A/N - Before starting this book, I had the plot all set, Anirudh and Bondita aren't the normal Anidita or the one you see on the show, despite being revolutionaries and barristers, Anirudh and Bondita never took aid to violence, but this Anirudh and Bondita will be having harsh Radical thinking and will take the aid of Violence for revolution, you've been warned before. There is a power couple waiting for you.
And this will be a hella long book with a happy ending.

''And there ends today's lecture, I hope I could give you all a clear view on Criminal Justice System, you may leave'' our lecturer Mr Montgomery ended the class with a thud on his book. 

I learned he was the same age as Anirudh, which was quite astonishing to me, the more surprising fact was he was his classmate as well, no wonder the talks between them were so sweet. He is the only person, other than the pervert professor Alfred, who knew I am not legally married to Anirudh.

''So, if you're not actually married to Anirudh, you're single?'' Professor Montgomery who went by the first name Oliver asked as we walked through the long aisles of the King's College. 

''Uh not actually sir, I, I am actually married to the head merchant of our village'' I say hesitantly, tightening the hold on my books, well that is my sensitive topic. 

''Oh, is that so? Interesting, you look pretty young child, what a fool of me, child marriage I guess, kids?'' he chuckles looking at me like I was a puzzle, whom he is trying to unravel.

''Not actually, I um, actually had a miscarriage'' I said biting my uprising feelings through my teeth.

''Good heavens! I am so sorry!'' he apologises quickly, adjusting his huge glasses, I chuckled at his innocence, he looked and felt like a very good man.

''It's ok, I've grown to live with it'' I say with a small smile.

''If that's it, now you live with Anirudh, I'll tell you something about him'' he says in a serious tone as we entered his office, he sat on the chair of his table while I sat opposite to him, placing the books on the table.

''What is it?'' I ask with intense curiosity, wanting to know what is that he wants to tell me that is so serious, taking it from his tone. 

''Bondita, all my college life, I've been his closest friend along with Edward, Anirudh was always a jolly-to-go lucky fellow, he was happy, not caring about the world and extremely studious and passionate about the things he love, or so I thought, he was passionate and still is, but one moment I realised his passion was so strong that it grew stronger, and it wasn't for anything, but'' he inhaled sharply, closing his eyes tight, looking straight into my eyes.

''I am telling you this because you live so close to him, it is important you know'' his voice turned grave making me nod nervously, I fiddled with my fingers with suspense. 

''It was for his nation'' 

His words made me gasp, blinking a few times to get that inside, for his nation, what does he mean by that?

''Yes child, don't be stunned, his nation, we, the British rule over you, It's not that I am oblivious to the injustice done to them, but I can't do anything about it, no one can, but he, the passion for freedom grew from embers to flames inside him, I want you to stop them from becoming a wildfire that can not only perish his adversary but also him, stop him, extinguish that flame of revolution, that idea of freedom, that love of his nation in him if you want to save him'' he say seriously, looking at me through his glasses.

I started sweating, I chewed on my tongue, what does he mean? Is this true? I know Anirudh is a short-tempered yet calm man, he can't carry such a huge fire of swaraj (freedom) inside him, It was hard for me to gulp down. 

''No, this can't be true, he isn't a revolutionary, he can be anything but that, that man can never even imagine of holding a gun'' I say gripping the edge of the table, letting the drop of sweat drip down my neck. 

''Is that so child, so hear me out, I have seen one incident with my own eyes, yes, he never resorts to violence, never, but he did once, once at a school ball, a proud son of an officer mocked him for being an Indian, he didn't budge, but the moment he uttered India as the filthiest land and said that their mother India will always be under the feet of the British Rule, I saw the most uncontrollable and unfathomable version of him, the most radical one, for the first time, he was suspended for nearly killing the son of an officer, As per my knowledge, I knew that was the starting, if that flame isn't tamed, thousand of heads will be at his feet'' his voice quivered at the end, and I saw that he pale as parchment.

When I saw that fear, that danger, and that truth in his face, I knew that it was true.

''Go, go home, look for that one wooden box, that one box that holds his writing for someone special and his motherland'' 

. . .

