Betrayal

I met Timir in 1855 when I was studying English at Scottish Church College Calcutta. I was introduced to him by one of our common friends, Jasjeet Arora.

Jasjeet had told me, “Let me introduce you to Timir Chandra Dey, the grandson of Zamindar Mehraj Chandra Dey of Ichapur!”

Ichapur was a town 28 km from the city of Calcutta. Timir lived at Bowbazar Street. He was taller compared to the average Bengali, handsome and had a stout figure who commanded respect at first look. Timir would always wear an immaculately white kurta-pajama,  a golden bangle and a golden chain. He was what you can call an affluent Bengali zamindar. He was a reserved fellow who seldom spoke.

Jasjeet had a Panglossian attitude of making friends, which made him popular among fellow students of the Scottish Church College, Calcutta.

One fine morning Jasjeet took me to Timir’s residence in Bowbazar. Unfortunately, we didn’t find him at home. After a fortnight we were informed by Timir's messenger that he expected us at his residence that evening.

Jasjeet and I arrived at his residence in Bowbazar around six in the evening. and We found that he was relaxing in one of the big armchairs in his drawing-room. Timir appeared to be a bit unmindful and was ruminating about something, yet he was courteous and ordered tea and snacks to be served for us. By the time we had settled in, snacks had arrived.

Jasjeet joked, “Are you still thinking about Anuradha?”

Timir had a soft corner for Anuradha. She was the sister of one of our batchmates, Ritwik Chattopadhyay.

Timir looked glumly at the white marble-top table, and replied, “This is not the time to make jokes Jasjeet.”

Timir’s tone said it all.

I said, “You are looking forlorn and unmindful, is something troubling you? You can share whatever you want. After all, what are friends for?”

Timir scratched his throat and signed. Then he rested his hand over his forehead and replied, “I don’t know where to start and where to end!”

Jasjeet, who seemed to be astounded by Timir's tone, recovered a bit of his composure and replied, “It is ok! You can always share anything with me and Tanmoy. You can trust him with your life!”

“Life!” replied Timir, in a sarcastic manner.

Then he said, “Well, Tanmoy, I can trust no one after what has happened. The last couple of days opened my eyes! I cannot trust anyone including my blood relatives!”

“Why? What happened?” interjected Jasjeet.

Timir closed his eyes and continued, “I was eleven when my mom went missing. My father, Hem Chandra Dey and I were returning from Kolkata when we heard the news that my mom, Rajnandinidevi, was missing from our house at Ichapur. Ratanda had brought us this news! This is not so simple as we were the zamindars of Ichapur. When we reached our home, we found the room when we stayed was a mess as if a storm had wrecked it. Some of the jewellery was thrown helter-skelter and looked as if a fight had taken place or someone was searching for something. My mom’s clothes were all strewn here and there. Then came the storm that transformed my life. My granddad against whose will, my father had married my mother, started spewing venom against her. Meghraj Chandra Dey, my granddad, was angry as a raging bull. Then he also started to ransack my mom’s things including the almirahs and trunks. After some time, he produced what appeared to be a couple of love letters written to my mom by Rajendra Prasad Chattopadhyay, our sworn enemy. Rajendra Prasad was also a zamindar whose territory was next to ours. There was immense competition and jealousy between our families. But my father would have none of this. He initially didn’t believe them. He didn’t believe that Rajendra Prasad would stoop so low and have the courage to entice my mom. Then my uncle and his son also started to spew bitter exemplary words against my mom, which made it unbearable for me and my father.

My uncle said, 'Look at Hem, he is crying like a baby while Rajendra Prasad Chattopadhyay is having fun with Rajnandini. What a fool you are, can’t even satisfy your woman?'

They taunted him by saying, 'Mehraj, what do you expect from a person who spends most of his time involved in arts and literary works? Look at his painting of Rajnandini now! Lost love, I guess. What an irony! What would people say, he brought us down with the whore that she was!'”

Then Timir stopped. He took the water hookah and started taking a puff or two. Then he went up to the closed jalousie window and took a look outside. Again he came and took his seat on the armchair.

