That Man

 

-1-

Niloy saw that man again. Yes, that face was the same.

It was Bijoya Dashami – the final day of Bengal’s favourite festival, Durga Puja. With his camera hanging from his neck, Niloy Mitra would go out in his Red Fiat to the famous Bagbazaar ‘pandal’. Not only was it famous for its nearly 300-year old ‘Durga’ statue, but also because of the annual ‘Sindur Khela’. Women would come early to the pandal, wearing pretty and gorgeous red saris, and then they would enjoy themselves by adorning their comrades’ faces with red ‘sindoor’ and there was a great deal of laughter and amusement, filling the melancholic air of that day.

Although Niloy taught Physics at the Bangabasi College, his main interest was photography. Honestly speaking, if India had cared about art a bit more – as it used to do back in the Mughal Ages – and gave less importance on trains and hearts, then he would have easily taken up the art of clicking pictures as his main occupation. But, due to the pressure from his parents and the fear of having to die homeless on a street made Niloy to sit for the Entrance Examination (but yes, he scored good – his rank was about 100 or 105…)

Niloy found photography very interesting. It literally is the easiest hardest job to do. You could find a subject for your photo very easily – if looked from that perspective then the whole world can be considered. But how you present it – now that’s a difficult task, as any old and experienced photographer will tell you. One of the hotspots for those in Bengal was Durga Puja, the festival celebrating the victory of good over evil. For five days, Bongs would go out, roam about the streets, dance drunk, and what not! It seems as if all the offices and schools have shut down – no rules, just party. The main attraction was the ‘Sindoor Khela’ on the last day of the festival. Niloy literally gets the best subjects over there.

Just as he did today, but before he could take further pictures, everything was cut short because of that man.

That man.

Yes, that man. No mistake.

He was standing about 10 feet from where Niloy was. He was wearing a violet-coloured T-shirt and blue jeans. His eyes were covered by green photochromic spectacles, and his chin had a French-cut beard.

Yes, no mistake.

It was that man!

Niloy could feel his legs getting stuck to the ground. Oh God, he has come over here also! What does he want? Was there no freedom…

Niloy now saw the man reach his left-hand pocket. From there came out a silver cigarette case. He lighted one and blew some puffs out. He had a strange smile lurking on his face. Then, he began to walk slowly towards Niloy.

By that time Niloy had regained much of his composure. Giving off an inaudible gasp, he turned and started running away from the pandal. The man was still following him – he could hear the footsteps slowly increase behind him. From the maidan to the gate, the gate to the main road, from the main road to the parking lot, and then - !

Niloy nearly crash-landed on his driver’s seat. God, that was close! The Canon hanging from his neck had enough for today. Staying over here would be a fool’s act for him. He started the car, and drove away from the Bagbazaar area. Phew, it was close! And to think…

And to think about it, this wouldn’t have happened in the first place if he didn’t murder that man by rash driving.

Niloy remembered the incident. As he went up on the bridge, he began to see it bit by bit…

 

***

-2-

 

Yes, he still remembers the date. 1963, September (26th or 27th?). Niloy was twenty years old at that time, and had just completed his Entrance Examination. As it had been going, Calcutta’s streets were lighted up on the occasion of Goddess Durga’s arrival. The people were just zooming in and about – nothing much has changed when you compare it to the present. Add in the ‘60’s craze’, and you get the picture.

It was on a Bijoya Dashami that incident happened.

Niloy had been invited by his friend, Rupesh Kapooria, to come and attend a ‘Bijoya’ party hosted by him. This Kapooria was an extremely rich guy. Apart from being wealthy in money, he was also wealthy in knowledge and friends. Niloy had been seeing him since Kindergarten. Since then, the friendship had never been cut off. So, it was natural for him to send an invitation to Niloy to join his party, as he had done so many times.

But this was the one he would never forget.

When Niloy got out of Petercat that night, the watch told the time as 1 o’clock in the morning. Calcutta was now asleep – everyone had become tired after 5 days of hard partying. Niloy – nearly drunk and having no knowledge of time and space – just crawled back to where his car was. He had just got bis license a year back, and he got that red Fiat as a gift from his father. He closed the door, and giving out an unhealthy loud burp, he started the engine. Niloy generally never drank in public – he despised it – but when it came to festivals like this, well, one or two pints didn’t matter, he guessed. As far as he knew, he emptied seven glasses of Old Monk that night…

The car flew off into the night road of Park Street. Thank goodness the traffic in this section remains relatively less, or else who knows? He could actually…

Niloy’s hand suddenly slipped from the gear. One second more and the car would have skidded off the bridge. Idiot, he muttered.