I tucked the edge of my saree on the edge of my pallu and walked into the eerily darkroom of his, the scent of his cologne hit my nose fast, it was the middle of the night and he wasn't there.

I looked around the dim-lit room. Clothes were discarded like paper over the bed and the table, a pair of gold-rimmed glasses sat atop of a huge bunch of law books. A king-sized silk draped bed sat at the centre, lathered with his clothes, some neatly folded, others just used and thrown.

The huge glass windows were wide open letting the midnight wind find its way in and the satin curtains fluttered. I looked for any sign of a box but found none. 

The only spot left was under his bed, I softly went to my knees, it cracked a bit, extending my hand in, I felt an opening under, I frown and twisted it, it opened to catch a wooden box, with much difficulty I pulled it out.

It was made out of oak wood, intricate patterns carved on it, I tried to open it, but it didn't budge, I shook the box hard, hearing the crunch of papers inside it.

Yes, this is the one. 

I gasped softly when a small and delicate key slipped out of it.

I pushed the key into the tiny lock and turned it, a small click and it opened, with my heart in my throat I took out dozens of parchment from it.

I took the one titled: Dear Muse of mine.

It read a poem written by him, it was his own handwriting, with blue ink on yellow parchment.

''Did the breeze hum love's tune?
To its melody did the heart awaken?

Did someone caress your body, parakeet, with feathers of dewdrops soft and sweet?
My dearest bird!

Whom are you searching on paths winding with your silver beam of moonlit eyes shining?
Girl, do your eyelids flutter in shyness, they softly stutter?

Soft words of sweet nothings, dear.
Did the night bird whisper in your ear?

On your lips did dawn arise tuned as a song of fresh surprise?

Do tears gently flow when you don't know?
Within you, many a nectarine drop moist and misty will sprinkle nonstop.

Did the breeze hum love's tune?
To its melody did the heart awaken?

Did someone caress your body, parakeet, with feathers of dewdrops soft and sweet?

With letters of your life, the name you etched.
With your fingertips the truth you searched.

Like a cloud of illusion here girl, did someone appear?

Listening eagerly for those lovely words.
you eavesdropped from behind doors closed.

Did the breeze hum love's tune?
To its melody did the heart awaken?''

My eyes watered in emotion as I read these lines, who are these for? Lucky for a thousand births is she whom a man like him wrote this poem. It held so much emotion that it choked me. 

I neatly folded the paper and placed them inside.

All the other letters were untitled, at every start, there was writing in Bengali.

'Vande Mataram' 

And every ending there was etched 'Jai Hind'

It was written in our language and I could read them easily, placing, my finger on the lines I read:

'At the edge of their gun,
They hold us, prisoner

At the sharp of their boot
They hold us slave

At the tip of their tongue
They hold us criminal

At the point of their sword
They hold us helpless

At the loop of their rope
They take decide our death.

No more sacrifices, no more cries of agony, Swaraj, it will come one day, and I'll live to see that day of mother of mine,
 I wish to be the lamp of revolution, the steps of freedom and the blood of miracle. 

Let me be the one to drive that blade through the hearts of your oppressors, 

let me be the one who makes them scream in a thousand pain, 

let me be the one to make them fall on their knees for you. 

Rip the tongues of who disgrace you, behead the ones who gives pain.

Burn the ones who make you cry, bleed the ones who kill'

I couldn't read the rest due to the amount of violence and hatred etched in every word, it made my heart heavy, Oliver was right, the hatred this man has for the whites is uncontrollable,

Not me, not even the almighty can extinguish the flame that is roaring inside him, the man I knew was the epitome of wisdom, turned to be the flame of revolution, the sword of freedom and the soul of new India. 

The moment I heard the front door creak open, I knew I was a goner.

I quickly shut the box without locking it, before I could bend down and place the box back, he was already in.

''Hello there, how was your day at college'' he asked with a small smile, its rare to get such soft voices from him, my heart dropped at how angry he would be if he knew I went around his private stuff.

Now fear knocked my heart as I saw him drop his leather case on the wooden table, proceeding to loosen his white barrister tie, I knew this man wearing a white shirt is not so white inside. 

