My supervisor was upset with me. All
I regretted was that he had expressed his indignation explicitly, and I
could not lie to him with an air of verisimilitude. The most unpleasant of
all was that my face utterly, involuntarily assumed an idiotic smile. On my
way from my department to the canteen, I caught sight of Nilanjan, and my
eyes widened. The unease I had felt while meeting my supervisor vanished in
an instant, but this time a different nervousness took hold of me. I felt my
heart pounding faster and faster; a cutting wind was racing inside me,
howling and giving my head no rest. My face must have gone unnaturally pale.
I had never imagined that I would ever see him like that inside my
university campus. At this moment, he stood a short distance away, leaning
to one side.
During off periods, students from
different departments streamed down that path to the canteen or the
fast-food stalls, pushing carts, to get something to eat. Dodging through
the crowd, I glanced around, trying to look at him without being seen, when
he suddenly met my eyes. I pretended not to recognise him and turned my head
away, hoping to pass by, but he shouted my name and stepped in front of me.
Like a defeated soldier glancing fearfully toward the enemy’s ranks, I kept
looking at him, and he, with utmost eagerness, embraced me publicly.
“You don’t recognize me? I can make
out. After so many years, you have seen me! How can you possibly recognize
me? But I recognized you the moment I saw you. You’ve grown stronger, more
handsome. I’m so proud of you”, he said in one breath, and as he kept
talking, he grew emotional. I felt overwhelmingly unprepared. Out of a faint
sense of propriety, I offered him a forced smile and inwardly searched for a
way to escape.
I always remained acutely conscious
of whether my presence, words, gait, dress, and status made any impression
on those around me, which left little room for spontaneity in my behaviour.
But what happened to me when I saw Nilanjan was entirely spontaneous. In the
university environment, surrounded by the stares of students from various
departments, I had no objection when Nilanjan — his hair unkempt, his face
hollow, his long beard uncared for — hugged me tightly. Because I knew that
such behaviour would make me more popular among the students and increase my
glamour. And when I hugged him, I realised — my knees went weak. The moment
I saw him, I thought — “He’s been studying secretly here at the university.”
As far as I knew, real researchers looked exactly like him. That thought
suddenly awakened an old fear I had not felt in many years. And I found
myself becoming uneasy. Dangerously.
After almost ten years, I saw
Nilanjan today. The moment I saw him, I recognized him. Even seen from
behind, I probably wouldn’t have had any trouble identifying him. He was
tall and thin. At first, it seemed as if he had grown taller. Only when I
hugged him did I notice — he had become even thinner than before. That’s why
he seemed taller to me.
From classes 11 and 12 through the
BA, Nilanjan and I studied at the same college. With tutoring in almost
every subject, I somehow passed my Class 12 final examination in the first
division. But he, without taking tuition in a single subject, who used to
sell dried wood and betel nuts at the nearby marketplace to pay for his own
studies, secured fourth-place state rank in that examination. That instantly
gave him statewide stardom, which inflicted a sharp envy in me I couldn’t
contain.
On the day the results were
announced, our college was in a festive mood.
The boys and girls shouted and cheered. That day, I was the first to
hug Nilanjan; I lifted him onto my shoulder and carried him screaming. That
performance of mine was just my brilliant acting, known to no one except my
family. That night, I came home exhausted and cried for hours; around
midnight, I prayed to God that he should fall ill and die soon.
After much thought, I enrolled in the
B.A. programme with Assamese as my major. Nilanjan enrolled in the science
stream with chemistry as his major. My curse did not affect him. Many people
came forward to help him financially. But he refused help from anyone. He
was fiercely proud. Apart from selling dried wood and betel nuts, he had
recently started giving tuition. Soon, all the boys and girls from the small
town began crowding around him to study. I was sinking deeper into despair.
Yet he had placed me on his list of well-wishers.
In those days, Nilanjan’s clothes
were in poor shape. Between classes, he would sometimes sneak off to smoke;
the smell of cigarettes often clung to him. Still, he was the centre of
attraction at college. Not only in academics, but he also won first prize in
every literary and debate competition held during college week. The
prettiest girl in my department was Seema. I tried everything to attract
her. I wore expensive, eye-catching clothes and fragrant cologne to college.
I rode a flashy bike whenever I could; I kept myself fit with regular
exercise; I sat close enough to be noticed. Yet, to my despair, she would
light up at the mention of Nilanjan’s name. His name became, to me, an
utterly disgusting word. With the badge of friendship, I watched Nilanjan
obsessively. I had been trying steadily to make my handwriting look like
his. Tuition brought him some money. He was able to rent a simple house on
the outskirts of town. He brought his younger sister and ailing father from
their remote village to live with him. I visited that rented house many
times. His small study room was like a peculiar library. Open books lay
scattered across the table, on one side of his untidy bed, on the chairs,
and even across the floor. Every leftover rupee of his tuition earnings,
after keeping his household running, he sacrificed to his passion: books. I
was still unworthy of reading certain books he used to read then.
When I was in my second year of
undergraduate studies, I was desperate to beat Nilanjan in literary
competitions. In the end, I managed to defeat him in only one contest: the
essay competition. No one could tell how Nilanjan’s essay disappeared. Even
he did not question it. Based on trust, the competition secretary had to
hand me the file of submitted essays for only five minutes. He had to get
busy with some other work. That was all the time I needed to crumple
Nilanjan’s essay and slide it into my pocket.
Nilanjan congratulated me for my
so-called victory. I could say nothing.
