'And who is she?'

'Mili. She's Sanju's friend.'

'May I have a talk with her? She may know something.'

'I don't know. You see, she's very fond of Sanju, and tomorrow is her birthday. She's upset. May be even more than me, or Sanju's mother.'

That was the intercourse between Inspector and Sanju's father, Mr. Sudip Mahtre. Sanju is a seventeen year old boy of eleventh standard at St. Xaviers, Calcutta. His full name is Sanjay Mahtre and was lovingly called Sanju. While playing football on a fine summer evening he got a nasty bruise in his right wrist, and Mr. Mahtre was telling the official about it. May be, he thought, it would help them. All the family albums had been brought out and Sanju lay upon the bed, from a toddler to a fine young man who won the 100 meters gold at the College Sports Day.

The lovely red eyed girl came up to the twosome and addressed Mr. Mahtre, ‘Uncle, there’s a hostel at Circular Road. You could call them up. I’ve tried all other places.’ It was 10 at the dark of the night, a full six hours after his classes dissolved. He was a responsible boy. Although growing up implied irregularity and uncertainty, he was always sure to call home if he was to be late. Today was an exception that made the Mahtres half dead with worry and the tender Mili exhausted with tears. The police inspector and two juniors with him left the Mahtres place at Ballygunge half an hour later.

‘Mama, i want to stay back. There’s still no news of his. I’m so worried.’

‘It’s all right dear. Take care and be strong. Everything will be okay. Take care.’

Mili and Sanjay met for the first time in Class VIII when Sanjay’s father was transferred from Delhi with a promotion to Calcutta. It was at a small school in Garden Reach. For a year they shared nothing more than some passive glances. Then they shared their whole life. Their intimacy, outwardly within the bounds of friendship, was acknowledged by both their parents. The Khanna’s, Mili’s parents, and the Mahtres met for a couple of times at the annual functions.

Now Mrs. Mahtre lay sobbing on the bed, caressing the photos of Sanju.

‘Aunty, I’ll stay back. May I make some tea for you; you look tired.’

‘Don't bother. You take some food. Get them from the fridge. And then go to sleep.’

‘I can’t. Besides I am not hungry. I’ll make some tea.’

She was in the kitchen. The water was boiling. It was such a lovely night. Almost full moon it was. And how lovely was the silence. She could hear the cricket somewhere. The past days poured before her in a torrent. How they would so often talk over the phone when all else were sleeping. They had often talked of spending such a lovely night together. They were in love after all, and dreamt much more. Oh! Dear Sanju. Where he could be now? The kettle was hissing.

And then the phone rang.

 

‘I want some water.’

It was a small apartment. There was a small kitchen, a toilet cum bathroom, a storeroom and another bigger room which catered as the rest. The younger man, who was called Kanti, got up and got a glass of water from the pitcher kept beside the window. Sanju could guess that he was on the third or fourth floor of a building. Far away he could see lanes of cars and their lively headlights following one another. He guessed that he must be inside the city. A dog was barking near the light post that gave no light. He drank the water.

‘Manoj da, it hurts. Please open the bound; I won’t do anything silly.’

‘Smart guy you are. Do you know what we are doing? Do you know what crime this is? This is no film. This is real life. And do you expect me to risk this thing? Do you know what they are going to do to us if we get caught, starting with your parents? Well, dear, we don't have any enmity with you, or anyone like you. It’s your ill luck that you were present there at the fated moment. What’s that card in your hand?’

‘Huh. An useless piece of paper. You may take it as well. You have a girlfriend I hope.’

‘I am married.’

Kanti was swatting mosquitoes. Nothing else to do. ‘Manoj da, I’m feeling hungry.’

‘Just one more day. Then we will be rich. Won’t we be, Sanjay?’

‘Life’s little ironies. Are you a father?’

It was a large laugh that he gave. A deep voice he had. A strong arm. And a rebellious countenance. Kanti stayed in his colony and drove a taxi. It helped this evening when they shoved Sanju so unceremoniously in front of the Archies Gallery.

