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Bipul was really worried about Bapu Khura. The incident occurred only four days before when Bipul brought khura back to his home only in the late afternoon after having had a frantic search for his whereabouts, in and around the village. Eventually, he was traced sitting on the ridge along the paddy field, quite alone and listless. Since then he appeared visibly dejected and absentminded. That day, Bipul was genuinely concerned about Bapu Khura when he had not appeared back for his midday meal after completing his usual roundabouts in the village. Waiting for him Bipul really got tired. His worries gathered a fervent pace when he could not locate him visiting any of the houses of their village. Just then when he was on the way to nowhere, Bhadreswar informed him that he had seen Khura heading towards the paddy field. Having reached there Bipul discovered him sitting on the ridge that ran through Ramani Pathar, the beautiful paddy field, set in all its pastoral glory. He was wearing a vacant look in his eyes as if he was gazing at nothing.
And that is what which is now troubling Bipul. A man so full of life and jest till four days back, who used to sit for hours at any of his favourite haunts at the village, making an ambience of laughter and mirth around him, has suddenly turned so absent minded and lacking in that usual gusto, was really perturbing. Now he talks less than ever. Now, one can hardly expect of getting any response from him while attempting a chat with him, at least, not less than for three or four times. Of course, he comes back to his normal self quite often. Nevertheless, the change in him is more than apparent.
Bapu Khura’s relationship with his paternal home at his village was on the wane since when he set out for Guwahati for pursuing his M.Sc. It happened long before. About forty years back. In fact, to put it in the right term, the relationship did not decline, only his visits did. He got appointed to a job of a prestigious position soon after completing his M.Sc. with flying colours. Since then he had to spend his entire service tenure outside Assam. Now having retired from his job just a couple of months before, he has purchased a flat in Guwahati to settle there for the rest of his life. Thus after such a long gap, with a craving for a reunion with his old home, with the village he was born and brought up, to spend a few days of blissful attachment with his native soil, he had again set his feet on his home ground just about ten days before. Of course, now at his village, no one of his nearest Kith and Kin has been left behind except his nephew Bipul. Of course, Bipul is not alone. He had his small family with his wife and two kids. Khura’s parents and his elder brother. (Bipul’s father) had already left for their heavenly abode. Even though, throughout his long estrangement from his native village he has been maintaining a frequent and steady touch with Bipul, of course, mostly through telephonic conversations. During the long tenure of his service life Bapu Khura’s visits to his village was few and far between. That is why after permanently setting his family in Guwahati now he is back at his nephew’s home hoping to spend here a few days of respite.
How pleasantly elated he had been since the day of his arrival to his village. His roaming about the village would start just after having had his breakfast at about nine in the morning. The village still possessed scores of childhood friends of him. So he would enter any one of their houses and was swept away in endless exhilarating talks. At sometimes, such socializing encompassed two or three families at a single shot. Very often the cordial proposal to have the lunch with them was showered on him from different angles and Bapu Khura would ring up to Bipul with an unhidden contentment in his voice “Today, I will have my lunch at Kanak’s home. You guys need not wait for me. O.K? Tell Bowari (daughter-in-low, in this context Bipul’s wife) that today she has been spared of the care of cooking lunch for me.”
Khura’s sense of responsibility in such matters was really exemplary. He never forgot to update them about his why and whereabouts at the right moment. But this kind of certainty about him got an unprecedented jolt when he did not return for his midday meal even when it was about two O’ clock in the afternoon and that was also without any prior information. Such unpredictability which was so alien to him simply occurred just only four days before. Bipul rang up to him and only the ringtone of his cell phone responded from the empty room where Khura had been accommodated. Bipul enquired about him at a number of houses for little profit. Eventually, the most needed information about that untraced man came from Nanda Khura who was stressing with assurance “Of course, he had been here. But it was a couple house before when I saw him heading towards the paddy field. I am pretty sure that he had gone there Hasn’t he reached at you yet?”
