by Mainak Dhar
'Arnab, this is a big change versus how we have done things.'
Just as Arnab began to hang his head in disappointment, Jayantada completed the sentence.
'But this is a brilliant idea. I'll set up time with the Principal and I would like for you to present it to him.'
Arnab left college that evening feeling like he was on top of the world. On the bus ride home, he was engrossed in a novel he had picked up from the library, when he saw three boys get on the bus. Almost immediately, they started passing comments about some of the girls in the bus, and one of them walked up to a group of four girls and asked them if they were free for a date. The girls just hung their heads, trying to ignore him, while the other boys roared with laughter. When one of the boys reached out to touch one of the girls, she shrank back. Involuntarily, Arnab got up, scanning the situation. He would take out the boy on the right first. He had his back to Arnab and would never see it coming. The smaller boy on his left was to be next. A simple jab at short range would sort him out. The leader of the pack, the big lout now near the girls, would be last. Arnab would let him take the first shot, and then dispatch him. Sharpened with months of practice and action, all of that planning took a nanosecond, and Arnab was about to spring into action, when he stopped himself.
What was he thinking?
He had decided what direction he wanted to choose, and he did not want to look back, no matter how much he was tempted. He quietly sat down and tried to read his book as the harassment continued for five minutes, ending when the girls got off at the next bus stop. Back home, he did think about whether he had done the right thing by ignoring the incident on the bus, but every time he did so, he would glance at the newspaper clippings denouncing him as a fraud, opportunist, gun for hire or worse. No, he had chosen his path and would stick to it.
The next day brought with it a courier delivery boy who caught Arnab just as he was about to leave for work. As Arnab took the envelope and opened it, he blinked in disbelief a couple of times. The letter began,
'Dear Mr. Bannerjee, we would like to inform you that you have qualified in the written examination for the State Banking Services. You need to appear for an interview.'
He read no further and sat down, relief flooding over him. He had been hoping against hope that he would qualify, and while he had prepared as well as he could have, with limited time to prepare and the turmoil going on in his mind, he had never been sure he would make it. Yes, there was still an interview to clear, but clearing the entrance test was a big milestone that gave him the confidence that he could indeed make it.
The next week passed by quickly. His presentation to the Principal was a resounding success, and he got the funding and upgraded computer he had requested to put his system in action. All day, he would toil away at his new pet project, and from time to time, Jayantada would come and stand behind him, looking over his shoulder at what he was doing. He usually said nothing, but one day when Arnab called Jayantada to demonstrate how the system would look like and how to operate it, he smiled at Arnab and said,
'I have no idea how it works and I suspect I will have a tough time learning how to use it, but it is, as you young folks say nowadays, quite cool.'
With that, Jayantada walked off, chuckling to himself and leaving Arnab smiling in amusement. At night, Arnab would prepare furiously for the interview that was fast approaching. When he did go for the interview, it ended up being much smoother than he had anticipated. In school and college, Arnab had found himself tongue-tied whenever the spotlight was on him, but now he felt no fear. He walked into the room, looked the three interviewers straight in the eye, and calmly answered all their questions. When one of them asked what his goal in life was, he answered,
'To earn a decent living and to do honest work which I can feel good about.'
All the interviewers smiled, having heard dozens of other candidates bullshit about wanting to improve the lot of people, and of wanting to make a difference to the bank they would work in. Arnab was not the brightest or most highly qualified candidate, but his confidence and disarming honesty won them over. When a day later, he was informed he had got he job, Arnab was ecstatic. Not once did he pause to consider that this newfound self-assurance and confidence had a lot to do with the side of his life that he was intent on leaving behind.
Arnab was at work when he got the call to inform him that he had been selected. He shocked Jayantada and earned glances of disapproval from the few students reading in the library by standing up and shouting 'Yes' at the top of his lungs.
'So Arnab, won a lottery?' Jayantada asked him.
'Even better, I got the bank job!'
