Teatime for the Firefly (36 page)

I lay in bed thinking. The only way I could get to Manik was to take the passenger train from Silchar to Mariani. From Mariani I would have to figure out a way to get to Aynakhal. I would just have to take it one step at a time.

I knew Jonaki would be safe with Mima and Dadamoshai, safer here than any other place I could think of. I would ask Reza to be her wet nurse. How ironic, I thought, a Muslim woman breast-feeding a Hindu child when all around us Muslims and Hindus were killing each other.

I told Dadamoshai and Mima my plans.

“But
how
, Layla-ma?” Mima cried. “Please have some sense. This is complete madness. Do you have any idea how risky it is? Nobody is going by train anywhere. They are full of
goondas
. I don’t even know if the trains are running properly. God only knows how long it will take you to get to Mariani, if you get there at all. You will get killed, Layla. You will get raped. A young woman like you, on a train alone. Please have sense,
maiyya
. You are a mother now...you have a child to think of.” She turned to Dadamoshai in panic. “Dada, stop her. We can’t let her go like this!”

Dadamoshai was silent.

“Manik is seriously hurt, Mima. How can I sit here and do nothing?” I said quietly. “All I ask is you take care of Jonaki. Reza will breast-feed her while I am gone. I have already spoken to her.”

“Layla-ma, I know you are upset, but please try to
think
clearly,” Mima pleaded. “The situation in Mariani is terrible.
Terrible.
Even if you reach Mariani, how will you get to Aynakhal from there? It is what—fifteen miles?”

“I have not thought that far, Mima.”

“Dada, how can you remain quiet? Why are you not saying anything?” Mima wailed.

“When do you plan to go,
maiyya
?” asked Dadamoshai.

“I want to leave immediately. On the next train, if possible. I know there is one that leaves tonight at seven-fifteen from Silchar station.”

“I am going with Layla,” Dadamoshai announced.

“No, Dadamoshai!” I said sharply. “I am doing this alone. You must stay here. I know people in this house will be safe only if you are here.”

Mima ignored me. “Layla-ma, please, listen to me,” she said. “You just had a Cesarean operation and your body has not even healed. If you ask any doctor, they will forbid you to travel. You are seriously risking your health,
maiyya
.”

“She will go whether you like it or not, Mima,” said Dadamoshai. “There is no point trying to talk her out of it. I know Layla. Once she has made up her mind, you can’t change it.”

“Hai bhogoban!”
Mima wailed. She covered her face with both her hands and howled like a child. I stared at her in shock; I had never seen Mima cry. Mima could be angry, belligerent, outraged, upset and indignant, but
Mima crying
! I could hardly bear to look at her. After a while she dried her eyes with the end of her sari. “You must take chili powder in your purse, Layla-ma,” she said, “and by God, you are going to need it this time.”

* * *

Amrat Singh, the Police Chief, offered to drive us to the station in his jeep with armed guards. On the way he tried to talk me out of what he called my “suicide mission.”

“Layla, please think about this carefully,” he said. “I want you to fully understand the gravity of the Mariani situation. The CRP was sent there. You know what the CRP is, don’t you? It’s the special paramilitary police force used for dire insurgencies. We heard even the CRP could not enter Mariani. There is complete anarchy there. Now there is talk about the army being deployed.
The army!
Do you see how serious the situation is? As yet, we have no count of the total number of people killed.”

I did not say anything.

“The mobs have infiltrated several tea gardens near Mariani,” Amrat Singh continued. “Most planters have left with their families. The unmanned tea plantations have fallen into the hands of
goondas
. Only a few planters remain. The Irishman involved in that rhino case is one of them who has stayed back. The crowds are afraid of a white man with a gun. What I don’t understand is why Manik did not leave the tea garden when he had the chance.”

Manik did indeed have the opportunity to leave Aynakhal, but it was not something he would ever do. The responsibilities of a
Mai-Baap
had been deeply ingrained in him by his ex-boss, Mr. McIntyre. Manik would argue Mr. McIntyre would never abandon the tea garden during a crisis, nor would someone like Jimmy O’Connor. If a manager gave up control of a garden, chaos would reign and the damage would be irreparable. The delicate politics of labor management in a tea garden was not easily explainable to an outsider so I did not even try.