Their ancestral croplands, the prized patrimony now inherited by Bapu Khura and Bipul, lay about at a distance of a mile from Bipul’s home. A wide ridge bifurcating the road that ran through the village led to thoses patches of land. The ridge served as a de facto borderline between their village and the village inhabited by the Muslim community that was rooted about half a mile westward of that ridge. A sea of flowing mustard field was brimming on either side of that ridge. Its heady yellowish hue like melting gold was brewing its magic spell in the horizon. Bipul did not have to weary his feet more for he saw Bapu Khura sitting on that ridge. Cupping his chin with his palme, he was gazing towards the west horizon.
“Khura, Khura” Bipul tried to aware him of his proximity. Bapu Khura getting a little startled, turned towards Bipul with a vacant look on his eyes as if he was looking at a stranger. But presently, getting his senses back, he responded with a rueful smile, “Oh Bipul You! Sorry for this irresponsibility. Let’s go back home. Hurry.”
“Khura are you alright?” Bipul asked anxiously. “Why did you not bring your cell phone with you? And why are you sitting here like this, all alone?” Bipul volleyed his questions in a row.
“Oh! Nothing any serious. You need not worry at all. Now let’s go home.” Khura replied trying to be nonchalant.
But Bipul observed that since that moment Bapu Khura’s spirits appeared visibly low as if he was launching a continuous war against his own thoughts and feelings. Of course, he got back his normal vivacity at times but could not retain it for a long time. Bipul got almost tired of asking him repeatedly to explain the cause behind that sudden and mysterious morose temper. His mind wont on digging to find out that root. “Does Khura feel unwanted at my home? Has I hurt his feelings in any way? Is my wife showing any lapses in taking care of him?” Bipul would ask him all these misgivings with a low, hesitant voice. But Khura just dismissed them all beaming assuredly at him. But Bipul’s racing mind could take no respite. His love and respect for Bapu Khura was a real deep and he could not see him so dismayed and lacking in zest. “May be he has been here to settle the share of our ancestral land and is not sure how to start regarding that matter. If not way he was sitting there in the field in that pensive mood?” Bipul tried to jot out a solution to that mystery. But at the very next moment he would reproach himself for being so mean and narrow in his thoughts. How could he dare to respect that genuine affection, that generosity and concern Khura has been bestowing upon him and his family?
But even then today he could not exercise his restrain over his impatience and mustering up all his courage he tried to face Bapu Khura.
“Khura! Please pardon me if I am wrong. I have observed that since the day you were found sitting there in our field, on that ridge, you appear to be lost in some thought. Something has been giving you a real trouble, I guess. Is it about the position of our land? You can tell me frankly. I would not mind it at all, if you consider it to be right, the ripe time for it. For I have full faith on you and …..” Even before Bipul could finish his carefully jotted lines, Bapu Khura roared at him. “Is this you Bipul? You have really shoked me. Shame on you. I must say How have you even dared to think such mean and narrow things? Am I here to encroach my paternal land? Do you really think so? Oh Bipul! I have earned enough in my life to grudge of this patrimony. Really! I did not expect this from you.”
Bipul had to shrank in embarrassment. He was such a fool to suspect the integrity of a man like Bapu Khura. Now how he would face him. Curling up in his bed Bipul was just trying in vain to sweep away the pangs of remorse for being so rash and indiscreet with Bapu Khura. He never intended to hurt hot man. But that unintended harm has already been done. It did not matter whether he had done that intentionally or it just happened in rach cycle of thoughts. Tears roll on his cheeks.
