The Soulmate

Read in Assamese:
http://kankhowafictions.blogspot.in/2013/11/blog-post.html

Did we grow up a little sooner than our ages?

I still remember the day you dashed into the classroom, flung your bag away and jolted me asking, “Hey, what is fragrance of soil?” You often behave like this. At times, yours overreactions do irritate me. But, you have always been like this. Every day, you come up with a strange question or a topic, and drive us out of our wits.  I generally stay cautious in the mornings, never sure of what new scriptures you will unbind today. Once, our math class had just got over. You did not even wait for Ramen Sir to leave the class and asked in a loud voice, “Hey, what kind of wings did Icarus glue?” Who Icarus? What wings and where did he glue? We took me a long time to understand all this. You shouted, and the blame was put on me. Remember, how Ramen Sir started calling me Icarus in front of the whole class. How embarrassed I used to feel. On another day, when Ramen Sir called me Icarus again, I pointed towards you and said that I am no Icarus, but you are the one. To that you instantly replied, “No Sir, I am not Icarus, I am, actually, Eichmann”. Ramen Sir responded ignorantly, “We will get to know who is what in your half yearly exam results.”

You have always been this weird. Sometimes you put me in terribly odd situations. Back then, I had no idea of any Icarus or Eichmann. Besides, what possible connection could Ramen Sir find between those names and our half yearly exams still remains a mystery to me. Anyhow, so that day you brought up about the fragrance of soil. Others in the group laughed at the question. Partha teased “its sour”, and Kamal said “Trust me, it is bitter”. You know them, then why bring out such topics in front of them?

The more I tried to calm you down, the more you shouted, “As you said, I went to Pandit Jagat’s house. He spoke for an entire hour about how your writings should bear the fragrance of your soil. His lecture was a bit too long, I almost felt dizzy after that. But I couldn’t grasp this one thing, how does fragrance or the smell of soil, or whatever it is, comes in one’s writing?” “Hmmm, now you please stay quiet, we’ll talk about it in the evening”, I said. From the corner of my eye, I could see Joba giggling at us. I go a little nervous in such situations. 

We were a bit late while returning from Bhirgaon. We cycled a bit faster. You were always faster than me in cycling. We breathed faster and faster but that didn’t stop us from talking. “I think we should leave it”, suddenly you said. “It is just the start, why should we think of leaving it right away?” I reminded you that it was entirely your idea to do something like this. It is already dark and we are still some miles away from home. Looks like a good scolding is awaiting us. We might be barred from going out of home in the evenings for next couple of days.  The attitude is still better at my place, but your folks might not allow you to meet me or come to my house.

It was a lonely stretch to home. The dense bamboo forest on the way gives an uneasy feeling at times. It’s still autumn and the area looks dry and visible, whereas in the rainy season, it remains dark and damp. Most of accidents during army operations happen here. You had told me once. You pass through this route often so you know of the happenings more here.

With a specific purpose in mind, we decided meet a person named Madhu Sudhan. Well, we hoped to find a journal titled, ‘ka-kha-ga’ with him. But all our efforts went in vain when he hardly bothered to talk to us.  That attitude was driving us nuts. Such a strange person he is. His house is full with endless number of books but he didn’t even give us a chance to look around. I wonder what he thought of us. But off course, this isn’t the first time that something like this has happened to us. We have often faced such disappointments. We have set a week’s target in hand and decided to accomplish the task by then.     

We first met each other when we were in the fifth standard and very first day we started fighting with rulers. I don’t remember much about it, but you often try to remind me of it.  Off course, I don’t always take everything you say, exaggeration being a trait of your talks. If we ever fought also, I am sure you are the one who initiated it. Yes, you Hitler fan. Among many other things, I could never understand your admiration for Hitler. You and your peculiar German affection! It was on your insistence that I started subscribing to the newsletter ‘German News’. Even today, after so many years an issue of ‘German News’ happily finds its way to our house.

