Where love remains, hope endures. Batakrishna was hopeful too. It would have been unfair on his part to acknowledge that he wasn't disappointed with Mira's recent behavior towards him, her indifference, her silence, her meaningless nonchalance, but he couldn't in all his goodness, place the entire blame on Mira alone. The past few days were emotionally testing for him too. He knew he had to serve towards a greater scheme of things, that was the plan all along, but what he didn't expect was the emotional entanglement that he'd have to get through because of it. Leaving his family, hurting them beyond his wildest imagination, and then more humiliation by sending a legal notice to his godlike brother.
What might Dada be thinking?
Batakrishna wondered, but in his conscience he knew he did the right thing, this was the little price that needed to be paid to safeguard his family. To ensure that he is seen as the prodigal son of the Roy Choudhary family, to ensure that if and when judgment day comes, his family is not dragged for his deeds.
Didn't Satya Da do the same?

Batakrishna was walking unmindfully towards the mess building. It was dark and he stumbled once at the entrance. His thoughts shifted back to Mira again. He loved Mira, no question about it, but without giving her any time to acclimatize, he had literally dragged the girl out of the house without her consent.

Would she have consented though?
Batuk asked himself. But wasn't he putting Mira in danger too by dragging her along with him? The same reason why he left his family behind. Batuk felt conflicted but at the same time, the mere thought of staying away from Mira made his heart twitch.
Bringing Mira was a selfish move, no doubt, but everything is fair in love and war, is it not?
He asked himself. He would protect Mira, he would keep her safe, and for that, he'd do whatever it takes, but not at the cost of keeping her away from him. She was his motivation and he knew he needed her to breathe.

Then why had he been avoiding her company for the last two days? Batakrishna felt muddled with thoughts.

The mess building was old, a three-storied one, and Batakrishna was designated at the single room in the attic. Of course, there was the entire terrace beside, but the room was too small for a family to sustain. Maybe he should consider Nakul's advice about changing the place soon, he thought. Batakrishna climbed the stairs in the dark, slowly, thinking of the events of the past few days. After reaching Calcutta, he had first taken Mira to the Medical College Hostel, but the Dean had suggested staying in a mess nearby instead.

"Men's hostel isn't a place for wives, Batakrishna!" The old Dean had remarked. But then what did he do, he ended up bringing Mira to this public mess, inhabited mostly by men. He should have planned this better. A deep sigh escaped from his lips.

It's not that Mira wasn't speaking at all, she spoke on the first day, asking him repeatedly why he brought her here. He, however, had no concrete answer. Things started to get complicated from the second night when he had tried to kiss her.
She is his wife, and why wouldn't he?
He reasoned, but that night Mira had pushed him away with all her strength and in reaction he had grabbed her hair in a sudden fit of rage, hurting her. Mira had sobbed the entire night, sitting on that single cot as Batuk had spent the night on the floor. Sleep eluded them both that night, but probably towards dawn, Batuk had dozed off a little, only to be woken by another fit of sobs.
Did she cry the entire night then? Oh goodness!
Batuk's bizarre thoughts shifted haphazardly, thinking about their time in the hut in Chattagram, how he had loved her, and how she had reciprocated. Then why was she so reluctant, repulsed to accept him that night? The third and the fourth night weren't any different, but Batuk hadn't approached Mira to engage in any form of intimacy with him. He had simply bought dinner, and she had quietly eaten. He slept on the floor while she sat on the cot, and in the morning when he left, she latched the door behind, never bidding any goodbyes. It was pretty much the routine until the day before when Batuk had asked Mira the reason for her indifference, and in reply, Mira accused him of being a heartless monster.
A heartless Monster? He?
All his life, in all his existence, Batuk never imagined someone would call him that! So where did he go wrong then?

Batakrishna reached the terrace, a few steps before reaching the single framed wooden door leading to Mira, and a sinking feeling started to gnaw inside his heart.
What if she doesn't speak to him yet again? Or worst screams at him?

Batakrishna took a deep breath and knocked on the door softly. Twice, thrice.
Is she sleeping then? He wondered. His eyes fell on the window frame beside the door, and to his surprise it was covered with a cloth, forming a curtain like covering.
Isn't this one of his white dhotis?
His brows formed a frown as he slowly pushed the door open, knowing that there wasn't a way to latch it properly from inside.

"Mira?" He called softly.
"Why isn't the lamp lit? Is there no electricity?"

There wasn't an answer.

The strange sinking feeling inside his heart began to grow.
"Mira?" He called out again.

As if from a century ago, hidden in the sands of time, veiled by thousands of years of inhibitions, came a faint inaudible answer. Batakrishna breathed. A faint pungent smell hit his nostrils. He quickly took out the matchbox from his pocket and lit it.

"Where are you?" He asked the question  while lighting the flame.

Mira didn't answer, and instead she let out a soft whimper.
Batakrishna held the flame in front.