Meanwhile, a terrorist outfit emerged
in my state. Gaining wide popular support, it grew stronger as it attempted
to liberate the state from the country by armed struggle. Even ordinary
members of the group were admired by people. To crush the organization with
a firm hand, the central government launched an operation in the state. At
times, in the name of searching for members of that outfit, the authorities
rounded up and punished passersby. I lived in constant fear; I flinched
whenever I saw the military.
One night, returning home on a
bicycle late after tutoring, Nilanjan was stopped by the military and
questioned at length. As he answered, their anger rose, and he began arguing
with them. He was not someone who could be intimidated. In the end, the
soldiers took him as a member of the organization; they beat him severely,
so much so that they had to take him to the hospital. They feared he would
die. He didn’t die. He spent almost a month in the government hospital
before returning home. His friends, including me, paid all his medical
expenses. I had to maintain the illusion of friendship.
The moment I realized that Nilanjan
could no longer study and truly wouldn’t be able to sit for the upcoming
examinations, I breathed a sigh of relief. After recovering a bit after many
months, he had to become a life insurance agent. I was happy. After that
incident, the boys and girls in town also stopped coming to Nilanjan to
study. I obtained a first class in my BA. After that, I went to university
for further studies.
I had never known poverty. I grew up
in abundance. My father was once a famous contractor. I was not at all
concerned with what was happening in my state, who was doing what, or who
was dead. I only worried about my own prosperity. I, too, wanted to become a
contractor. The terrorist groups and other organizations kept their eyes on
these contractors. That’s why I was thinking of taking a different path. But
the success of a poor boy like Nilanjan unsettled me. Compared to him, I
couldn’t stand being insignificant. I studied day and night, relentlessly,
to become an assistant professor. My perseverance finally bore fruit: I
became an assistant professor, that too in the most reputed university in my
state. My dream came true: I became a source of pride for my college. I
proved my superiority.
Yet in the past ten years, I had
proved myself to be a bad teacher. Often students skipped my classes. So
what? I knew I was not meant for this profession. But I needed the status. I
got it. That was more than enough.
I was awaiting promotion to associate
professor. Restlessly. I needed a PhD to qualify. I couldn’t manage creative
writing, and even six years after enrolling in the PhD, I hadn’t been able
to submit my thesis. If I did not submit it within two months, my final
deadline would pass. A teacher without that degree was valued less at the
university. There was a constant mental pressure on me. Feelings of
inferiority had ruined me.
The very book I desperately needed to
conclude my thesis was one I had never heard of. That’s why my supervisor
scolded me a short while ago. Blushing, I walked out of my supervisor’s
chamber to hunt for the book. As I was coming to the university canteen, I
caught sight of Nilanjan, and a jolt ran through me. My feelings of
inferiority suddenly intensified. It had been many years since I had any
news of Nilanjan. I had not felt any need to keep track of him.
But now, the few assumptions that
immediately started maddening the nerves in my brain were these—Nilanjan was
completely well; he had resumed his studies; after finishing his MA at
another university, he was doing research at this university. No sooner had
I felt that than a question popped out of my mouth of its own accord, “What
are you doing here?”
“I am not doing anything like you. I
am just a lowly person compared to you,” he said.
He spoke in a modest tone with an
ordinary smile, but his words pierced me. To escape from that, I said, “I
really need a book. I must get it today, by any means; I’ll meet you later.
I have to go now.” Before I had finished, he asked eagerly, “Which book?
Tell me the title.” I thought his studious phase was long dead, and doubted
he would even recognise the title. Suddenly, I became eager to flaunt my
superiority. I gave him a dismissive glance, letting a sneer bleed into my
voice as I uttered the title with a measured dose of condescension. I also
could not resist the temptation to explain exactly why that book was crucial
to my work.
When a lost thing is suddenly found,
the joy it brings is unmistakable. My uttering the title seemed to give him
that joy. Excited, he said, “I can give you that right now. I bought and
read it while I was studying for my B.A. I’ve brought all my old books and
am selling them over by the bank. I couldn’t complete my studies, but I want
to educate my sister—even if I have to sell everything we own. I’ve brought
my entire collection of books to sell, so that I can raise money for her
education. Here, I know, there will be buyers of old books. Already a few
are sold—come along, I shall give you that very book; but you will not pay
me.” He practically dragged me to the place by the bank where his countless
old books were stacked. From among them, he pulled out the book I needed,
handed it into my hands with a pure, unclouded smile, and said, “If you get
your PhD, my pride will grow; I’ll be able to tell people, ‘My friend has
obtained his PhD.’ I’d feel guilty taking money from you.” For a few
moments, I stood there staring at him in amazement; then I grabbed him by
the shoulders. From the depths of my heart, a feeling that never wanted to
surface rose like a flood and burst through the corners of my eyes.
But when he said, “I want my sister
to do her MA here, at your university, in your department. She might get
first class in her BA with honours in Assamese from the very college we both
attended”, a shiver ran down my spine, and the great feeling that had just
risen inside me for him suddenly subsided. I made an excuse about being
terribly busy, said a brief goodbye like a boy, and slipped away from his
side.
As I trudged back to my quarters
holding the book clumsily, the image of Nilanjan haunted me, so much so that
I felt he was in front of me, with a genuine smile on his face. That smile
filled the quiet recesses of my mind with a pang of shame. I felt wounded,
heavily. When I first caught sight of him today, I thought he had grown
taller. Now I realized from the core of my heart— the tallest person I had
ever met was he, there by the bank, completely himself, every part of him,
just as he had been then. And I…