Our houses are rather far from each other. We meet in school everyday, but until and unless there is something urgent, we don’t catch up after school. But the time we are together, we are inseparable. Friends tease us all the time but that hardly used to bother us.  We still had our differences of views, interests and many other things.  You were interested in wars, weapons, machinery and automobiles. You love to narrate stories of wars and battles and with skillfully weave your own fantasies into history. I often got bored listening to your stories but never really complained. On the other hand, you never appreciated my interests and were quite vocal about it too. You laughed at me for writing poetry and very comfortably stated that poets are useless.  I liked painting which again you considered as a sign of madness. You never watched a single play I wrote. Nonetheless, at the end of the day we share some common interests and those are enough to keep us together. Collecting articles and paper cuttings from various papers, magazines and journals was one of our common pastimes. Once you had given me a book called ‘Swiskin, I and others’.

One day it suddenly occurred to us that with the help of all the paper cuttings, we can actually bring out a hand written magazine. That was the start. We hit on the road immediately. Now, as the idea of the magazine progressed, we realized that only the paper cuttings won’t be sufficient. To bring out a full-fledged magazine is not an easy task. We tried to look at it from different angles. We were in 8^th standard, so thought of approaching someone from the 10th standard to be the editor. Our Head Teacher should be a good person to consult. Yes, he would be able to guide us on this. But, our confidence always goes for a toss in such situations. We kept standing outside Head Teacher’s room, hesitant to approach him. Suddenly you pushed me into the room. In a fit I started blabbering something which was completely out of context. And, instead of supporting me there, you narrated all this to Joba and both of you  started laughing at me.

We started with preparing a list of the contents needed to bring out a full-fledged magazine.  First of all, the main page. “You draw it”, you said to me. I was amused, wondering where all these days of mockery suddenly vanished.  As the editor, it not look good if I also do the main page.  So, decided to give the job to Sudipto, he draws well. But Sudipto declined, saying hands are tied p for the entire week. We kept the main page for later. Now what else do we need? Write ups, a lot of them, stories, essays, poems, jokes, travelogues and many more. An interview from someone would have been an excellent addition. Partha came to help us for a few days. After the initial enthusiasm, he too stopped showing his face. Back to square one. You and I remained, just as in the beginning.

This time we took it as a challenge. Can’t go on begging people for write-ups, pictures or any other help. Whatever needs to be done, we’ll do it on our own. We’ll keep it real close this time and bring it out without giving any prior hints. If nobody gives, we will write everything ourselves and bring it out under pseudonyms.  Once the first issue is a success, all these people will be more than eager to contribute to the next issues. Yes, that is for sure. We took out all the magazines we could find in Jadu Khura’s book shelves. We spread them all over the place and went through some relevant sections to note the style of writing. One day we told Jadu Khura about our plan. He was delighted to hear it and gave us some valuable suggestion. Instead of knocking everywhere in vain, we wondered as to why we didn’t consult Jadu Khura in the beginning. Sigh!

Jadu Khura actually gave us a practical idea. He said that it is better to bring it out this hand written work in form of a journal than a magazine since we haven’t got much help or support with us. It will instantly grab the attention of a passerby, will make an easy and quick read and can read by many people at the same time.  That seemed wonderful. Khura insisted that since we have taken up such a serious work, we should maintain a responsible attitude towards it. 

“This neighbourhood has a fine history of such constructive ventures. Please go through all the journals that have been produced here in the past. You will get a clear idea to go about the work. Powerful writers like Lakhidhar Sarma, Kamalakanta Bhattacharya belong to this neighbourhood. It is important to be aware one’s own history in the first place”.  Jadu Khura’s anecdotes lifted us to a new degree of enthusiasm.

We couldn’t find anything much relevant in Jadu Khura’s library.  A book of poems by Subhas Saha and a yellow leaflet with poems written on it, radical poems from the days of agitation. The journal named “Ka Kha Ga” was brought out during the agitation. The name fancied us more than anything.  We searched every possible place for a copy of it but couldn’t find.  Among the people associated with this journal, two of them passed away at an early age. Rest them have moved to different places, completely out of contact now. Jadu Khura, who knew bits and pieces, told us that based on some socio-cultural formula of Jyotiprasad Agarwala, the name of the journal was kept. We couldn’t grasp it properly.

There was something more that led to our astonishment. We met a couple of people who had a better knowledge about those days. But the moment we bring up the topic of agitation or slightest thing related to it, they turn reluctant.  Some of them even shouted on us saying “Now, why do you need to know all this?” Others tried to avoid it with a typical elongated expression, “Those days were different. It is no more the same”.  All we could understand was that a six-year agitation had created a kind of fear among the people. A fear for a new thought, a new dream. We wondered if we will ever find someone who dares to dream.