Idiot.

He was an idiot indeed. Or else…

His mind switched back to that ’63 night. His house was in a lane in Chittaranjan Avenue. As he was about to take a turn, his eyes fell upon the road in front of him, and that was the first time he saw that man.

Yes, he was wearing that same violet-coloured T-Shirt, blue jeans. He was wearing a green-framed photo lens, and was standing in the middle of the road. He had that nutty smile lurking on his face as Niloy had seen today at Bagbazaar. The man’s left hand reached into the pocket, and pulled out a silver cigarette case. But he didn’t get to smoke, for suddenly a red car had crashed headlong into him!

It was at this moment that Niloy had jolted into his senses. For two minutes he remained stunned and tried to guess what was happening. Then, he heard someone moaning.

Moaning in great pain.

Niloy got out of his car, and was startled and shocked to see a man lying on the concrete, his face exuding blood! It was at this moment he realized what he had done. Oh God!

Trembling, Niloy went back to his car. It was 1.45 in the morning now. He revved up the engine, and with shaky hands, drove as fast as he could to his house. He had committed a crime, he knew that very well. The police were to sure search and find him out, and then…

Oh, for God’s sake, why did he had to take that glass? If he hadn’t…If he…

Suddenly, a thought came to his mind. As it is the police department was a bit sloth during these festivities. Besides, there are thousands of car accidents occurring every second in a busy city like Calcutta. Some of them are just left out, claiming to have no trace. 1.45 in the morning, no one on the streets, he just hit a man to perhaps death…

Nah. There was nothing to worry about. Come on, accidents do occur. There was no one who would say that, ‘Look at him, officer! Yes, Niloy Sanyal, that man was the one who killed that guy...!’

But still, after that incident, Niloy didn’t go outside for eight days. It was only after that the news of a car accident in a small corner of the newspaper that he felt a great burden lift off from his back. He didn’t read the entire thing, but that’s okay.

Except for one thing though. He seemed to have lost his wallet that night, which he got as a gift from one of his female colleagues. He tried to think about where had it gone, but in vain…

***

-3-

 

The thing began to happen two weeks after that Bijoya Dashami.

13^th October. Niloy had gone to the local bazaar to buy some supplies – vegetables, chicken, some spices, fish, gifts, etc. There was a family get-together in two days, and he was given the charge to get all the things ready. It was a Sunday, and as any normal person would know, the markets will be busting with people. Although Niloy had started out early, he was surprised to find that nearly all of the lion’s share had been sold out. However, he got the things he required.

As the fishmonger was packing the cut and dried catla into a plastic bag, Niloy’s eyes suddenly stopped on a person.

Yes. No mistake. He had seen that face somewhere else.

Violet-coloured T-Shirt, blue jeans, green photochromic-

Yes. It was that man whom he had struck down about two weeks ago one morning! But how…

The newspaper had declared him dead! Or was it…

No, no, Niloy thought. He was sure that the person had died on that spot only, and now, and now he was…

The man now turned towards Niloy. He had that same smile lurking up on his face. Then, he began to walk briskly towards him within the crowd. A scream flung out of Niloy as he threw the cash on the counter, grabbed the fish packet and began running down the narrow lane of the bazaar. Any second now he would come, any second…

‘Rickshaw!’ Niloy shouted out. The man was still coming after him, in slow steps. Niloy got up, and told the driver to take him to the third lane in Chittaranjan Avenue as fast as possible – he would get 10 rupees extra. The driver – without a word – sped out of the bazaar.

Niloy looked back. He could see the man no more. But, he was just behind him. Nearly close.