Timir continued, “Well, they drove him mad with rage, with their constant taunts and ridicule. Then my father vowed to take revenge against our enemies. He vowed to kill them all. The extermination of the Chattopadhyay family became his life’s goal. Yet, I think he searched for my mother everywhere, but in vain. He took up the challenge like the zeal of a fundamentalist and he started eliminating his enemies one by one. He even bribed the British and promised them a huge sum of money as taxes if given a free hand.

On 13^th December 1838, he attacked Zamindar Rajendra Prasad Chattopadhyay and wiped out their dynasty with the help of the British. When he was about to kill Rajendra Prasad he had summoned me and said, 'Look Timir I am killing your mother’s lover!'

Rajendra Prasad who had seen his family massacred cursed and yelled out, 'Hem, you fool, you have made a big mistake. You have been betrayed by your own blood. If there is an Almighty, He will punish you for this.'

My father had replied, 'I wish Rajnandini was here to see this too. I will punish you the way she has punished me. I will punish you for taking my wife.'

Then he had hacked him to death.”

Timir paused a bit and then drank a glass of water from the brass tumbler that was kept on the marble-top table, beside his armchair. Then he continued, “Peace had returned to Ichapur but not for long. In December 1840, my granddad Meghraj Chandra Dey suddenly fell ill and passed away. On his deathbed, he had summoned my father and uncle. His last words were, 'Hem, forgive me for I have sinned. May Rajnandini be your wife in your next life too. I have betrayed you more than anyone.' He wanted to add something but death betrayed him.

My father who now hated my mom Rajnandini had turned his head in disgust. Two years down the line, during one of my visits to Ichapur, I was walking in the garden of our house. There is an outhouse for the servants and which is currently uninhabited and dilapidated. There I had heard the sound of the mother's anklets. I was sure that I had heard it distinctly, then it just evaporated just as it had been there. I had strained my ears but nothing. I was a bit terrified and spoke to my father regarding this. He had searched the grounds and garden and the outhouse but in vain. Everyone was normal except my uncle and his son whose faces turned white when they heard this. Within six months the shadow of death took away my uncle. The next year, while roaming the spot I heard the sound of my mom's anklets again. This time it had lingered a bit longer and my father had heard it too. Within six months my uncle's son suffered a stroke and was paralyzed. He too passed away within five years. It was last fortnight that Ratanda, our beloved servant, came from Ichapur and told me that my father had developed a habit of roaming near the outhouse, as he could hear the sound of my mom’s footsteps. I had returned to Ichapur to check if this was true and then when I reached my ancestral house, I found my father slouched in an armchair in the verandah. He had been reading a diary of my late grandfather. Tears were rolling down his eyes.

He then said, 'Look Timir, what I found in your granddad’s almirah!'

Handing over the diary to me he said, 'Read it to know the truth!'

I didn’t have the time and scope to go through the diary, because the very next day, he took me to the outhouse and ordered his men to dig up the floor. I was thinking my granddad had left us with some stolen treasure that may be hidden underground. It was exciting as the diggers found out a secret stairway hidden beneath the foundation of the outhouse which had a dungeon beneath it. The stale air told it all. The flight of broken stairs took us into a  room where we found two skeletons. Both the skeletons had been chained to the floor of the basement of the dungeon. They appeared to be women.

Ratanda started crying when he realized that it was none other than his eldest daughter who had been my mother's maid. The sound of the anklets restored our faith that it was none other than my mom. She had been locked up and killed by the brutal, cunning, cruel man named Meghraj Chandra Dey, my evil grandfather. He was the one who sacrificed my mother to fulfill his ego and to fulfill his dreams of eliminating the Chattopadhyay family since he was too old to accomplish them himself.”

Timir had handed over the diary of the Late Meghraj Chandra Dey to us and said, “I can’t read this!”

We went home spellbound that day, and later we came to know that Hem Chandra Dey was now addicted to opium after that incident as he couldn’t sleep at night otherwise. Timir cursed his fate for this and he didn’t marry his love, Anuradha saying, “I must end my bloodline here!”

Jasjeet and I didn’t finish reading the entire diary as it was a dark and convoluted tale of the twisted mind of Meghraj Chandra Dey.