‘I can see where you are heading. I really admire you. This is called psychological torture. Yes, I am a father. I’ve a three year old daughter. She wears filthy clothes. Half her stomach is most time unfed. She cries more times than she smiles. She has no mother who can suckle her. She will not be as lucky as her father who is a BA honours. I am a father. And that is why I have brought you here.’ It was silence that reigned the air for a long time. Sanju had nothing to say. It was so strange that he did not feel any hatred for his abductors. In fact he liked them. Kanti was always silent. He couldn't know much about Kanti; he felt that he was nervous. They had always behaved well with him. When he was feeling hungry they gave him the only cake they had. Both of them were lying hungry opposite him, keeping an eye on him. There was no animosity in the eyes of anyone. In fact those looks told so much. They spoke of compulsion, an unwillingness, a sense of being sorry. Some time back they had made the call. He talked with his mother and when he tried to talk to Mili they snatched the phone. Twenty thousand rupees was all that staged this episode. In fact Sanju was a little surprised that they demanded so less, his father could pay much more for his only son. It was this price for which another father put so much at stake. One mistake and...

He felt relieved, and sleepy.

 

When Sanju’s father dropped the phone the other two were looking at him.

‘Twenty thousand. No police.’

Oh! And mothers are so anxious. ‘What are you waiting for?’

‘Sunrise. I wonder if I should tell the police. But I am afraid.’

‘Uncle, no police. It’s no big amount. Please don't take any risk. What did they say they would do if we call the police?’

‘You want to hear?’

‘No. But what would you tell the police when they come back? They would demand some explanation.’

‘We won’t tell anything to them until he’s back. Then let’s see. Anyway, you two now go to sleep.’

‘I was making the tea, uncle. Auntie, what about you? Please auntie, stoop crying now. It’s all right. He’s safe and he’s coming back. Cheer up. I’ll get the tea.’

 

Sunrise was yellow. Sunrise is always a pretty time if the sky is clear. Today it was. Sanju woke. Yes, it was no bedroom of his where a smiling Madhuri would welcome him from the opposite wall. ‘I want to use the bathroom. Open my hands.’

Manoj came up and freed him. ‘Be quick and don't close the door. Don't worry, no one will look inside if you don't do anything silly. There you go.’ He then woke up Kanti.

Sanju came out. ‘Where’s my purse? You took it?’

‘I’m sorry. It just popped out of your pocket while you were sleeping. It’s over there’, Manoj answered pointing to the table at the corner of the room. He was hesitating. ‘Can you give us some twenty rupees? We have to get some bread and tea. We are penniless.’

‘You surprise me. The purse is before you. Why ask me!’

‘It’s your money. We won’t take unless you give us.’

‘And I would hate to see to hungry men. Well, three actually. Get some coffee for me, if you can.’

Kanti went to fetch them. The two were left alone.

‘You love Mili.’

‘What! You read my letter. Damn you. What do you think of yourself? You wanted money, all right. Why pry into my things. Until yesterday night I like you, and now I hate you. You are no different.’

‘I am sorry.’

‘Yes. There is one word which people think works magic. Which idiot coined the word! And next comes the explanation, I hope.’

‘I am really sorry. Though I would have been more sorry if I hadn’t. I had nothing to do and the letter dropped with the purse. Never mind. So, today’s her birthday. What have you got for her?’

‘Wow! What, did you use to write jokes? Or perhaps satires? Here I am, in hostage, and my two kidnappers demand twenty thousand bucks from my parents, and then one of them asks what I’ve bought for my girlfriend’s birthday. As for your question my answer is nothing. You didn't give me the chance.’

‘You want to be there, no? I am sorry it all happened to you. You know I liked you from the first minute. I have never known any more composed boy...cool as they say. I was shoving you inside, taking you forcefully to strange places and you went through it all patiently.’

‘When there’s a gun nearby you forget the big brothers of Bollywood. I have my brains and I wanted it intact. Why, you are so careless with your gun! I could even jump for it. It’s one to one now.’

‘That’s empty.’

And Sanju laughed merrily. ‘Oh the fool that I was!’

‘All are fools. Or are made so. Besides you were not foolish. I could do things even without guns. You want to go now, I hope. I am harmless now.’

‘You are wrong. A desperate man is dangerous. Besides I don't want to get hurt. You see, I am the only child of my parents and the only boyfriend of Mili. I wish I could be with her now.’

‘May I take the card?’

‘Why ask me! Take it.’

Manoj had a very beautiful handwriting. Although the card was inappropriate for his purpose, he wrote:

To,

Someone I came to know about only yesterday. Happy Birthday.

From
-Someone you’d hate if I told you.
He sealed the envelope and gave it to Sanju.

‘There’s the door. You may go.’

‘What? After all this you leave me. You have a daughter. You have an accomplice. You take this hard means for no end! You now joking?’

Sanju got up from the bed. He tidied himself. Yes, the sun was up and sunrays came flooding through the window. Far away he could see the cars trailing...the gun lying empty before him.