The murky path along the shore of the Ganga had finally led to a sharp turning. A small rivulet had separated from the main river forming an inland stream. The locals call it Adi Ganga, and on Tuesdays the lower-middle class Kayasta women from around come here to offer their prayers to Maa Mangalchandi. The stream then pools into a large lake, and around this lake a group of adibashi people had established their modest settlements since the beginning of time. The British seldom disrupts the peace of this lowly place and the Deshi police considers it safe to be away from these snake eating community. But what they didn't know that the adibashis, with their peaceful yet fearless livelihood, are welcoming to those who wished to be welcomed! There were about eighty odd huts, scattered all around, with doms, bhils, mundas and jeles, with their wives and children and cattle, living peacefully, and amidst this peaceful settlement, under the shade of three gigantic banyan trees, there sat a modest two storey mud house. It was this house where Batakrishna had intended to bring Bhargavi into. Batakrishna was walking in front, talking big steps to pave the path, and Bhargavi followed him carefully. She still wore her pleated skirt below her knees, with two thick braids trailing down to her waist, and the locals couldn't help but glanced at her as they passed.

"You didn't ask where i am taking you, did you?" Batakrishna suddenly stopped to ask the question.

"Certainly not to BoroBazar police station, I understand that", she breathed, "but beyond that I need not know. I trust you, Choto babu." Bhargavi smiled.

It took them another ten minutes to reach the house, and once in front, Bhargavi saw a young stout women seated on the porch, weaving rectangular baskets from dried coconut leaves. She wore a striking blue saree, strangely wrapped around her torso, like a dhoti, and the anchal was tied around her breast. She looked a little too polished, a little too fair to be an adibashi. Bhargavi kept staring at her in awe.

"Everyone inside?" Batakrishna asked her, and the woman nodded her head, her sharp eyes scanning Bhargavi from head to toe. She asked Batakrishna something, gesturing only with her eyes, and he in turn assured her with a head nod.

"Come inside Bhaggu." he called her, carefully pulling her up by her arm to the high porch. "Whatever you see here, or whomsoever you meet, it should stay and perish with you, promise?"

"I Promise!"

Flabergaster, a state of being utterly stunned and overwhelmed, and if being flabbergasted had a face, it would have matched Bhargavi's to perfection. As she stepped into the room with Batakrishna, it wasn't the rustic charm or the striking incongruity of the space that left her breathless—it was the people inside!

The room, modest in its essence, bore the mark of a typical Bengal mud hut with its earthy walls and simple layout. Yet, scattered within this plainness were objects so extraordinary, they seemed to belong to a different world altogether. Four immense bows leaned against one wall, their edges wrapped in glimmering silver, while a quiver bursting with arrows hung prominently, as though waiting for a battle. On a small wooden study table sat two lanterns, their ornate craftsmanship so intricate and delicate that they gleamed like treasures in the dim light. Bhargavi couldn't fathom how such fine things could find their place in this adibashi quarter of the city.

But even these peculiarities were nothing in comparison to the three figures standing within. They were women, yet there was something otherworldly about them, something ungraspable. They were draped in identical sarees of a striking, almost iridescent blue, the fabric swirled and shimmered around them in the warrior-like dhoti drape, Just like the Marathi ladies at the Jadutala circus fair. Their presence was commanding, and their glances at her made Bhargavi felt dwarfed. For a moment, she could only stare, and then she slowly tugged at Batakrishna's shirt.

"Who are these women?"

"Our friends," Batakrishna smiled, though his voice carried a faint edge of caution. "Don't fear them, they won't harm you... unless you do something foolish." He winked in a poor attempt to ease the tension that hung in the air.

The woman in the center gestured sharply at Batakrishna, moving her slender fingers in a series of deliberate signs. But his expression tensed as he scanned the room.

"Bishu!" Batakrishna called out in a haste, rasing his voice with urgency. "Bishu!"

Bishu appeared at once! A small, thin adibashi boy of about ten years came running out from the shadows, wearing a dirty langot. The woman signed at him, and the boy nodded in immediate understanding.

"How far are your arrangements for Kashi?" he asked, as he turned his gaze expectantly to Batakrishna.

"In two weeks," Batakrishna replied, "I'll go with my wife. Although she isn't aware of anything, but a woman's presence would be advantageous. I've been busy making the arrangements... until a problem arose." He hesitated for a moment. "Nakul has been arrested. He's at the Borobazar police station—for no apparent reason!" His voice rose, laced with frustration. "They're demanding my Dada's intervention."

He stopped abruptly and looked toward the women, his eyes shone, as if pleading for a response.

One of them with a grave expression shook her head sideways. The woman in the center signed once more.

"Thousand deaths," the boy translated slowly, his voice felt heavy, far beyond his years. "For one freedom." He paused, his face tightening with concentration. "Cannot risk for one life. Prepare for Kashi. Keep the letter safe. Let Radhamadhab do the rest."

Bhargavi noticed Batakrishna's face change sharply at those words, the confidence he'd worn a moment ago crumbling into something more fragile. She didn't understand what Kashi referred to, or the letter they spoke of, but she could see clearly now—they had no intention of helping Nakul.

"But... but how can I just leave him to die in that hellhole? What would your king say? Would he..." Batakrishna's words faltered, cut short by a sharp grunt from the woman on the left. Her glare alone silenced him.

"But the letter is with him—Nakul Da!" Bhargavi's voice rang out suddenly, trembling yet fierce. The acute urgency in her tone made everyone in the room turn to her at once with their gazes sharply pointed at her like swords. She hadn't planned to speak, but the words had spilled out in a desperate rush.

"Who are you, and how do you know this?" The boy's voice carried the woman's question as she signed swiftly.