We decided to inaugurate the journal on the first day of the school week. The day is getting closer and we have no help with us. One day, during one of our discussions, Bhani Pehi showed up. Bhani Pehi lives nearby. She generally helps us with some of our household work.  She has a beautiful handwriting, so we chosen her as our calligrapher. Except, she makes a lot of spelling mistakes in writing.  You took the responsibility of standing in front of her and check her spellings while she writes. Bhani Pehi liked the job. We too were a bit relieved. Initially, she played it a little saying, “Why don’t ask that girl, Joba, to write for you?”  I was embarrassed. How does she know about Joba?

While we were contemplating on whom to call for the inauguration, Bhani Pehi came up with a fun idea. “Look, your work is underground. I mean, you have produced a piece of work on your own without anyone’s knowledge. So, why inaugurate it? One day, just go quietly and keep it in the right place.” Great! We were very excited. That will be a real explosion. To reveal a secret project without any prior hints to anyone will just create a spectacle.  Let Sudipto know that we can do it even without his help. Let Partha also realise the mistake he committed in leaving us midway.  We are no small players. “But will it be a sane idea to put something on the school premises without permission? What if Head Teacher punished us for that?” You were scared. At this Bhani Pehi laughed. “What is the big deal in that? If he asks you to kneel down, just do it. You haven’t done anything wrong. One who bears punishment for a good cause becomes a martyr. You too turn martyrs for a day”.

Father had noticed our ways for the past few days. Both my parents are supportive to a good extent. Father said, “It’s good that you two are studying together, collecting books and materials for this project. Just don’t waste much of your time in extra curricular things. This is outside your school curriculum; you will stay behind if you devote all your time to such work.”  I was long expecting something like this. So, didn’t have much problem gulping it down the throat.

That evening, sitting on my study table, I was trying to jot down an editorial in one of the mid pages of my English rough book. I generally keep a secret page in that book. At times I scribble something in the name of Joba or write a secret letters hidden from everyone.  Right then, I heard Kunj Bordeuta’s voice from outside. He was talking to father. Suddenly, I overheard my name in middle of their discussion. “It seems these boys paid a visit to that house the other day. Wondering what made them go there. Looks as if they too are interested in turning red”, he said and laughed in his peculiar way. By now we are closely acquainted with this laugh. Kunj Bordeuta often comes to our house and discusses over various topics with father. But what does it mean to become red? Father said, “They are too young for that. There is this excitement to collect and read books, magazines and newsletters. Good for them.” Kunj Bordeuta again gave the same laugh and said, “Excitement for books is fine, just hope they don’t turn red” What does one turn red?” And how is it related to our studies?

We understood one thing from all these days of pursuing our mission, that there is an unsaid fear among the people.  What kind of fear and how it clutched them, we don’t know. As if people are scared to dream. The word ‘dream’ is enough to scare the guts out of them.

Debabrata Da is the editor of the student’s union this time. He gave us the entire itinerary of the College Week. They seem to plan it in a different way this time. It will commence with flag hosting, followed by something called ‘fun-games’.  The major games like running, high jump, long jump and other sports will follow after that. The school premises have been newly decorated for the fun games. It gave us a good feeling. While talking to Debabrata Da, I couldn’t stop a smile. I winked at you. It is turning out to be the perfect setting to bring out our task.

Two days before the College Week, we were returning home after arranging for the required pens, paper and other material. We have to work till late for these two evenings. Bhani Pehi has been told too. On returning, I couldn’t believe my eyes at the surprise that was waiting at home. My heart skipped a beat looking at the purple Ladybird cycle parked in front of the house. Yes, it is what I thought. Joba had been waiting for us since a while. She handed us a cover. Inside there were some poems and short stories by Joba, Pallabi and Ruby. “Thought of giving it in school. But moment the last bell rang, you two just disappeared into thin air. There are a few things written by the three of us. Don’t know whether you like it or not.” I almost started shivering. The head felt like spinning. You sensed my state and came forward to talk to her, “Our actual work will begin from today. You have to help us on this.” Joba resisted saying, “Not possible for me. I am sure you will do it nicely. I waited for a long time. Now, have to reach home before dark.” And she left. We breathed a sigh of relief after getting the write-ups. Otherwise, we were thinking of some make-do stuff to fill the pages.