Nearly close, and was about to get him…

‘Woah, Nilu! What happened to you? You look all sweated out!’ his mother had asked him once he entered and bolted the door. Niloy didn’t say anything, but just went into his room, locked the door, opened the bathroom, and opened the shower. Ah! The cold water felt so refreshing! The thought of today’s morning scared him. If he had been just…

That was the beginning. From that November morning onwards, Niloy would often see the man lurking about. His attire however, would always change, but that green spectacles and French beard was not a sight which Niloy would forget. He was everywhere – from bus stops to cinemas, from college to restaurant, everywhere the man seemed to dog his steps. Sometimes he would appear on a Monday, and continues for the whole week, or he may appear one Tuesday, completely disappear, and again appear three weeks later one Sunday.

One year passed by, yet the apparition of the violet T-shirt and blue jeans haunted Niloy, who by now had nearly gone psychopathic. His reputation as a teacher plummeted, and his photography had gone up his head. His friends and colleagues were literally perplexed – how did the ever-popular comedic Niloy Mitra turn into a such a psycho? He had no interest in food, sports, physics – just fear, the fear of getting his neck snapped into half by that man.

That man. Oh God, out of all the people in the world, why Niloy had to put up with that man? It was just an accident…

No, he thought. It was a case of drunk driving. He had killed that man because of that devil called alcohol.

One night Niloy was a victim of a nightmare. He saw himself back in that street, but this time he was not driving a car. He was on the street, standing in the middle of the road. He saw himself wearing the same clothes as that man had been wearing – violet T-shirt, blue…

Suddenly, he felt his body thrown and hit across the hard concrete plant rows. Blood began to fill everywhere. In that red fog of liquid, he saw that a man was standing next to him. It was that same man! And he was holding a pistol! He pointed it towards his head, and a wild laughter began to echo around his ears…

‘AAAAARRRRRRRRGHHHHHH! HELP ME! HELP ME!’ Niloy had screamed out that night – the loudest he had ever done so. The nightmare was so livid…

Niloy went to Dr. Ghatak one day. He was a famous psychologist. After nearly an hour, he told him that it was merely a figment of his imagination. ‘Take some rest. Some days off the calendar will perhaps do some good. You are absolutely sure that you have not seen that man before?’

‘No. Not at all.’ Niloy replied. He didn’t want the doctor know that the man was exactly the same person who he had struck down that morning...

Very soon, the year 1965 came about, and soon, it was that time of the year.

Durga Puja.

***

-4-

 

Niloy was on the road with red Fiat. It was another Bijoya Dashami, but this time, instead of going to other pandals, he was now moving to Petercat, Park Street. Yes, it was another party, but this time it was hosted by one of his female colleagues, Rupanjana Saha. They would be having lunch, snacks, and a gala cocktail dinner. An ideal Bijoya Dashami, thought Niloy Mitra. It’s been two years since that incident.

And it was still fresh in his mind.

He was greeted in warmly. Rupanjana had not arrived yet, but a few of his female friends and one or two males had arrived. Picking up a pinacolada from the counter, Niloy went outside to the balcony, and stood there, watching the bustling scene of the heart of the city. Truly speaking, Park Street was reserved exclusively for the first-class and rich gentlemen. People from other backgrounds – like – didn’t blend over here. After all, such a high…

‘Hello. Are you Niloy Mitra?’

Niloy suddenly heard someone calling him. He turned around, and froze. He felt a cold chill run down his spine.

It was that man. THAT MAN.

Yes, it was him! That violet T-Shirt, blue jeans, green photochromic spectacles, French beard – yes it was him!

It was that man! And that same smile was lurking up on his face!

But this time, Niloy couldn’t find a way to escape. It was either falling out of the balcony or getting murdered at the person he had crashed into in the name of drunk driving…

‘HELP! SOMEONE PLEASE HELP! I’M GONNA DIE! PLEASE…!’

But the man had already started dragging him inwards. Niloy tried to loosen his grip, but that man was too strong for him. Oh no, Niloy thought. So, this is how he was supposed to die? In front of his friends, he was…he was…why was anyone not coming to help him? They stood there, all startled, but cannot see where he was going? WHY ARE THEY NOT-

The man in the meantime had tugged him into a table. There was not so much people around it. He made him sit in one of those chairs.

Niloy sat down. His shirt was literally drenched with sweat now, and his face was turning whiter by the moment. ‘Please spare me, Sir.’ He gave one last attempt to escape. ‘I’m extremely sorry, Sir, I didn’t really…oh god, please forgive me!’