It was getting dark. Bapu Khura had just arrived from his usual outings. Bipul’s kids were busy with their studies. Champa, Bipul’s wife, handed Khura a cup of hot tea. Relishing that steaming freshener Khura asked, “Where is Bipul? Is he not at home?” “Oh yes, he is. Just relaxing in his bed. Shall I call him?” Champa responded. “Hei Bipul! Why are you lying in bed at this odd hour of the evening?” Khura addressed Bipul turning his voice a little louder. He waited for a while expecting a response but did not get any. So he directed his steps towards that bed where Bipul was lying and touched his head caressingly. Then with a voiced soaked with affection he said, “Bipul why are you lying like this? Still feel hurt at my rudeness? Come on Bipul you are no more a small lad to sulk like this. Let sit aside in the drawing room and have a chat. We must allow the children to study in peace. Champa would you please favour us with a course of tea again?”
But still Bipul could not shy away from his embarrassment to face Bapu Khura. Avoiding his eyes he just responded in a shaky, unsure voice. “I will join you just in a minute. Till then you just go there and have your seat.” He then rushed to the bathroom, sprinkled some cold water over his face as if to cool down his guilt pricked conscience, and directed his steps to face Bapu Khura. Getting in the drawing room he just dumped himself down on a sofa feeling not less uneasy than before. On the other hand, Khura in the obvious interest of allowing Bipul a little time to get warmed up for that “face to face” was rustling through the pages of a newspaper. In the meantime, Champa entered in the scene with her cups of tea. This timely intrusion of her in their privacy served as a soothing relaxation in the tense air of that room.
Silently they sipped on that steaming beverage. “Bipul” Bapu Khura broke the silence. “I am sure; you got hurt at my rudeness today. You just take it easy. No issue over that, O.K?”
“Oh Khura, you need not mention it any more I am already greatly ashamed of it. Actually, so worried that I got too confused to behave sensibly. Please, forgive me.” Bipul felt a bit relieved after giving that long explanation.
“Yes, you were right. I must admit. These days I have been in a spell of reminiscence. Thinking all the time about Xoru, our male servant of bygone days. Have you ever heard of him? He lived with us for many years. He was the most trusted helping hand to our family. We never regarded him as our servant. He had turned out by every right to be an integral part of our family.
“I have heard about that man. Probably, he had been here before I was born. A Muslim fellow he was, if I am not wrong.” Bipul responded promptly realising well that Bapu Khura was in a mood to lay bare his heart.
He guessed it right. Khura turned to him with such an intensity that immediately set the atmosphere for him for being a willing listener to the ensuing unfolding of the events of those by gone days.
“Let me tell you first how Xoru happened to be a part of our family. Many facts get distorted on their never ending travels from one mouth to the other, discarding the essence but gathering only the inessential tit-bits. So listen to real story from me. Xoru was like my brother a true friend, always handy at the hour of my need.” With this preface Bapu Khura beautifully created the required ambience for his story telling.
Xoru was brought abruptly to our home by our father. That day, he was busy ploughing a patch of land. I went there to hand him his tiffin. Just when he started in taking his tiffin sitting on the ridge, a pathetic sight caught our attention. A boy, almost of my age, was running halter sketler towards our direction, for he was being ruthlessly flogged and chased by his enraged father. The boy was shouting at the highest pitch of his voice seeking for help and protection. Whenever that cruel father. Stopped his pace for a while, the boy also did the same and swiftly rubbed his hands over his smarting limbs. Again, when the father rushed towards him, he ran in great panic. When the boy and his father arrived at our close promixity, my father recognised that afflicting father and yelled at him.
“Hei Hussain. Why are you beating this small boy like this? Have you lost your brain? I say stop this madness at once.” Hussain appeared to be a little softened at my father’s interruption. He responded in a complaining tone “You donot know Mahajan how adamant this little devil is. Doesn’t want to work at all. Today I told him to go and work as a day labourer but he has been just turning deaf ear to me. How can I feed such a big family if these scoundrels do not support me at all?” Hussain again turning red in anger dashed towards the boy swearing to kill him at the spot. The boy ran towards us and grabbed my father in extreme panic. My father had already lost his composure and roared at Hussain, “Stop you fool! What do you want to prove? Why are you giving birth to these children if you cannot feed them? How many children do you have? Eight? Why do you need eight children? And how many wives do you have? Three? Why? Why do you need three wives? How many more any you planning to give birth to? Now you are pushing this small boy to work for you. Shame on you Hussain. At least, care about the wrath of God.”