The last two evenings were completely devoted to completion of our work. Bhani Pehi had put her best efforts to help us. She meticulously wrote all the matter in the journal, taking care of the arrangement and the neatness of the text. It was definitely not an easy task. We dipped the old, dried up sketch pens in some water and managed to fill the journal with some colorful sketches. Feelings of happiness, disappointment and yearning weighed upon us at the same time. Partha suddenly appeared out of the blue. “Since, the journal didn’t quite turn up the way we had thought, it is better to change its name.  ‘New Awakening’ suggests a kind of enthusiasm and evidently, we have not been able to create that kind of enthusiasm in this work. It also sounds a bit too ambitious” I suggested. At last, we decided on ‘Suhrid’ i.e., a soulmate.

The evening before the College Week, you came prepared to stay overnight at our house. It was the last day of our work and we were busy working till late. After making all the necessary arrangements for the next day, we fell on the bed, but couldn’t sleep. School was a stone’s throw away from my home. At the crack of dawn you, I and Partha reached the school premises. Partha thought of hanging the journal on the school notice board. How stupid he could be. As if the school authorities will spare us if we do something like that. You came up with a good idea. There was a bamboo cot lying in one of the corners from the time of the last Saraswati Puja. We erected the cot with the support of two bamboo poles. We hanged the journal on that cot. We reviewed it many times with the help of a torch, from far and near. “Lets run”, Partha said “Let’s run from here now. People will start coming for the College Week and suddenly, their attention being caught by the journal. It will be fun.”  You too added, “Yeah lets see what happens after this. Be ready to bear some severe penalty for this.”

At home, nobody got a hint of what we did sometime back. Flag hosting is at 9 o’clock. We started for school as if nothing has happened.  Tarun passed by and shouted at us, “Towards school? Go ahead. Head Teacher is waiting to peel your skin off.” We pretended to be entirely indifferent. Inside, our hearts were almost exploding in fright.  

As we entered school, we tried not to look towards the direction of the journal, pretending to be unaware of the whole thing. Instead, we started noticing everyone’s face, hoping to see a reaction. I am sure they have seen it by now and also realised who have done it. But where? No reaction anywhere. Nobody even murmured a word about it. Oh god, has it been chewed by the cow or taken by the children who come to collect woods? A cold sweat ran down my spine. Even Tarun’s words didn’t frighten us so much.  This calm is even more dreadful. Is it some kind of a sign?

The students have started gathering in the school by now. Teachers have also arrived. Everyone gathered for the flag hosting. I slyly came away from the gathering. Unable to take this anguish any more, I came up to the rest room. I didn’t know where you were, but I needed you at that time. I felt terribly lonely. I kept looking outside the window. Suddenly, another catastrophe happened.

It started drizzling. Rain? In this season? Why? So far the sky had been clear. And this is not the time for rains.

I stood there like a statue. All these days of hard work, all these of dreams are going to be washed away in seconds. I caught the smell of Cellpark ink. The sketch pen written letters of ‘Suhrid’ appeared before my eyes, blotting in the rain. Joba’s story, Pallavi’s poem – now all these are just some stains in black and blue. Is the rain meant to symbolize the fear of dreams among the people? Are we too going to fear dreams from now? Why this rain? Why at such an odd time? Why?

You came to me running. I got into a fit of anger looking at you. You have never been sensitive to people’s emotions, their joys and sorrows. You just dwell in a world of your own which is only filled with information. As always, you’ve probably come up with a bizarre subject again.  To be honest, I didn’t have the slightest mind of listen to your Icarus or Eichmann. Everything was turning blurred before my eyes.

“What are doing here? Come out, just come out. Just look out and see what’s happening. You screamed. You pulled me out of the rest room into the open. With some courage, I slowly looked towards the journal. Around ten to fifteen people held a polythene sheet above their head to save our ‘Suhrid’ from getting soaked in the rain. From the distant verandah, I could clearly see Head Teacher instructing them, “See to it that the rainwater doesn’t fall on this journal.”

Our ‘Suhrid’ has found its soulmate. I turned to say something to you, but you were not there.  Sudden rain on an autumn morning- though being my enemy, I forgave it.

Samudra Kajal Saikia

[*Original title: Suhrid. Translated from Assamese by Indrani Sharma]