There is no other love like the love for a brother, and there can be no other love like the love from a brother.
Batuk and Anirudh had never shared their love for each other in words, but in a way they both had felt it dearly, their hearts connected together by a bond that was blood and beyond.
The day had started early and the two Roy Chowdhury brothers were busy discussing the next course of action to let the Court case ongoing.
Anirudh was lying down on the bed, instructing his younger brother, as Batuk sat with a typewriter, pressing it's keys to frame the words exactly as his brother had dictated.

"Bondita is better at this... " Batuk had pressed a wrong key, as his face flinched automatically.

"Don't worry. Type slowly from the beginning. We still have time."
Anirudh let out a sigh and continued to stare at the rotating ceiling fan.

"What next Dada? How will you contact the witnesses now?" Batuk had almost retyped till the end as he stopped abruptly to ask the question.

"I know what you are thinking Batuk." Anirudh smiled lazily.
"I had anticipated this attack. And so I had pre-planned a few things."

"Like?"

"Like Raimoti Mukherjee."

Batuk's face contorted at the mention of the name. He narrowed his eyes and looked at his brother quizzically.

"Raimoti could be a valuable asset. One testimony from her against her father at the court would strengthen our case to a huge extent." Anirudh moved his head slowly to his right and looked at his brother.

"How? And why do you think she would go against her father? She is an arrogant witch... self-centred and dimwitted."

Anirudh rolled his eyes at him.
"Self centred... Might be. But Raimoti Mukherjee isn't dimwitted Batuk. Infact, I would say her maturity level is way more than yours, and definitely witty."

"Come on Dada... Really?" Batuk kept the typewriter aside and folded his arms to his chest defensively.

"But, most importantly Batuk, that lady is righteous like anything. She has a very strong sense of right and wrong judgement... Impulsive and ofcourse hopelessly romantic, I agree, but righteous and fearless."

Batuk looked away.
"Stop praising her Dada... You have no idea what she did to me."

"What? Anirudh smiled. "Did she kiss you?"

A sharp sting of embarrassment took over Batuk's bright face at once.
"More." He murmured.

"And what did you do about it?"
Anirudh frowned at his flushed face.

"Nothing... I asked her to stay away."

"And, hence she suddenly turned into an 'arrogant witch', didn't she?"

Batuk nodded his head silently.

"All women are angels Batuk, they love to fly. But always remember... If you ever break their wings, they would still continue to fly, but on broomsticks!"

Batuk widened his eyes with a gaped expression as he tried to fathom the metaphor quoted by his brother.

"So, are you saying it's my mistake?" He objected.

"Ofcourse it's your mistake... You should have known better how to handle a women like her. If she kissed you once, you should have shown her stars in broad daylight."

Batuk scratched his head, looking visibly embarassed as he murmured another objection to his elder brother.
"But, I don't like her Dada... How can I force myself to..."
He didn't complete his sentence as Anirudh let out another sharp sigh.

"Then that's a different story altogether. But, you not liking her doesn't mean she is not likable, or dimwitted or arrogant ecetra ecetra whatever you said. Learn to respect women Batuk, not just Bondita...I meant all women... Although they deserve a lot more, but respect is the least that we could do for them."

Batuk lowered his head further, as Anirudh's words started to make complete sense to him. Although he didn't agree about Raimoti's sudden greatness, but he was well convinced that he should have dealt with her in a more matured manner.

"I could never love someone like her... I can never find meaning of love amidst someone's poetry." Batuk blurted out suddenly, as if speaking to his own self, as if trying to figure out his definition of love.

"What's wrong with poetry?" Anirudh asked.

"Nothing. It's just that my kind of love wouldn't be this complicated... It would rather be simple, natural, uncomplicated... Primitive... There would be no place for any form of social veil on it... If she would love me, she won't do poetry... Instead she would just look into my eyes and confess directly, in plain clear words."

Anirudh smiled at his brother's words. He turned his head straight looking back at the fan above before closing his eyes in contentment.

His brother was finding clarify in his thoughts... He was growing up!

"So Dada, how do you plan to contact Raimoti?" Batuk had asked abruptly, making Anirudh open his eyes.

"We won't. She would... The game has just started."

"What game has started? And what are you two doing this early in the morning?"
Bondita had entered the room, bringing a fresh breath of air with her.
She had just taken a bath, and was wearing a white cotton saree with simple red border making her appear angelic. Her left hand had held a plate of freshly baked Sandesh, that she had probably offered to her Goddess, as she held a glowing incense stick in her right.

"Nothing Boudi... Get ready... We'll have to leave in an hour." Batuk had got up from the chair as he held the finished letter infront of Anirudh, making him confirm it for the last time.