* * *

The Assam-Bengal passenger train pulled into the platform at Silchar station. The station was deserted except for the policemen and Dadamoshai. The train was running empty.

Dadamoshai stood forlornly on the platform holding his umbrella, unable to speak a word.

“Please leave, Dadamoshai,” I said softly. “I don’t want anybody to see me getting on this train.” I lightly touched his fingers and slipped quickly inside a bogie. It was filthy. A number of bluebottle flies had entered through the open window and buzzed over the dirty leaf plates with remnants of rotting food under the seats. All I carried with me was a small cloth bag, with some dry food packed by Chaya and a water bottle. I was dressed in an old sari; I covered my head and did not wear a single piece of jewelry or carry a purse. I switched off all the lights and huddled in a corner of the seat. The compartments had no doors. If anybody glanced inside, hopefully they would not see me and go away. I kept window shades pulled down, but left a four-inch gap at the bottom through which I could see a slice of the platform. It was stale and stuffy inside the train, making it difficult to breathe.

The train gave a series of metallic squeaks as it pulled forward. I saw the moving concrete and occasionally a pair of feet, sometimes a bundle lying on the platform. Then it gathered speed—the silver rails snaked together and parted, growing farther and farther apart. Soon we were in the open countryside speeding through purple-green rice fields deepened by the fading twilight.

The rhythmic rocking of the carriage invited sleep, but I was sharply and acutely alert. A few small stations rattled by, washes of concrete with amber pools of light. They looked deserted. Then the dark night swallowed us as the train steamed toward Mariani.

Small bits of gray ash floated in through the crack in the window. I could smell burning. We passed by a crowd of ragged villagers holding burning torches. They ran alongside the speeding train trying to clamber aboard. I caught a glimpse of a blood-soaked child in a woman’s arms. Then everything washed away into the night.

Suddenly, I realized I was not alone. I heard the twang of the one-stringed
ektara
and a nasal voice singing a folk ditty. It was a
baul
. I saw the flash of his orange garb as it passed by my doorway. How I envied him! If only I was a
baul
. Only a
baul
could travel anywhere unharmed. No Hindu or Muslim would think of lifting a finger against him.

I felt an enormous sadness when I thought of little Jonaki. I wondered if I would ever see my little baby again. She was my little fallen star. I yearned to touch her honey skin and feel her tiny fingers curl tightly around my thumb like the tendrils of a fern. How thrilling it was to see that beautiful mouth open in a perfect heart-shaped yawn and see that dimpled smile as she chased her dreams. How I wished Manik could see his little daughter. Would Jonaki ever know the funny, handsome man who was her father? What if I never returned? She would grow up an orphan. I had chosen to undertake the most dangerous journey of my life and anything could happen. But one thing I was sure of—Jonaki was safe and would be well cared for. Who I worried about was Manik.
Injuries serious
, the cryptic telegram read. Would I reach Aynakhal to find him
dead
? Would I reach Aynakhal at all? I felt sick with worry. But now there was no turning back.

The train was slowing as it pulled into what looked like a major junction. I looked at my watch; it was midnight. Judging by the distance we had traveled, that would be the town of Lumding, halfway to Mariani. We passed several open trailers of an idling freight train. Then the brakes squealed and groaned before the train came to a shuddering stop. I heard the sound of running feet on the platform. Shouts. I peered through the gap in my window and my heart froze: there was a mob beating a man. The man howled like an animal, covering his face with his hands as the men rained down blows on his head and body with thick, stout sticks.

“Kill the Hindu dog!” one of them yelled.

The man went down and the hoodlums kicked his lifeless body, which was unresisting, soft and pulpy, his limbs flung at odd angles. Finally he just lay there in a broken heap, a dark pool forming around his head.

I felt the bile rush to my throat. The gang loped down the platform, whooping and catcalling to one another. They banged on the doors of the train and ran their sticks along the metallic walls of the compartments, making a staccato noise like a machine gun. The sound grew louder and louder and then stopped outside my compartment. A stick poked through the window as someone tried to pry the window open from the outside.

