Abinash had just sat over his writing desk; he had to complete the story today. The call-bell tinkled. He couldn’t hide his annoyance when he asked his servant to open the latch.
Abinash was ready to burst on the intruders the intruder brashly (almost impertinently) flung open the door, brushed past the servant and stood before him bare-toothed. Abinash failed to recognize him, yet it could not be an incognito ( outside one’s recognition), the way he behaved.
“Ah, ha! Can’t recognize, Abinash! Simple ’cause of this beard, this haggard appearance and rags (- torn clothes)! Your Pagla Suren Pagla (= mad) in results, pagla in love… and, pagla in murder…”The words rolled out in passionate turbulence. The last word nearly stuck in his throat. He seemed panting. Meanwhile Abinash had pushed back his chair and was hugging (-embracing) him.
“Am I an intruder? You seem busy,” Suren pointed to the incomplete story.
“No brother; that can wait,” Abinash stared at Suren’s haggard appearance, at his eyes that retreated (= went back) into their sockets as if withdrawing from a world of light. “What really happened, my pal (= friend)? You were so quiet, deep and cool! I couldn’t believe my ears when I returned from abroad; but people advised me not to go to Ranchi. I was told that your only visitor could be your nearest relation.”
“It’s true”, Suren began while eating, “it was like a spurt, a sudden gush of violence.
“But why?—-Sonali, whom you loved so dearly and owned as your wife!”
“So did Othello; you know the Desdemona episode, Abinash.”
“Jealousy? Was she involved with another? Did she encourage some other guy?” Abinash prodded (= poked) his question deliberately.
“Another? Before marriage?” Suren seemed to react.” Do you take me for an idiot, a bloody gull (= a man that can be easily duped) that I would not discover such sly girl?”
“Then?”
“It was my cousin brother, Abinash. I could never suspect that beneath their free-and-easy intercourse (=mixing), approved by society, by parents and others, lay such a mine of treachery, of betrayal.” Suren was visibly shaken. Abinash tried to check him, but it worked not. “No, Abinash. Let me tell you. You are my closest friend, a famous author. I’m a lost soul, a boat at the mercy of crossed currents. You must hear me…..My brother is handsome and a seasoned photographer. You have seen our pictures – so romantic and varied, they are all the workmanship of my brother. Men even said that I am lucky to have such a brother — such a picture-gallery-a priceless stuff without a purchase price! …. Yes, here I played the gull indeed, a fool, an executive who reads the sensex on finger tips, and dozes at night when his wife is ravished (= spoiled sexually).”
The narrative was interrupted. Suren changed, lunched and rested. He lit his cigar. “Your old love,” Abinash quipped (= humorously commented). “Yes, indeed so. It keeps me up…. My apartment was full as Sonali’s parents had come. I had asked them to as I had often to go out on tours. That day they had gone to an evening show. My brother had arrived and stayed on at the request of my father-in-law, as I would be late in returning. But destiny willed otherwise. My work was finished two days ahead and I returned by the next flight. I doubled up the flight of stairs to give Sonali a surprise. It was around 6.30pm; the doors were shut. I tapped the call-bell. My brother opened the door. I slid past him and sank into the chair clutching my hairs in desperation. They both mumbled (= spoke indistinctly) words and phrases meaningless to me. I could feel my eyes were fixed as a madman’s stare; I could hear the boom of the pistol and I could feel Sonali’s mother prostrate at my feet praying for mercy….But the rest was silence for me. I had become unconscious.
Suren prayed for hot coffee.
“And then…?” Abinash asked.
“Sonali’s father is a renowned physician; he stagemanaged: bribed the nearest Thana and had it mentioned in the FIR that Sonali had committed suicide as she couldnt have a child; I was shifted to a sanatorium for recovery…….And that’s that.” Suren concluded.
“You should have pitied Sonali, atleast for the sake of her mother.” remarked Abinash.
“Yes, I should have, but then there was no pity in me.”