Arnab rushed out and returned a few minutes later with a large box of sweets that he proceeded to give out to everyone in sight. All the students and staff alike were caught up in his infectious energy, and soon Arnab found himself mobbed by people wanting to wish him well, and also grab a few free sweets. Even Jayantada grabbed two sweets and wolfed them down. Arnab looked at him with surprise.
'Jayantada, I thought you were watching your blood sugar.'
'Arnab, my boy, its not every day that I both regret losing my best Assistant and celebrate a fine young man like you moving ahead in life.'
He then further shocked Arnab by engulfing him in a bear hug. Arnab hardly remembered anything of the trip back home, so caught up was he in imagining how his life was about to change. He'd earn a fortune compared to what he made now. Add to that the prospect of a steady career, a government house down the line, a car, and it certainly looked like Arnab Bannerjee's lifestyle was about to change so much as to be almost unrecognisable. On the way home, he bought some sweets for Mrs Bagga and chocolates for Chintu. When he reached their house, Mrs Bagga congratulated him profusely while Chintu sulked at first, still remembering the scolding he had got. That disappeared as soon as Arnab produced the chocolates in his pocket. There was one more person Arnab wanted to meet. Someone whom he owed an apology to.
Arnab was planning to change before going to meet Khan, but when he reached his apartment, he was surprised to find Khan pacing the corridor outside his door. He rushed up to Khan, and temporarily forgetting his own strength in his excitement, lifted the old man cleanly up in the air.
'Khan chacha, I got the job!'
He put Khan down when he noticed the forced smile on his face.
'I am so sorry for what I said to you that day. It was not right of me to say that to someone I owe so much to. I hope you're not still angry with me.'
Khan looked down and started to leave, but Arnab stopped him.
'Khan chacha, what's wrong? Aren't you happy for me?'
'No, my son, I am so thrilled for you and to see your dreams come true. It's just that I don't know how to bring up what I came here for.'
'What is it?'
'Nothing, Arnab. Let's just celebrate-it's your day today. Come to my place tomorrow and I'll cook you a dinner you won't forget. Till then, let me get the ingredients. The last time I made Chicken Biryani was on my wedding anniversary 10 years ago.'
Khan laughed and hugged Arnab and left.
Arnab spent the rest of the evening daydreaming about a cabin with 'Arnab Bannerjee, Branch Manager' written on the door.
Things were finally looking up.
***
Arnab's joining date was June 1, and with just about two months to go, he spent the next day planning his next steps. His last day at the college was to be May 15, after which he would take a week off to go visit his relatives in Kolkata. With all the ups and downs of the past year, Arnab realized that he had not called or written to them even once. At lunchtime, Jayantada called to him to join him for lunch, and soon they were tucking into their food at the Cafe.
'Arnab, I forgot to tell you something.' Jayantada said between mouthfuls.
'Mishti's engagement date has been fixed. It's going to be in November, and the crazy girl has already started shopping.'
Arnab smiled and congratulated J
ayantada, though he did feel a pang of regret. Hearing about Mishti brought back the one regret he had about the choices he had made. If only things had been different. If only.
That evening, Arnab reached Khan's place at about eight, and found the old man bustling about in the kitchen, running from one corner to another, the ex-army man looking totally out of place amidst the pots and pans.
'Khan chacha, can I help in any way?'
'No, no. You just wait in the living room. I'll be done in just five minutes.'
Arnab pottered around the room, and saw Khan's old boxing gloves lying in the corner that had served as their makeshift gym. He picked them up, smiling as he remembered his boxing lessons, and even more so, the time he had spent with Khan. But then, he had made his choice, hadn't he? Khan walked into the room loudly proclaiming,
'Mr Bank Manager, please join this poor old man for dinner. Who knows, if you like my Biryani, you may give poor old me a huge loan someday at zero interest.'