Hussain said nothing. Now father added in a softer tone, “All right Hussain. If you cannot feed this small one let me do this for him. He will live with me from today.”
Immediately, a ray a hope appeared at that boy’s face. Hussain’s demeanour also displayed some effort of discretion.
“Will you live in the Mahajan’s home?” He asked the boy straightly. The boy nodded affirmatively, surely having felt greatly relieved.
Finally, Hussain gave his verdict. “Ok. Mahajan, let him live with you. Who may say I would not kill him some day in a fit of rage.” Saying so Hussian walked slowly away.
Bapu Khura paused for a while, probably, having completed the initial stage of his narration. Then he asked Bipul abruptly.
“How many people do you know of that Muslim Village, at the other side of the ridge?”
“Just a few of them. Actually, how-a-days all the folks here in our village has given up the cultivation of their cropes. Neither you will find many of them tending to their cattle. And I went in the profession of teaching. What to do? So I entrusted the task of farming the cropes with Abdul, Kasem and Rahmat of that Muslim village. Except them I am not much familiar with the other folks of that village.” Bipul explained the situation.
“On the contrary, we knew almost all of them. We were farmers to our backbone toiling hard in the field. And the fellows of that Muslim village supplied us the most needed helping hands. They were very poor and often wandered about our village looking for works, to earn their bread, for their survival. If ever they did not get anything to do, they are than willing to exert themselves in any way, like - chopping firewood’s for hours, just in return of their hungry stomachs get filled. Anyway, this was how ‘Xoru’, Hussin’s son, initially, stepped into our household. Though his actual name was Sirajuddin, it was securely replaced with its shortened form “Siru” by his villagers. His mother had been permanently disposed of by his father from his life only a few days back, by uttering those most powerful, ominous words “Tin Talak” - the words those had been empowering the men folk of his community over their opposite genders for ages. So now in absence of his caring and loving mother and in the reign of his two step mothers, Siru had been had to a frequent victim of his father’s beatings and endless reproachings.”
At this stage of his time travel, Bapu Khura gave an abrupt pause to his narration and asked for a glass of water. Sure enough, his vocal chords desperately looked for a few draughts of fresh water to get rejuvenated. Then sipping a few draughts of it, he resumed his reminiscences.
“Thus a little space has been arranged in the small front veranda of our house to accommodate Xoru. His arrival to our home actually benefitted me more than anyone else of our family. My usual household chores like tending to the cows and goats, the harvesting the cropes, storing the grains, so and so on, reduced to the half on my part as it was quite responsibly and efficiently shared by Xoru. It took him no time to discard his inborn mother tongue and to be efficient in speaking in Assamese with ease and flow. During the initial months of Xoru’s living with us Hussain would appear at our home at regular intervals to hand some cash at the expense of his unwanted son. Of course, on such visits, he would take Xoru with him to his home for a night or so. Gradually, Xoru lost all his interest in visiting his home. After a year or two, Xoru grew brave enough to express frankly to his utter renunciation of his father. One day, in the very presence of Hussain, he said to our father, “Deuta, don’t give any money to Abba. That is only my money, hard-earned.” An enraged Hussain rushed towards him to hit him. But my father intervened and said to him decidedly, “Hussain, I cannot give you any money if your son is not willing for the same.” This daring deed of Xoru served as the last nail on the coffin of fragmented relationship with his father and he never thought of visiting his home again.