"Leave in an hour? Where?" Bondita forwarded the plate to Batuk as she picked up one piece and fed Anirudh gently.

"Lord Governor's house." Batuk replied promptly, picking up another sweet from the plate.

"The new Governor General?"
Bondita gasped, looking at her husband as Anirudh nodded his head in agreement.
He had finished gulping the Sandesh as his eyes looked longingly at the half-filled plate on his brother's hand.

"Just one?" He pouted his lips as Bondita couldn't help but smile at his antic.

"Yes... Just one." She grinned.

..........................................................

The dawn was breaking over the horizon, shell pink and faintly gold.
Satya was still asleep under the hood of his boat, his eyes still not willing to give up on the sweet dream of the night, as suddenly a suppressed clamour at the nearby river bank stirred his senses back to reality.

"Daktar Babu... Daktar Babu come fast... There is someone at the bank, washed up by the river last night."

Satya sat upright at once, washing his face quickly in the river water, he picked up his medicine box from the deck, and jumped down the boat splashing water all around.

"Where? Which way Abdul Da?" He followed the man.

"There..." Abdul pointed towards a small crowd nearby that had gathered around a tree.
"I've never seen anything like this before... Come fast." He urged.

Satya had known these poor fishermen around that area since quite sometime. He would often park his boat and chit chat with them early in the morning, sometimes their women would send freshly fried fish for him as well.
He loved them, he loved them for their innocence, and their simplicity, but what drew him more was their strong sense of patriotism. They knew nothing about the prevalence of Swadeshi Movement all across the country, they didn't need to... But in their small quaint way, each of their actions would reek of their undying love for their motherland.

'This soil is our mother Daktar Babu... And whatever comes out of this soil is our mother's gift to us... if she gives me cotton clothes to wear, why will I even dream of wearing anything else?' Abdul had once said when the entire country was burning down British made silk clothes.

Satya would treat their small ailments, time and again, aiding them with money and medicines whenever needed, and although his identity was still a veiled mystery to everyone, that small community of fishermen loved their dear 'Daktar Babu' with all their respect and priceless loyalty, something which Satya himself was grateful for.

The shallow bank of the river was muddy and wet, easy for the waves to crush on during high tides, bringing back most of what had been offered to her.
There was a small shrine of some unknown deity, and an old Neem tree standing proud beside it. And underneath that tree, Satya saw a female figure, clad in mud, lying like a lifeless piece of art. At one glance, he imagined her to be a river nymph, or may be a mermaid, washed up to the shore to bless humanity with love, but then the urgency of the present reality pinched him hard, forcing him to make his way through the crowd.

"Move... Let the Daktar see her!" An old man commanded, as the eager eyes surrounding the unconscious woman thinned a little.

Satya had sat down on the mud immediately, as he gently pulled her by her shoulder, making her lay on her back. He quickly took out his stethoscope from the box and pressed it to her chest, a faint heartbeat keeping alive the last hope of life in her.

"Is she alive?" Abdul too was leaning forward.

Satya nodded his head and hovered on her body, his ear pressing gently to her bare moistened clay-cladded stomach.

"We'll have to get the water out." His voice was alert, firm, as he moved his body up on his knees.
"Moina Didi, hot water, quickly."

His words had raised an alarm, an excitement, as the women standing there rushed at once to prepare the aid for the doctor, and the men continued to stare with widened eyes as Satya pressed both his palms firmly on her abdomen.

"But she isn't moving!" One man from the thinning crown remarked.

"Oh.. she is beautiful!" Another hushed.

Hushed words, gaspes and sighes echoed around, but none had registered to Satyakirth's focused senses. He knew he had a life lying infront, waiting for him to resuscitate, and he knew the difference between the lost lifes and the revived deads.
The woman wasn't moving, her breath was almost negligible, probably too much water in her lungs, and without wasting any further second, Satya leaned forward, aligning his face to hers.
Oblivion to the surrounding, he pressed her nose with his fingers and touched her lips with his, blowing air into her slightly parted mouth. The urgency of saving her life grew stronger in him, almost like a fevered madness, as he deepened the potency of his life saving kiss.
Minutes passed, and he continued to blow life into her, as his free hand pumped her chest slowly, making her body respond to his touch.

The woman coughed.

Sometimes, a cough is a sign of healing, that a sore throat is on the mend, and all will soon be well.