The two of them ate, chatting away like the old days. There was no mention of Arnab's decision, no discussion of what Arnab had said to Khan. Arnab was grateful for that, and glad that all he had to do that evening was to share his happiness with the man who had given him so much. Over dinner, Khan asked Arnab all about what his work would be like, to which Arnab truthfully replied that he had absolutely no idea of what a bank manager did other than wear a tie and sit in a cabin. The two of the shared in the laughter, and as dinner ended, Khan walked up to a cabinet in the kitchen and produced a bottle of rum.
'Arnab, join me for a drink.'
'Khan chacha, I don't drink.'
As if not hearing him, Khan poured pegs into two glasses, topping them up with Coke before handing one to Arnab.
'My boy, I'm not asking you to get drunk. Just give this old man some company as he gets drunk.'
As Arnab accepted the glass he asked Khan why he was in a mood to drink. In all their months together, he had never seen Khan drink alcohol before. As the two sat down, and Khan took a sip of his drink, he responded.
'Arnab, in my army days, we would all get rations of rum. To keep out the cold, to steady our nerves, and yes, also to prevent us from losing our minds after an operation. Many times in Kashmir, we would come back from patrols or skirmishes-having killed men or seeing our brothers die in our arms. At times like that, I would drink to forget.'
Arnab took a hesitant sip from his glass. It was sweeter than he had imagined, and not altogether unpleasant.
'So, Khan chacha, what are you trying to forget tonight?'
Khan's expression suddenly turned more sombre.
'Trying to forget all that's evil in this world. Trying to forget that we live in such bad times.'
Then he looked at Arnab and his expression brightened,
'And also hoping that your life continues to proceed in a smooth manner, untouched ever again by these things.'
Arnab thought Khan was referring to what he had been through with Upadhyay and Balwant Singh and said,
'Khan chacha, I've decided to leave that life behind me.'
Khan looked at him with a sad expression on his face and poured himself another drink, which he gulped down, as if seeking courage for what he was about to say next.
'That's why, Arnab, I feel so bad about asking you to be a part of that world again.'
Arnab was shocked at the old man's words.
'Khan chacha, I don't want to hurt your feelings again so I don't want to say anything I'll regret later, but that chapter is closed. Please let it remain that way.'
Khan put his hand on Arnab's arm, as if both to calm him and also to support himself.
'Arnab, it's not easy for me. I saw what they did to you, and I would not wish that on my worst enemy. But..'
Arnab interrupted him.
'But what? That there are people to be helped, that there is nobody to stand up for them? I buy all that, but where were all these people when I needed support? Why did nobody believe in me, but like an unthinking mob with no brains of their own, just believed blindly in what they were told?'
'Arnab, I cannot imagine what you feel, but you must realize, you are not like me or other ordinary people. God has given you a gift, and perhaps your destiny is to use that gift to help others, no matter whether they appreciate it or not.'
Arnab poured himself another peg, and in his agitation, gulped it down neat, coughing and wheezing as the rum scalded his throat. As he turned to face Khan again, the old man laughed,
'Superhero or not, you sure are no drinker.'
They both laughed, helping to defuse some of the tension in the room, as Arnab looked at Khan.
'I don't want this destiny or this gift. I have a choice, don't I?'
'Of course you do, Arnab. You can just ignore it, and that's what you had set out to do. I had reconciled to it myself, since I had no right to demand you put yourself in harm's way. But something's come up which forces me to ask for your help.'
'Khan chacha, I am not going to enter that world again to save a friend or two of yours from a couple of goons.'
Khan smiled sadly at Arnab,
'And my son, I would never be as selfish as to demand such a thing.'
'Then what is so important that you want me to return to the path I want to forget?'
'The lives of perhaps thousands of innocent people.'
Arnab was speechless.
***
Two days later, on a gloomy Saturday evening, Arnab and Khan were in a taxi, entering the small by lanes of the Jama Masjid area. Arnab was still hesitant about getting involved, and they were repeating the same conversation that they must have had a dozen times over the last two days.