Our grandmother could not utter the words “Siru” and hence called him giving a twist with an Assamese flavor ‘Xoru’. With time, this Xoru of our grandmother successfully elbowed ‘Siru’ alias ‘Sirajuddin’ into neglected corners and rechristened it into our indigenous ‘Xoru’ to be called by each and every fellow of our village. In no time, Xoru became an indispensable part of every social, religious, or occasion of community gathering and festivity of our village. The villagers could do nothing without relying on his efficient helping hand and ever ready spirit to serve the village. The hardest and the most complicated tasks were always set apart for him and he would perform them skillfully without grumbling over them. In short, he was the Man Friday of our village. Of course, Xoru was sensible enough to respect the age old communal and religious barriers between our and his community and he would sit a little aside from the rest of us at the time of community feasting, specially, in the religious ceremonies.
Time rolled on and Xoru grew up to be a muscular youngman of about twenty-two when the historic Assam Movement for eradicating the illegal immigrants from our state was on its way to grip our entire land. From each and every village and town, from every nook and corner of our state, people came out in thousands and lakhs, to hold democratic protests, organizing different rallies and processions of different nature shouting fiery slogans against the government and the illegal immigrants, became a daily phenomenon. The people of our village also not in any way were lagging behind in this call of the hour to save their motherland.
In such a time of uncertainty and disruption, one day, Mukunda, a rash and headstrong young man of our village, targeted his venom on Xoru and said, “Hei Xoru, why do you not participate in the demonstrations that are going on in full swing? Do you know, all of you, your entire community, will have to leave Assam forever?”
That day, coming home, Xoru informed all of us that he was also going to participate in the rallies and processions. My elder brother glanced at him silently with a confusion saying nothing. But my father had to pass his judgment to him. So he said, “You need not have to poke your nose in these matters. You better mind your own business.”
The movement reached its fervent pitch with the advent of the fateful year of 1983. The state was really in fire, both literally and metaphorically. News of setting fire in numerous places, in the villages and towns, was on the air. In the same way, news of communal riots, loots and vandalism worsened the entire situation. In the midst of these confusions and unruly extremities, one night, a great hue and cry could be heard from the youndes side of the ridge, the de facto borderline between our village and the Muslim village. The call of “Allah ho Akbor” echoed from the crowd gathering there. In response to that verbal challenge, the Daba and Kanhs from all the Namghars of our area blew at full fury and force. People shouted in unision, “Let’s come out. Come along for your motherland. Glory to our motherland Assam.”
Fortunately, nothing happened at that night. But the next day, people gathered in the Namghar of our village for a serious discussion over that issue. As expected, Mukunda thundered in an excited voice “They threw and open challenge to us last night. May be on tomorrow or on its next, they will rush towards us to kill us, to burn our houses. But still we are in deep slumber of peace, not at all aware of the danger at hand. The worst of all is, we are sheltering their spies in the interiors of our homes.”
“Is this? Who is that man?”
“Who has sheltered him?”
“Where this fellow has been kept? Why are we in the dark about this?”
An accusing murmur spread around from all the corners of that gathering.
“Oh what a pity! Why can’t you see that Xoru has still been kept safe and secured by our own people?” Mukunda’s charge was unhindered and straight.
Everyone fell silent for a while. A spell of gloom and a sense of undecisiveness spread among the gathering. Gradually the dormant murmur increased in its intensity and grew distinct. Finally, the villagers thundered their unanimous decision. “Xoru must be chased away from our village in the greater interest of our great movement.”
Xoru sobbed in helpless agony. “Where will I go now, at this phase of my life? To which people I belong? Have I not lost all my old identity by getting mingled with this village? Have I not discarded all my old connections? How can I hope to get welcomed by own community after such a long gap? At this time of suspicion and faithlessness?” There was no answer to his genuine queries.
Some people of our village tried to convince him to leave our village. They sounded genuinely concerned of him. They said to him, “Xoru, go back to your village. You are the son of Hussain. Go back to him. May be you are safe in our hands. But who can tell that your fate will be the same if people from other villages know about your real identity?”