After I heard and read today, I knew he has a beast tied inside his being, and I don't want to be the one to unleash it.

''Uhh, I um, it was amazing, it felt good'' I say nervously, trying to hide the box in my hand behind me, please make him not notice it.

''Hmm'' he hummed ''heard that you met Oliver, wonder lad he is, one of my closest aides, I bet he's a good lecturer as well, never knew why he ended up as a professor after taking a barrister degree'' he went on talking, unblinking his cufflinks and letting the bottoms of his pure white shirt let open. 

''Is anything wrong?'' he asks, tilting his head to the side as he looked at me, my hands tied to the back.

I didn't say anything, I was too scared to.

''Tell me, I don't bite'' he laughs at his own words as we walked towards, oh no no no. 

''What's there behind you? A gift for me?'' he pointed at me, a playful glint in his eyes.

''Not actually'' I move backwards, he frowned and followed my steps, I had walk backwards until the back of my knees hit the bed and I fell backwards on my back, I winced when all the weight of my body was on my hands and the box.

''Come one now'' he says, easily grabbing my hands and turning me around, dread-filled every inch of my body as I felt his fingers on the box.

''Where did you get this from?'' his voice went octave and dark unlike the jolly one earlier, I couldn't see his face as it was inside the bed, but I knew it meant trouble. 

''I-I am so sorry, I j-just wanted t-to, please forgive me'' I started stutters, tears slipping down my eyes unknowingly, why am I such a cry baby. 

I heard him grunt before he grabbed my hands and turned me back again, my back on the mattress, I had my eyes shut, soft tears down the curve of my eyes. 

''Why are you crying?'' he asks, I felt his fingers softly touching my face, rubbing his thumb on the skin of my cheek. 

''I am sorry'' I squeak, letting out a cry.

''Hey, hey, look at me'' he say patting my cheeks, making my eyes open, he made me sit up on the bed as he made himself comfortable beside me. 

''You don't need to apologise or cry, I just asked you why you're reading and taking something that isn't yours'' he says softly, interlocking his fingers with mine, I sniffled. 

''Who is this for? This muse?'' I ask, looking straight into his intimidating hazels.

''Well, that's a story for some other day'' he chuckles looking down at our fingers ''But I'll let you keep it, only the poem, not the others''

''What is this?'' I ask taking out his words on freedom, I saw a fire in his eyes before he looked away, the way his jaw clenched, I knew I touched somewhere sensitive. 

''Wrong question love'' he says taking the paper from my hand and placing it back inside the box.

''What are you?'' I ask again, trying to pry the answer out. 

''A revolutionary'' he says simply, but the answer was like a slap to the heart.

''Why so radical then? Can't you just be a liberal revolutionary?'' I ask, curiosity gnawing inside of me. 

''Interesting question, a wise one too'' he smiles ''Liberal revolutionary thoughts lead us nowhere, only power, strength and force can make your enemy kneel'' he says boldly, making me sweat. 

''Yes, liberalisation is a necessity, but, with radical thinking, it can be obtained'' he goes. 

''But, but I thought you respected the whites, the British, if not what are you doing in their abode?'' I ask a valid question.

He bursts into a peal of mocking laughter ''Seriously love? You think I respect that filthy waste of human space called the British? Never, not in a thousand births I will bow down for the people who ravaged and plundered our holy land'' he says fiercely, for the first time, I witnessed his immense passion for his nation, that power in his words can make the strongest of man go weak on the knees.

''But why revolution? Many people can die, you can die'' my voice quiver as I talk.

''I don't care, if I die, I die a free man from a free nation, a new India, and I'll live till I see the dawn of freedom''

. . .

A new version of Anirudh has been my dream so here we go!

Me when I know I pleased ya'll with a new Anirudh yet I know there's a long and scary future awaiting them:

Adios Amigos until next time!

P.S - The love poem by Anirudh is a translation of a Malayalam song and it's not my creation while the freedom poem is by my stupid brain.

P.P.S - Yes I am a Keralite Sikh girl if you don't know and I am fooking NRI!

https://youtu.be/BBAyRBTfsOU