The Boy Who Loved by Durjoy Datta

Author:Durjoy Datta [Datta, Durjoy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9789386495600
Publisher: Random House Publishers India Pvt. Ltd.
Published: 2017-05-28T18:30:00+00:00

27 July 1999

‘The later you tell them the worse it will be,’ Brahmi had told me, and so I didn’t think it wise to wait any longer. In the light of recent developments, there’s no one else I would trust more with my life decisions than Brahmi.

When I told Maa–Baba about Boudi’s pregnancy, Maa started to beat her chest, cry and laugh in a mad frenzy and Baba cursed Zubeida like the crazed kar sevaks who had brought down the masjid in ’92.

‘You shouldn’t have gone to the astrologer,’ I said. ‘If anything happens then—’

‘GO TO YOU ROOM, YOU RAT!’ shouted Baba.

I stood there, looking at him, in the eye, challenging him to make me budge. Which he responded to. He slapped me on my shoulder and bellowed his instruction again. Tears pooled in my eyes, my lips quivered but I didn’t take my disapproving eyes off him.

‘DIDN’T YOU HEAR ME?’ he shouted. He took my hand and shoved me inside my room, slamming the door on my face. Soon after that the bell rang and I peeped out of the balcony. It was Bhattacharya Uncle and Aunty. Maa–Baba lifted the embargo on the Gangulys’ relationships with the neighbours and let them in. After suitable condolences were offered, hearts were opened, and tea was drunk. Maa cried into Bhattacharya Aunty’s arms. Aunty said, ‘Of course that Muslim woman would do that. Ensnare him and then make sure he doesn’t leave. All the modesty is really a tool for seduction.’

‘We are ruined,’ wailed Maa. ‘Our lives are over. Is this why we carry our children in our wombs? So they spit on our faces when we are old?’

Baba nodded and drank the whiskey Bhattacharya Uncle had got him.

Then the Bhattacharyas left, leaving Baba with the bottle. Baba was up till late, drinking which was at odds with my plan to see Brahmi again tonight, try our new communication channel. When I got up in the middle of the night to check on him, Baba scrambled to his feet, eyes bloodshot and teary, smiling like a lunatic.

‘Did you hear, you son of a whore?’ he pointed at me. ‘You didn’t, did you? We will kick those Pakistani troops out of our country. We won the war. We won’t allow them inside this country or this house. Go to Pakistan with them!’

He slumped back into the sofa, cradling the bottle like a child, smiling and crying. I waited for him to slip into a daze. I sneaked out to see Brahmi. By the time I got there, she had slept with her head resting on the window ledge. I waited. What if she woke up looking for me and finds me gone? What precedent would that set for our love story? She woke up after an hour. We tried what she had taught me over the past week—Morse code. Together we memorized the little dashes and dots for every alphabet. I learnt the words I LOVE YOU rather quickly.

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