But Xoru wailed in deep anguish and kept on saying “I am not going to leave this village, my brothers. Let them kill me. I have no separate identity now.”
But eventually, a few of our villagers, administering some suggestions and threatenings, jerks and jolts, pushes and pulls, drove Xoru out of our village. Weeping piteously he just trudged along looking back at our village, again and again.
He had been seen sitting listlessly, for a long while, first on the border of our village and then on the ridge. It was only in the late afternoon when he directed his wary steps towards the village where he was born but circumstances never allowed him to develop any emotional bond with it. He found the villagers well alert in guarding their village. A few of them rushed towards him with lathis and other weapons in their hands. They charged him direct. “Why are back after such a long gap? You incredible rogue! You have mingled into their community and have turned into one of them. Have you come here to spy on us on their behalf?”
“They have chased me away, as I belong to this village.” Xoru replied in a low nerveous voice.
This reply made that group silent for a while. They discussed and retorted among them over that issue. Then they took Xoru with them. Entering their village they started shouting “Look, Look, Sirajuddin has come back to his village. Siru has come back. Look! How severely he has been beaten and then being chased away from that village.”
Suddenly, Xoru got back his old identity. In a few minutes, his villagers trans formed him into his originality, from ‘Xoru’ to ‘Siru’, Hussain’s abandoned son.
The previous night’s threat from the Muslim village brought a host of people to our village from other neighbouring villages. They came to our rescue, to protect us from any probable attack from the Muslim village. In the same way, that Muslim village was packed with people coming from other Muslim villages in the interest of the safeguarding their community. Of course, nothing occurred on that day. But on the next day, the situation did not remain the same and it only got worse. Apprehending an attack from the opposite side, groups of people from both the villages, slowly but surely, marched towards each other following secret strategies. In no time, incidents like chasing and retreating gathered their momentum. Both the opposite sides were scattered in small groups to combat their counterparts. In the midst of that commotion and confusion it was noticed that a man from the Muslim village was lagging behind his respective group. He appeared to be got separated from his party. He appeared to be equipped with a lathi in his hand. Secretly, a small group from our village, consisting of not more than five men, marched towards to prey upon him. To their surprise, they recognized that lonely man to be none other than Xoru. He had a spear with him, not a lathi. Having seen that group in front of him, Xoru got greatly panicked.
“You ungrateful rogue! You grew up in our village and now you are coming to attack us with your spear. How dare you to do this? Thus yelling at Xoru, two men from that group from our side snatched away the spear from his hand. Immediately one of them struck at his chest with all his might. The others also jumped upon him and started beating him mercilessly. But just then they saw and her group of armed men, approaching towards them. They were double in number than that of them and definitely from the enemy side. So they fled from these in no time allowing Xoru to survive. Xoru was lying on the ridge in great pain. But coming of these men from his own community did not in any way was going to lessen his suffering. On the contrary, they proved to be a fatal blow to him. Because a youngman from this group kicked him hard again at his chest and shouted at him, “You untrustworthy raseal! Are you still a party with them. Do they seem more dearing to you than your own people?” Suddenly, another one, mad with anger, backed a severe blow on Xoru’s shoulder. Xoru fell flat on the ground with a heart wrenching cry.
Just then the sound of blank fires were heard nearby. Suddenly we saw armed soldiers of Assam Police, C.R.P.F. and the Army were running halter-skelter opening blank fires to disperse the combating mobs. It took no time to make the place look almost deserted as everyone was running to the safety of his respective village. We too, getting safely away from the firing bullets, took shelter of a big bunyon tree and slarted observing the turn situation with a growing anxiety. We were at a peculiar bent of mind at that time. It was true that we were greatly panicked but at the same time, we also felt a strange kind of excitement. We also apprehended fresh attacks after the departure of the armed forces. So we needed to be remain alert. Just then we heard the loud announcement made by the police. It said, “Listen people, listen to us carefully, whoever may be present nearby. We assure you of full police protection and you need not get panicked any more. We have found a man lying dead here at this spot. We need your full co-operation in identifying this deadman.”
