When He Returned

I

I remember that day clearly, down to every last detail my mind can conjure up.

It was a November evening. We had gone for a date to Rabindra Sarovar. Autumn was quickly giving way to winter, and the days were growing shorter and shorter with the passing of each calendar date. Today, however, the sky was filled with cottony clouds in a background of purple of the coming night and the gold of the dying Sun.

I pressed myself against Sushruta, wrapping both of my arms against his and resting my head on his shoulder as we walked. It was cold, as a gentle zephyr washed through the Lakes, making us silent eavesdroppers to the meditative whisperings of the bushes and trees. I felt warm. I felt warm and safe.

It had been a year since me and Sushruta had started to date. He's a very average looking person - about five feet tall, with very unremarkable features. Many of my friends wondered why I was dating a guy like him. He was not "hot", nor did he have that "charming personality" girls literally die for. Before him, I have had enough trysts with men, both emotional and physical.

But Sushruta was a very different person altogether. If any person could live up to the adage "Don't judge the book by its cover", it was him. Behind that untalkative, unremarkable, socially awkward exterior lay a deep resorvoir of feeling and talent. Dating him was a discovery of him - and of myself, as well. It had only been a year and yet both of us deeply loved each other. More importantly, I trusted him and he understood me.

"Hey, Ru," he looked at me in his usual quizzical manner, "feel cold?"

I looked up to his face and smiled, slowly. I loved the way he cared about the small details. "Yes, Sush. But I think a cigarette would help nicely. Do you have some with you?"

"I am afraid I don't, Ru", he looked at me apologetically, "have to buy it outside. Besides, I would hate it if any of those guards" - he gazed at one of those uniformed men keeping a sharp eye out on troublemakers, and I let my gaze follow his - "disturbing our quiet reverie".

I nodded silently and we proceeded to go out of the huge metal gate that served as both entry and exit for visitors to the Lakes. By now, the Sun had set and it had grown dark, interrupted in patches of subdued amber as the neon lights illuminated little islands in the sea of darkness of the upcoming night. Our steps reverberated crunchily, as it disturbed the little gravel on the macadam road that runs parallel to the tiled pathways that encircles the bank of the huge Lake. Around us, people were coming and going, some were lovers while others were people who visited just for the sake of soaking in the beauty of sunset in a dying city, despite the constant rumble of trains and their horns making the process somewhat difficult.

Suddenly, I felt a vibration in his pocket. Someone had called him. Being a Marxist has its own nuances, and I appreciated his dedication that he paid to his politics. Of late, however, he had been worried. A schism had broken out within the Red Youth ranks, led by his former second in command, Supriyo Vaidya. The schism was more ideological than personal, but rather recently, Baidya's followers personally attacked anybody supporting Sush's ideological line.

He whipped out the phone from his pocket. Supriyo's name was on the caller ID display. He picked it up. "Hello?"

Hey, Sush. It is me, Supriyo. I just wanna say I am sorry for everything. Can we please patch up?

Something did not feel right. Why was he apologizing to Sushruta all of a sudden when he did not have any apparent reason to do so? Or maybe perhaps some sense had been knocked into him and he wanted to come to an understanding with him. I tried to reason, but the uneasiness won't go away.

After less than a minute of talking, Sush declared, "He is here. Let me run ahead so that I could talk with him. By the time you will come, I would buy cigarettes and smoke it before dropping you off home". And sure enough, he ran like the wind, at the prospect of uniting the recent factionalism.

Not that I was not interested in politics myself, but this was a matter between two friends and comrades and I thought it best to let themselves come to an understanding.

However, two gunshots quickly disappeared any kind of peaceful thought process. A host of crows cawed in protest against the stimuli wrenching away their slumber. People ran towards the source of the gunshot; a screech of wheels was heard as a vehicle sped away from the scene, breaking the red signal. To its grace, it had no license plate.

And its wake, lay Sushruta dying in a pool of blood. No, he was not dying - death was already evident from the gunshot wounds.

The next thing I remember was kneeling down beside the dead body of Sush and drowning in the most bitter episode of crying I had hitherto experienced.