

  On my way back, I got curious and I peeped into one of the rooms. It turned out to be Mrs Bhattacharjee’s Blue room. She was writing a letter and silently weeping. I felt bad for her. I don’t know why. Maybe because we were both mourning for him. I stepped inside. She suddenly turned….We felt trapped in a situation on which we had no control.

  I knew he was a casual drug user. But that part of him fascinated me. I never preached about the good and bad of drug use because I knew he wasn’t totally into it. And I enjoyed our little secret. That was what I had, our little secrets.

  No one, but me, knew about his visits to the interiors of Tripura for casual sex. Or his fondness for tribal girls, since school…

  Atanu: Since school…?

  Shayantika: It was our school picnic and the students of class nine were supposed to help the hired cooks by cutting vegetables. We went to a place near Sepahijala. Very pretty place. I cut a kilo of onion as no one wanted to touch those. My eyes burnt like hell so I took a break and went looking for him. He was sitting on that patch of grass, behind the Eucalyptus trees. They were kissing and cuddling like inexperienced lovers. She was pretty. But I found her eyes strange, her body boyish and her hair a tad too straight... I was glad I had cut onions and not potatoes that day. Because no one, not even the boys from my class, who stuck to me like glue, asked why my eyes were red.

  Atanu: Did you confront him after that?

  Shayantika: And give up on him? He told me about her later on the phone -- like he was confessing to a priest. I liked his secrets and I loved that he shared those with me.

  Atanu: Hmm… Sukanto wrote a letter. Here.

  Shayantika: O-Oh.

  Atanu: You didn’t know?

  Shayantika: No, Atanu.

  Atanu: The police found it right next to his body. I got someone to get a copy for me. I thought you may want to see what he thought about you. It could help attain closure…

  Shayantika: Well, in comparison to his family, I fared better in his opinion…don’t you think?

  Then Kalpana…

  Kalpana: Boroma is…not mad?

  Atanu: W
hat do you think?

  Kalpana: Well, I’m asking you?

  Atanu: She may be suffering from a mental illness. But mental illnesses can be controlled with medication, therapy and care.

  Kalpana: What do you think she suffers from?

  Atanu: I don’t know. You should see a doctor and do the tests.

  Kalpana: Are you not a doctor? A psychiatrist?

  Atanu: I can’t diagnose without the test results.

  Kalpana: Is she suffering from schizophrenia?

  Atanu: Maybe.

  Kalpana: Are schizophrenics dangerous? Do they hurt people?

  Atanu: No, they do not. There can be exceptions though.

  Kalpana: I like my mother in law. Despite her shortcomings. We are human after all.

  You know I never had a mother or a father for that matter, so I really don’t know how it feels to have a woman in your life. I have had my share of women friends but not someone akin to a mother.

  You know…I saw him. One last time. Before they burnt him to ashes. I couldn’t help but wonder, if this is how everyone ends up. In a hot furnace on a cloudy day, unaware of the pain and trauma they leave behind. I shivered when his face caught fire… I won’t be able to sleep tonight, Atanu… Have you seen a dead body burn?

  Atanu: Yes.

  Kalpana: Can I ask…whose?

  Atanu: My grandma’s…I was very close to her. So I went to the burning ghat.

  Kalpana: Then you know what I’m talking about.

  Atanu: Sukanto wrote a letter.