"I am Bhargavi. I'm his family." She pointed toward Batakrishna, and her hand trembled slightly. "Nakul Da met me just before he was arrested. I know about the letter. I don't know what it contains, but I know it's important." She paused, swallowing the fear that threatened to choke her. "Help him, please. Without him, we may never know where the letter is!"

The woman in the center listened intently, but her face revealed nothing. Then, without a word, she turned to Batakrishna questioningly.
Batakrishna nodded, just slightly, a silent confirmation.

The women then exchanged glances—brief, deliberate—and then looked to the boy.

"You both stand outside. She will tell you what to do in a while," Bishu narrated.

The next hour crawled by, fraught with tension. Batakrishna paced restlessly outside the house, clenching and unclenching his hands, while Bhargavi sat quietly on the porch, lost in her thoughts in a whirl of fear and determination. The woman weaving baskets kept a watchful eye on them and her sharp gaze missed nothing.

"You shouldn't have lied," Batakrishna hissed at her in a very low inaudible urgency. "These people are very dangerous."

Bhargavi said nothing, her eyes remained fixed on the ground. She knew he was right, but how could she had let Nakul Da die without trying?

Twenty minutes later, the silence broke as a dog came barking madly from somewhere, startling Bhargavi. She tried to step aside, but in her flustered attempt to move, she slipped, landing squarely in a heap of mucked-up dung.

"Bhaggu!" Batakrishna rushed to her aid, pulling her up as she stood there, utterly mortified.

The woman weaving baskets looked up, as her lips twitched in what seemed like a faint amusement.

"What timing, Bhaggu! Couldn't you just sit quietly?"

Bhargavi said nothing, her face was burning with embarrassment as her pleated skirt, ruined and reeking. Dirty stenchy water dripped from her braided hair too. Tears wailed up in her eyes.

A moment later, the door creaked open, and one of the women returned with a bucket of water in one hand and a checked, colorful saree in the other—the kind worn by adibashi girls. She gestured briskly for Bhargavi to clean herself at once.

"Come inside, Daktar Babu," a voice called from within, that small boy, Bishu, and Batakrishna obeyed instantly, disappearing into the house, leaving Bhargavi outside in that helpless condition.

The plan was meticulous, every detail ironed out to perfection—or so they thought. Batakrishna's task was clear: distract the policemen outside by creating some sort of ruckus, just enough to pull their attention away from the station. For this, he was disguised in a way he could barely recognize himself.

His face was smeared with brown paint with creases to mimic a drunkard weathered by life. He wore the tattered garb of a daily wager, though far filthier than anything even they might don. The clothes, unwashed for what seemed like months, emitted an unbearable stench. He smelled like a dead rat, he gaged.

For a man like Batakrishna, who took pride in his elitist appearance, this was nothing short of torture. His usual self would douse in bottles of expensive imported perfumes, the scents of jasmine and sandalwood lingering wherever he went. Yet here he was, swallowed by grime, dirt, and sweat, his very identity buried beneath the disguise. There was always a first time, he thought.

As one of the woman gave a final touch to his now disheveled, unkempt hair, Batakrishna couldn't help but think of one man— Satya Da, the mighty sacrosanct. Satya Da, who had once dressed as beggars, lunatics, even the lowest of the low, surviving in filth and stench for days at a stretch. And yet, who was he really? The mighty king of a region, a man who commanded not just loyalty but reverence.
He is one of a kind, Batakrishna thought, sighing softly as a faint smile tugged at his lips.
What sacrifices that man has made!

The woman, oblivious to his thoughts, stepped back to admire her handiwork.  She smiled curtly without any words. Batakrishna slung a jhola over his shoulder, feeling its slight weight. Inside was the small whistle he was to blow once his part of the plan was done—a simple sound that would signal the others to act.

As for Bhargavi, her instructions were straightforward. She was to hire a horse-drawn carriage from the Chowrasta and ride straight to her boarding school, away from whatever chaos might follow. But again, how could she leave her Choto babu in this mess alone? Wasn't she the one behind this orchestration!

The stage was set and now it was time for the smooth execution.
But as the saying goes, man proposes, and God disposes. And neither Batakrishna nor the Mounis knew how they were to meet this disposal.

"I won't disrupt, I swear!" Bhargavi hushed a plea as Batakrishna prepared to leave the place. I'll quietly walk behind you, I'll be far enough, no one would notice. Please Choto babu... please!"

Batakrishna tried to persuade her first, but then gave up.
"You'll get on a carriage the moment we reach BoroBazar. From there, no turning back." He rolled his eyes at her.

The women, the Mounis as now Bhargavi knew what they are called, walked like shadows...untraceable. They emerged and disappeared time and again, and both Batuk and Bhargavi couldn't help but admire their style.

It was easy to blend in the bustling Calcutta crowd, primarily because of their new disguise. As a part of the act Batuk was limping, and a little behind him walked Bhargavi, wearing a cheap checked saree wrapped around her bare body with her soiled hair now tied up in a tight bun on top of her head. She too looked like a girl from the lower strata of the society.
It was around seven in the night that the party reached in front of the police station, and as per their newly acquired knowledge, the shift of policemen were to be shuffled in about ten minutes, sharp at seven ten. And this was the exact opportunity Batakrishna was waiting for. He stood a little away from the main entrance of the station. This was the perfect place for him to keep an eye on the entry gate and track the number of constables at guard. He could also see Bhargavi, seated on the road opposite to him, right on the pavement. Her dark skin and bony teenage structure had made her look unnoticeable, to be mistaken as any other street dwelling girl.
Stubborn girl, Batakrishna sighed, GO, he signed to her, but she looked away. As a habit, Batakrishna tried to brush his hair backward, but failed. It wasn't the moment to think about anything else but the execution of the plan. Nakul had to be freed, and he can't be caught. No now, not before...
He sighed again.