Amitav Ghosh - The Circle of Reason

Yes, said Bhudeb Roy, it is. I was held up a little at home. My wife and daughter aren’t well. I have to go back home in a few minutes. So I’d better tell you quickly.

Yes?

You have to act fast now, fast. You’ve read all my reports. Now you have to do something. I think the time has come to raid Balaram Bose’s house and to arrest him and his associates.

Jyoti Das sketched a smile: Have there been some new developments, then? Something serious enough to justify that kind of action?

New developments? What do you mean, ‘new developments’? Aren’t the old developments good enough? I wrote to you six months ago about how the extremists attacked me while I was holding a public meeting in the village. They attacked me with all their foreign weapons and everything and tried to kill me, and they disrupted the whole meeting and wrecked the law and order situation in the whole area. I had to go to hospital. You know all that; I wrote to you.

Yes, said Jyoti Das, but I don’t think we can do anything on the basis of that one incident. Has there been anything since then?

Of course there has, or why would I send you a telegram? Do you think they’re going to stop, now that they’ve tasted blood? I’ll tell you what happened. You know I’m building a road for the people of the village? Naturally, the extremists are doing everything they can to hold it up so that I’ll be discredited. Last week, the surveyors and some of my men were plotting the course of the road, and they found that it has to run through an unauthorized construction this man Balaram Bose has erected on government property. I warned him not to do it at the time, but he defied me. Anyway, I sent my men to tell him to have the construction demolished in a week. Do you know what he did? He got one of his hired men — a notorious goonda and Bad Character called Rakhal Debnath (he’s the ringleader’s son; I’ve referred to him in some of my reports) — to chase my men out of his house. Then he came with all his people to my house, and stood outside and shouted: You’ll never destroy my school (he calls it a school). Never. If you want to try, you’ll have to fight me to the end. He’s always been a little crazy, and now he’s gone completely mad, under the influence of that man Shombhu Debnath. So inconsiderate, too — disturbing my wife, who’s not well. I didn’t say anything then, but I sent more men to his house the next day. They found that he’s turned the whole place into a fort. He’s surrounded it with drums of acid and he spends the whole day patrolling the house armed with a squirt-gun. He never goes inside. He even sleeps there at night, in a kind of tent he’s put up outside. He shouted at my men and shot at them with acid. Tell your master he’ll never destroy me or my acid, never. You see what the situation is? He’s gone crazy, he looks it — his hair is like a bird’s nest and his eyes are blood red. I can’t even walk to the village along the path any longer; I have to go through the ricefields. You see what the situation is? You have to act now, before they become too dangerous to handle. Any day now they may escape across the border.

Jyoti Das picked up a pencil and held it poised between his forefingers. Bhudeb-babu, he said, I’m not convinced this matter is serious enough to warrant action on our part.

Not serious enough? After all I’ve told you? They’re a threat to my life. I’m telling you right now, you must raid that house, or you’ll regret it. That’s all I’m asking for — a raid. I’m not even asking you to make any arrests. You can decide on that yourself when you see what’s inside the house. You’ll find bombs and guns and God knows what else. I have definite information that Shombhu Debnath and his son have been getting weapons from across the border. Maybe they’re even making them in there. They completely control Balaram Bose now, and they’re thoroughly dangerous. You must raid that house.

Jyoti Das frowned: To me it seems a matter for the local police.

Bhudeb Roy hammered his fist on the desk. Local police? he said angrily. What use are the local police? The DSP has a heart condition and spends all his time praying in the temples in Naboganj. They’re no use to anyone. And anyway this is your job. This is a border area, which is why the case was given to you people in the first place. Haven’t I told you they’re receiving guns from across the border? You have to do something. What does the government pay you for?

Jyoti Das was flustered but he kept his voice under control. Look, Bhudeb-babu, he said, don’t lose your temper. I’m answerable only to my superiors. I have to discuss the matter with them before any action is possible.

Bhudeb Roy rose from his chair. Glaring into Jyoti Das’s eyes, he said: If you don’t do something soon, I’ll write to your superiors. Maybe you’ll learn then. He turned and stormed out of the room.

Three days later, while Jyoti Das was still working on the report of his meeting with Bhudeb Roy, a clerk brought him a telephone message that had come in from a post office near Lalpukur. Jyoti Das read it and decided that he had no alternative but to take it to the DIG at once. He rang the DIG’s personal secretary and asked for an immediate appointment.

From Bhudeb Roy? the DIG asked, stroking the thin moustache that bisected his large, square face. Jyoti Das nodded. The DIG read the message and looked triumphantly at Jyoti. Wasn’t I telling you? he said. This case is hotting up. You’ll have to leave immediately. Take a few men and ask the DSP in Naboganj to give you a few more. I’ll send him a telex, too. But don’t let him get his toes in. Shut him out.

Yes, sir, said Jyoti.

Then the DIG glanced at the telegram again and looked up, a little puzzled. Tell me, Das, he said. I can understand the first part, this stuff about … bomb attack … bring forces immediately, and all that. But tell me, what do you think the bugger means by ‘wife abducted’?

At first Maya heard the knocks faintly, through a muffling fog of sleep. She was asleep in a small, dark store-room next to the kitchen, which she had cleared out for herself, on Toru-debi’s instructions, after she and Rakhal had moved into their house. She could hear Nonder-ma in the kitchen, breathing heavily through her open mouth. She heard the sound again; three distinct taps. For a moment she wondered whether it was Alu; but he never knocked when he came at night and he knew that her door was not barred. The taps sounded as though they were farther away, on the back door perhaps. Through the barred window at the other end of the room she saw the courtyard and the tiled, sloping roof, daubed with patches of moonlight filtering through the mango tree. It was very quiet; even the cicadas were still.

The taps again, and she was almost sure now that they were on the back door. Quietly, wrapping her sari tight around her, she went out of her room, down the passage to the door. There were three clear knocks on the thick wooden door. She stood undecided for a moment, wondering whether she ought to call Rakhal or Alu. But then she decided against it and whispered: Ke? Who’s there?

Ami , she heard her father’s voice. It’s me, open the door, Maya, he said urgently, in an undertone. Maya sighed with relief: it was three days since she had seen him last. He had come to the house, late one night, weak with hunger and asked for a handful of puffed rice. He would eat nothing more and, though she had begged him to stay, he had disappeared again that night.

She pulled the latch open and flung her arms around his bony, naked waist. Quiet now, he said, laughing and running his hand over her head. Quiet, quiet. Look who I’ve brought with me. And only then did Maya notice that there was a woman standing beside him.