I could see the bottom half of a man’s face, his teeth stained red from chewing
paan
. “Motherfucker,” he muttered before giving up.

Somebody wolf-whistled from the front end of the train. The man banged the window angrily and then took off running down the platform. The train was beginning to pull forward slowly. The platform was empty. This meant one thing only. The men had boarded the train.

We must have been traveling for about half an hour when all of a sudden the wheels screeched, sparks flew on the tracks and I was thrown violently from my seat onto the floor. My compartment rattled and shook as the train came to a shuddering stop. Somebody had pulled the emergency chain. We were in the middle of nowhere. It was pitch-dark outside. Shouts broke out. A flashlight swung, lighting up a steep embankment, and dark shadows clambered down. I counted about twenty men. They carried sticks and I saw the flash of curved
khurpi
knives tucked into their waistbands. The men took off into the dark night, calling out to one another. I could tell they were running across a paddy field because their flashlights bounced up and down as they navigated the narrow dividers. One of them howled like a jackal and the others took up the chorus. Somewhere in the distance, dogs started barking, first one followed by the others. I saw the outline of palm trees and huts against the night sky—a village—the men were headed in that direction. I thought of the poor villagers peacefully asleep in their mud huts. Little children curled beside their sleeping mothers. What would they wake up to?

The engine panted like a sullen beast as it idled on the tracks. Suddenly a loud whistle shrilled followed by a shuddering intake of steam. The compartment squeaked and jerked, then haltingly moved forward as the train started down the tracks.

I sat back in my seat and closed my eyes. The tautness in my chest slowly subsided. At least the men had got off the train. I had not even taken a sip of water all this time, fearing I would need to use the bathroom. I took out my water flask and had a drink, stood up and stretched my legs for the first time in four hours. Then I decided to sneak a trip to the bathroom. I passed a long row of compartments. There were no other occupants in the carriage besides me. Most of the compartments were full of trash: rags, bundles, bottles and rotting garbage.

Back in my compartment, I figured I should have something to eat. In my cloth bag I found an apple and in the small zippered pocket a tiny pocketknife. I smiled, thinking of the day I got the pocketknife. It was a gift from Dadamoshai.

* * *

We were eight years old, Moon and I, when Dadamoshai returned from one of his trips to England. He had been invited to give a talk at a college in the small town of Sheffield and brought back two tiny gifts for us. Next morning we found them under our pillow: exquisite blue velvet boxes with some kind of kingly crest stamped in gold. They looked unbearably precious. We wondered what was inside.

“I think it’s crown jewels,” said Moon. “Maybe Dadamoshai stole them from the castle.”

The inside of the case was lined in velvet, and snugly nestled in the indent was a curious item the size of my little finger, covered in a shimmering mother-of-pearl. Mine was cream-colored and Moon’s slightly pinkish. We turned them over in our hands, completely bedazzled.

“What is this thing?” I asked.

Moon snapped awake and sat up in bed. There was a big pillow crease on her cheek. “It’s a crown jewel,” she said decisively. She put her gift carefully back in the case, shut the lid and fastened the tiny scalloped clasp. Then she closed her eyes and inhaled the box deeply. “It’s very expensive. Maximum expensive.”

“What is a crown jewel? What do you do with it?”

“You put it inside your crown,” said Moon, vaguely.

“Why?”

“Because it is very expensive and you can get robbed. So you keep it inside your crown. There is a bowl inside the crown to keep maximum expensive things. Rubies and diamonds and...and crown jewels.”

That somehow did not sound right. “I am going to ask Dadamoshai,” I said, clambering off the bed. Moon followed me, kissing her case. Dadamoshai was in the veranda reading the papers.

“Ah, so you found your gifts, I see. Here, let me show you,” he said. He opened my box and took out the object. The morning sun captured tiny gold glints in the mother-of-pearl, making it look even more bejeweled and precious. Dadamoshai pushed his glasses over his forehead, gripped a tiny notch on the side and pulled. A shiny blade opened with a lethal click. Moon and I gasped with disbelief. It was a miniature pocketknife!