So shaking all our hesitations, a few of us ran straight to that direction. And 10! We could hardly believe what our eyes had beheld. The deadman lying on the ridge was none other than Xoru. He was lying upward on his book. His lifeless open eyes were gazing at the sky. The right leg and the right hand were leaning over the ridge towards our village while the left leg and the left hand were bending towards the Muslim village. Suddenly, I felt that I could perceive Xoru’s predicament and his dual attachment even at the last moment of his life when he was grasping for the last breath. Probably, till his last breath, he could not clearly decide actually to which village he really belonged. Whether he should be with our village where he grew up to attain his manhood or to the village where he was born but got nothing to cherish for his life. His deadbody itself was quite strangely displaying this unresolved issue.
Finally, Bapu Khura stretched his body a little and yawned heavily. It was a clear sign that nothing more remained to be narrated now. Then he stretched his legs wide and learned his head on the sofa. His hands were let allowed to hang behind his head perfecting his reclining position. In this tired and pensive mood, he now started gazing at the ceiling with a vacant look. On the otherhand, Bipul carried away with the tragic twist of the story was looking absent mindedly at the glass of water that was left half drunk by Bapu Khura. A few moment elapsed in the midst of this deafening silence. Suddenly, getting aware that Khura had finished his story and had been silent for a while, Bipul looked up to him. But what had he seen? Was his disturbed mind playing a trick with him? Already the image of Xoru’s deadbody lying on the ridge etched deeped in his imagination. Now when he saw Bapu Khura gazing at the ceiling with that stretching and reclined posture resembling exactly the posture of Xoru’s deadbody lying on that ridge, it strangely seemed to Bipul that he was not staring at Bapu Khura but at the deadbody of Xoru. This macabre analogy made his goosbumps raise in cold fear.
“Bipul, I think, now you can understand the reason behind my recent morose temper.”
Khura startled Bipul by abruptly breaking the prevailing silence. “Since that day, after having visited our paternal land, roaming around it, my mind has been just consistently getting haunted with the thought of Xoru, specially, how he had to meet his tragic end, and how his deadbody was lying there, probably cursing at us, specially, at me for not having the guts and manliness to tell a spade a spade. I simply can’t explain to you, the depth of my remorse, for being a party to that injustice, for being a victim of a shameless passive submission which was against all the norms of humanity. Anyway, stop this matter now. Let by gones, be by gone. Now allow me to relax for a while in my bad. Call me when the supper is ready.”
With these concluding words Bapu Khura rose up and stepped towards his bed.
The supper was taken in the same reticent mood. Bipul just threw a few furtive glances Bapu Khura. Neither Bapu Khura nor he was in a mood to initiate a talk and felt relieved to get on their beds.
The next morning, after having had their breakfast everyone got busy with the daily chores. Bapu Khura went out for usual round about the village. When he came back home for his lunch at about two O’clock, he did not find Bipul at home. “Where had he gone?” Khura wanted to know. He was informed that after he had gone, Bipul was found sitting for a long while in the veranda looking lost in some thoughts. After that he had gone somewhere letting no one know about it. Even he had left his mobile phone at home.
Bapu Khura looked for Bipul in a few houres of the village but he was not there. Suddenly, a thought crossed his mind. His intuition was hinting him something. It seemed to him that he could guess where Bipul might be at that time. He directed his steps towards their field in accompaniment of a couple of friends. Yes, he guessed it right. Bipul was steeping there. He was lying flat facing the sky on that some spot of that ridge where Bapu Khura was sitting for a long while, the other day. He looked half asleep. His right leg and the right hand were leaning over the ridge towards their village while his left leg and the left hand were bending towards its opposite side. But it appeared to Bapu Khura was greatly shacked to see that the sleeping posture of Bipul looked exactly same with the dead body of Xoru.
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