'Khan chacha, why doesn't this friend of yours ask this man to go to the police?'
'Arnab, with no concrete evidence, do you think the police will believe him? Even if they did, if what he says is true, there may be no time left to do anything about it.'
Arnab was not convinced, but Khan had virtually begged with him to come along. Arnab figured he owed the old man at least that much.
The taxi passed through several small lanes, and came to a stop near a small electronics shop. Arnab and Khan got out and were met by a fat man wearing dirty jeans and a vest. Khan introduced him to Arnab, who by now was wearing his sweatshirt, his face hardly visible in the dark.
'This is Rashid, an old army friend. The man we are meeting lives in his house. Rashid, this is the friend who I said may be able to help you.'
Rashid looked at Arnab, and all he said was, 'If what the papers say about you is even half true, then perhaps you can indeed help.' Rashid filled Arnab in on the details as they entered the house next to the shop.
'About a month ago, this young man came to my house, asking if I had a room to rent out. I had a small loft above the house available and he seemed to be nothing more than a needy student so I said okay.'
They started climbing a set of winding stairs, as Rashid continued.
'For three weeks, I noticed nothing amiss. He would go out in the morning and come back late. He would keep to himself, and was no trouble to anyone. Then one day he came back looking really worried. He stopped going out and after a couple of days, I went to ask him if he was well. That's when he told me. Has Khan told you the story?'
'Only in brief. What is the full story?'
'Hear it from the horse's mouth."
With that Rashid knocked on a door at the top of the stairwell. It was opened on the second or third knock. As the door swung open and the three of them walked in, Arnab noted that the room was dark, with no lights on and the curtains drawn. Arnab saw a man huddled in the corner, and as the door opened, he got up and walked towards them. In the darkness, Khan still had not seen him, and when Arnab saw that the man was carrying a gun in his right hand, he stepped between Khan and the man, ready to disarm the man.
'Arif, relax. These are the friends I told you about. They are here to help you.'
The man seemed t
o relax a bit but kept the gun in his hand as he turned on a small table lamp. Arnab winced a bit as the light came on, but it was still dark enough for him to see clearly. He was young, perhaps barely out of his teens. He was clean-shaven, wearing jeans and a polo t-shirt and would not have looked out of place in a college campus. They sat down, Arnab and Khan on two small chairs and the young man on the bed in the far corner of the small room. He began speaking without any more pleasantries, as if he was keen to get what he had to say off his chest.
'My name is Mohammed Arif. I was born near Sopore in Kashmir. As I was growing up, many young boys would join the mujahids fighting Indian rule, but my parents insisted I focus on my studies. My father was closely linked to some of the mujahids. I never learnt the exact extent of his involvement, but he would disappear for days on end and always kept a gun at home. Then one day…'
He paused for a second before continuing.
'One day the Indian Police took my father away. We begged and pleaded, but we never saw him again. All we were told was that he was a terrorist. I was fifteen, and my heart was bursting with anger and a desire for revenge. One day I ran away from home and met an old friend who was rumoured to have links with people on the Pakistani side.'
Arnab and Khan were listening in silence, but Arnab was beginning to get impatient, wondering why he had been dragged here to listen to this young man's tale of woe. Arif noticed and held up a hand, as if to ask Arnab to wait.
'They trained us in a camp on the Pakistani side of the border. Basic infantry skills, weapons handling, explosives. The basic stuff. After two months, they started sending us across the border on raids. We were scared shitless, and most of us lost our minds the first time the Indian Army fired at us, but those that survived learned fast. Of the eight of us in my class, three never survived the first week. The five who survived were one day called by the camp commander, who said he had a guest who wanted to talk to us.'
Arnab was listening in silence, but he could feel Khan tense up next to him. Khan had served two tours of duty in Kashmir, and meeting someone, who from the account so far, was one of the terrorists he had killed and lost friends to, brought back uncomfortable memories.