"What happened to you?" A sharp shirk of astonishment came out from his throat. He lit another match stick and rushed towards her. Mira was sitting hurled up in the corner of the small room, her hair disheveled with loose curled strands falling on her forehead, covering most of her face. She wore the new saree that Batuk had bought her, but the loose end of it was shredded, the few shreds scattered beside. Batuk's eyes narrowed at the sight, there wasn't just her pieces of her saree, but his dhotis as well.

"Why?" Batakrishna asked in a hurtful voice. He had quickly picked up a half burnt candle from the shelf and lit it at once, and then sat down on the floor in front of Mira, placing the burning candle in between.

"Why would you do such a thing Mira?" He asked patiently, trying his best to keep composure, and Mira lifted her head slowly.

"It stormed this evening...Kaa..Kalboishakhi." She stammered. "My saree flew away, I.. I had put it out to dry."

Batakrishna was listening, trying to conjure all his patience to not let his temper get the better of him.
"And?"

"And I needed clothes, I mean, pieces of clothes."

"Why?" He asked, his mind trying to reason with her excuse.

Mira swallowed.
"I... I... " She stuttered.

"I what? Tell me. What made you shred my dhoti into pieces?" Batuk's voice was unnaturally calm and it froze Mira's heart in fear.
"Such hatred Mira? Such anger!" He whispered.

Mira looked down.
"No... I... I don't hate you." Her voice quivered, and in that flickering yellow flame he saw two drops of tears fall on her joined hands.
"I... " She swallowed her inhibitions. "I am bleeding Choto Zamindar Babu... My old saree flew away, and I... I didn't know what to do." She broke down in violent sobs.
"There isn't any water, the bathroom is outside. But I couldn't get out of this room, there were men on the terrace, so I... "
Mira covered her face with her palms. The agony was more for the violation of respect that she had endured, more than any physical discomfort.
"I'm sorry I had to take your Dhoti. I'm.. I'm so sorry."

Batakrishna sank back on the floor. Rubbing his fingers on his temple he asked her politely.
"What did you eat in the afternoon?"

Mira kept silent.

For the last few days it was his instruction to her to climb down the stairs and bring her lunch from the hindustani lady who runs the mess kitchen. Batakrishna had a monetary understanding with her. But given Mira's situation it was evident she wasn't able to go down that day, her last meal being yesterday's supper.
Batakrishna felt it deeply.

It was one matter to love a woman, but it was another to understand her, to touch her soul, to know her heart. Getting her body is probably the easiest, the woman being the weaker sex, but the difficult part was getting her mind. Batakrishna was too busy in getting her body, yearning for her, worshipping her externally that he forgot the essence of her true being. For the last few days he'd been so occupied with his thoughts, his patriotic duties, that he had chosen to shut his eye towards Mira, leaving her all by herself to deal with her emotions. The change wasn't easy for him, he left his family. But what he had overlooked was the idea that the same change was difficult for Mira too. The only difference was he chose the situation, and she fell it's victim. Batakrishna felt a pang of heartache ripping his insides. He looked at Mira, and at that moment, he truly felt like a monster. His throat became thick with emotion as he looked down again and began to speak slowly.

"I'll get you a bucket of water. Clean up. Then let's eat. Alright?" He avoided looking at her eyes and didn't dare to touch her hands.

Mira nodded in agreement.

The night was starry. After fetching two buckets of water from the deep well below, Batakrishna had waited for Mira on the empty terrace with a cigarette pressed to his lips. This was his new fancy. He saw the dark, tall coconut trees looming on the terrace and noticed the scanty hand-pulled rickshaw carts passing by through the road. He inhaled the silent air of the night.

"There isn't anyone outside, right?"
Mira's words made him turn around. She was wearing his shirt, fully sleeved, lowering below to the length of her thighs, and below she had wrapped one of his white dhotis. Mira was constantly pulling the shirt down.
Batakrishna smiled gently.

"No. I've latched the terrace door. No one would be able to come up." He took a large puff of the tobacco and blew it into the air, forming a ring. Mira's eyes grew wider at the sight.
"Come, sit on that Madur. The Kochuri must be getting cold." He remarked.

"Won't you eat?" She asked, her eyes on the food, and Batakrishna let out an affectionate chuckle.

"No. You eat. I'll eat mangoes with you."

Sometimes, all it takes is a little nudge, a little compassion, a little warmth, and all that pent-up discord seems to come undone. That night, sitting under the open sky, Batakrishna heard Mira's laughter for the first time after ages. She was talking to him as a wife would, asking him questions about the mundanity of city life that might have aroused her curiosity at some point.
How does the ceiling fan rotate?
What work does he do at the hospital?
Isn't he afraid of the blood?
So many questions of varied expanse.
Batakrishna answered all, scraping the flesh of mangoes from the skin with his teeth, and Mira laughed at the way he ate.
He loved the sight of her laughter. And suddenly he realized what he had missed all these days, what he had really missed in his life!