The woman coughed once again, softly and then breathlessly, retching out a stream of muddy river water from her stomach. Hushed noises had subsided in the background as eager eyes gawked at the extraordinary beauty of the writhing woman. Her eyes were still closed, and she was gasping for air, and as Satya held her head up, helping her to raise her body into a sitting position, she looked up at him with her half closed eyes.
Their eyes met...
The ocean green spark of emerald met the vacant dusky brown sky, the crystal clear orbs made his heart skip a beat!

Her eyes were a mess...
But, they were a masterpiece!

The water had disrupted her sense of balance. The woman had clutched the doctor's sleeves, instinctively, as her heavy head fell on his shoulders the moment she tried to sit. He too, had gripped her body with utmost tenderness, supporting her back in his strong arms like a loving kin. Such was the bond between the savior and the saved!
The luke warm water was ready and Satya had scooped her half conscious body in his arms as he walked towards Abdul's small thatched tea stall at a near distance.

"She is alive... Get back to work... All of you..."
Moina's shrill voice had made the crowd disperse in no time as Satya made the lady sit on a wooden bench.
Moina had wiped her face gently, as she started to pour pleasant warm water over her mud-clad body, wiping off the clay with a clean cloth.
Satya was watching her, from a little away, as he held a bottle of medicine in his hand, prepared to feed her the same.
The water was clearing away strains on her face, her neck, her arms... It was like unearthing an ancient goddess from the core of the earth, gradually bringing her back to life. Her body had loosened, as if she had given herself up, and as Moina moved to her left arm, her large eyelashes just fluttered lazily at him. Satya sighed at the sight.
Her face looked calm, ethereal, as her sharp features started to emerge out slowly... her thin lips, slender neck leading to her sculpted breasts...
Satya's eyes fell on them, her tattered saree gave a full view of the white blouse that she had worn. It was soaked, almost transparent, and was unable to sheath the pair of light brown rounds on her breasts, the pebbled nubs poking through the thin cloth.
Satya looked away immediately.
He quickly unbuttoned his shirt and handed it to Abdul's wife,
"Moina didi, cover her with this... I'll take her to the hospital." He got up quickly from the small wooden stool and handed the medicine to Moina as well.
"Feed her this as well... I'll be back in five minutes."

A horse drawn phaeton was called near the small tea stall as Satya walked inside once again, dressed in a white shirt and a grey front open coat.
Moina stood up at once, standing aside, as Satya inched closer to the calmly seated woman. She looked, pale, tired, and Satya's observant eyes didn't fail to miss the bruised wounds on her feet.

"Madam, I'll carry you to the hospital, alright?" He had stooped down to pick her up once again in his arms.
The woman, didn't reply, nor did she react to his words. She had instinctively wrapped her frail arms around Satya's neck for support, as he made her sit carefully inside the phaeton carriage.

The morning was in its full glory as the carriage hopped slowly towards the busier part of the city.

"I... I don't want to go to the hospital."
The lady had finally opened her lips, speaking in a feeble yet soothing voice.
It sounded like a symphony, a sad tune lost somewhere. Satya stirred up.

"But Madam..."

"Are you a doctor?" The woman murmured softly.

"Yes... Something like that."

"Tell me... How close was I to death?" She asked again, a sharp pain itching in her voice.

"Pretty close." Satya smiled gently.

The woman had let out an agonising sigh as she continued to look outside the window. She was seated opposite to him, as his eyes, reluctantly, started to skim through her body once again.
Her hair was disheveled, her head rested on the wooden frame of the carriage window, her eyes had a written sadness in it. She wore a long gold chain, the end of which was hidden on her cleavage, hinting at the seductive mystery of her body. His shirt was loosely wrapped around her shoulders, protecting her femininity, as the white gleaming stones on her fingers gave away the affluence from which she belonged.

Satya had seen many women, he had treated many as well, but never had his heart felt weak at the sight of a feminine body seating near him, until then...
His eyes had focused on the tiny glowing rock on the left of her sharp nose, as she slowly started to speak once again.

"Take me to my father's place instead, will you?" Her slow, staggered words were enough to bring Satya back to the reality.

He nodded his head promptly and replyed back,
"Sure, Madam... Where do you live? What is your father's name?"

The woman let out another sigh, as his heart smiled at the foolishness of emotions that her breath had caused in him. He leaned forward towards her a little, eager to hear her words as she slowly parted her lips to speak once again.

"RayBahadur. RayBahadur Neelmoni Mukherjee, 12 Central Calcutta..."

Something hammered inside his chest, brutally as Satya's jaws stiffened at once. Words weren't registering in his mind anymore as he let out one short question, almost like a painful cry.

"What's your name?"

"Raimoti." The woman breathed the name before her eyelids closed down once again.

Raimoti Mukherjee!!