"Mira, I want to tell you something." He finished the fruits and lay down flat on the mat, his eyes skybound, as if trying to search for the easiest words of expression.

"I know," Mira replied bashfully. "That you are my husband and I'm your wife."

Batakrishna smiled at her words.
"No. I want to tell you the reason why I left home all of a sudden."

Mira's face darkened at once.
"It's because of me. I know," she murmured, and Batakrishna quickly got up and kept his hand on her shoulder.
His eyes looked straight into hers.

"No. It's not. And that's why it's important that I tell you the right reason. So that you don't blame yourself for whatever happened or is about to happen."

Mira narrowed her eyes at him in question.

"Mira, you know that these white-skinned people, these policemen whom you see around, are not from our country. Their country is different, you know that, don't you?" He asked, and in response, Mira nodded her head slowly.

"These people, the British, they want to take our home from us."

"Why?" Mira interjected. "Don't they have their own?"

"That's the issue, Mira. They have their home, but still they want ours. They want more. And we can't let that happen, yes?" He looked at her for an answer.

"Yes." She responded.

"I'm fighting to send them away, Mira. And it's a dangerous fight."

"Why are you fighting?" Mira asked innocently.

"Because it's my home, and if I don't fight, then who will?"

"But there are so many others out there, why aren't they fighting?"
Mira asked again, and Batakrishna let out a soft sigh at her question.

"I don't have any easy or definite answer to that, Mira. A lot of us fight, but our ways are different. Some of us fight upfront with weapons, others fight with laws or rules. They call meetings and make treaties," he remarked thoughtfully. "What would you do, Mira? How will you fight if your home is invaded?"

Mira looked away and a forlorn expression enveloped her being.
"I won't fight."

"So you'll just give in? Become their slave?" Batakrishna's voice was restless, but Mira smiled at his words and replied slowly.

"Slavery? I don't know what that means. I've seen men treating their wives as slaves, mother-in-laws treating their daughter-in-laws as slaves, and those big men at the hospital in Dehradun, treating women like me as slaves. Then why blame these white-skinned people only?"

Batakrishna heard her, and then thought for a while.
"What would you suggest we do to these British people then, Mira? Let them stay here and exploit us?"

Mira nodded her head vehemently.
"No. We tell them to go. We tell them politely, nicely, as we tell unruly naughty children. We tell them it's bad to take someone's home."

Batakrishna chuckled. He was finding these conversations amusing, and more than that it was the fact that Mira actually has an opinion.
"And if they hit you? Let me guess, you would stay silent in the hope that one day they'd get tired or bored of hitting and would stop eventually?"

Mira nodded in agreement.

Batakrishna grinned, ear to ear, and then pinching Mira's cheek affectionately he lay down on the mat once again, his arms folded behind his head.

"By any chance, do you know who Gandhiji is?" He asked, and Mira shook her head in negation.

"Good that you don't," He laughed.

"Did he tell you to leave your home?"
Mira asked suddenly, and Batakrishna looked at her to determine whether it was a genuine question, as with all his rationale he believed Mira was incapable of verbal complexities such as sarcasm.
Mira's question was genuine.

"He didn't. I left home because I fear that my presence would put Dada and Kaka in danger." He sighed. "If I'm caught for my actions, the British won't spare Dada, no matter how much influence he holds. But if I can make them believe that I have no terms with them, then their non-involvement in anything I do can be justified. Did you understand?" He asked, and Mira kept staring at him with a blank expression.

Batakrishna got up and sat facing her.
"Alright, imagine that in a bag full of good mangoes, there is one that's rotting. What would you do, Mira?"

"Keep that aside," Mira answered.

"Exactly. Now think I'm that rotting mango. And I came out of my house so that my family can be safe."

Tears welled up in Mira's eyes at his words.
"Why? What have you done, Choto Zamindar Babu?"

"Something that is a crime by British law, Mira." He held her hand. "But I want you to believe that I'd never do anything that is not morally right. Even in death, I'd never... "
Mira didn't let Batuk finish as she jumped onto his chest, throwing her arms around his neck.

"Don't talk about death, Choto Zamindar Babu, don't talk about death... But if it really comes to take you someday, I want it to find me instead."

Batuk smiled, as a droplet of emotion glimmered at the corner of his eye too. Mira was touching his collar with her lips, planting baby kisses as if to evade all evils from him, to keep him alive longer, but at that very instance, that sensation of her lips felt anything but sensual to him. It felt pure, it felt platonic, and he closed his eyes to savor this very sensation.

"We'll leave this place and go to a new house tomorrow," he whispered.
"And next month I'm going to Kashi to bring Awni."

Mira didn't reply. Just her arms grabbed his kurta tighter and her face rubbed on his chest with more fervor. But Batakrishna made no attempt to minister her sensually.

"I love you, Mira," He hushed instead.

Don't forget to tell me how this chapter was, and your thoughts precisely. I. Waiting. ☺
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