The man stared for some time at him, and then laughed out aloud. For a whole minute he laughed. Then, he turned his eyes to Niloy, and said:

‘Actually, it is me who should be sorry.’

Niloy felt confused, dazed and surprised at the same time. What? He should be sorry? For what?

‘Wait, I’m clearing things up a bit.’ The man said, and then his hand went into his left pocket. Oh dear, thought Niloy. He’s now gonna…

But instead of the cigarette case, he took out and placed on the table – his wallet.

Yes, the wallet which he had lost one year ago on a fateful Bijoya…

Niloy suddenly sprang up. It now made sense.

When the car had crashed into him, the wallet may have flown out of one of the open windows! It had fallen down on the road only.

The man laughed again:

‘Yes, you guessed it. Your wallet was lying there on the ground. Look, let me make this clear: that night I was also drunk like you. I had been to a reunion, and perhaps drank a bit too much. I didn’t come by anything, for my house was very near to where I had gone. I was in the middle of crossing the road, feeling thirsty, drunk, restless, floppy – well, all the symptoms of a drunkard. I felt the need of smoking, so I pulled up my cigarette case.’

He now pulled up the silver rectangular box which Niloy had been seeing for over two years now.

‘Suddenly,’ the man continued, ‘I saw the bright blinding flashlights of a car darting towards me. It was then that my senses had come back to me. I leaped out of the way, tried to save myself, but alas! My right leg got crushed very badly under the wheels of the car!’ he smiled ruefully.

‘Then?’ Niloy asked. He was sitting still in his place, perplexed and confused by this strange tale.

The man continued:

‘Well, I must have fainted at that sudden leg-crushing pain. When I regained consciousness, a distant church clock told me the time as two in the morning. It was still dark – the city was in deep sleep. I tried to get up, but oh! The pain was excruciating! It took me nearly fifteen minutes to reach my house, which I usually did in five minutes. While going back, a brown leathery wallet caught my sight. I picked it up, in hope of giving it back to its rightful owner. I had guessed that it belonged to that drunk driver, for whom my right leg was about to get chopped off.

But what strange luck! Within less than a week, I came to know that you lived in the locality - just three houses away from me! However, I wasn’t too sure of it. You see, I’m a timid man by nature, I literally have to muster up courage to talk to my parents (it’s not apparent now, but other times it occurs.) Anyway, I found my hunch to be correct, when I saw you buying fish from Kaluda – the fishmonger. I had the wallet in my pocket, but just to make sure it was the right person, I stared at you for a couple of moments. I’m a very methodical man, Mr. Mitra. When I finally saw that it was the man I was looking for, I took out the wallet, and started moving towards you…

But unfortunately, you ran out so fast at the sight of me that I couldn’t fulfill my job. I had been trying you know, for the entire one year, just to get you and hand back your wallet. To tell you the truth, I had no interest in this business – I am the son of a cloth merchant, and the assistant to my father, so you know, the pressure is always on. But I noticed on one corner, it was written that the wallet was given to the person by someone as a birthday gift. I thought – the man must be so sad! Perhaps this had been given to him by some dear relative or friend…

So, that’s it Sir, the matter as it stands. I hope you feel happy now.’ said the man, as he passed the wallet back to Niloy.

Niloy rolled his eyes at that man for a couple of moments. He was feeling relieved and like an idiot at the same time. The man was alive and well, kicking, and was actually trying to give one of his uncle’s gift back!

And all this time…all the time Niloy thought that he was a…was a ghost! A phantom, a revengeful soul who was coming for payback!

Picking up the wallet, Niloy shook the man’s hand, and muttered ‘Thanks!’ for many times. He was feeling like a donkey…a complete joke of the first order!

Suddenly the door opened, and Rupanjana entered. The black-and-white striped slacks was really matching her fair-skinned appearance.

‘There you are! Oh please, can’t you sit alone for a minute! Always I find you talking with someone else!’

Then, turning to Niloy, she said, ‘Let me introduce him – his name is Mrinal Misra, son of the cloth merchant Jagdip Singh Misra. You know, I guess, the company of ‘Misra’s and Sons’? Yep, that’s him. Mrinal, this is Niloy Mitra, physics teacher at Bangabasi College.’

‘Oh my, you teach Physics? Say, does anyone find interest over there?’ that man – I mean, Mrinal asked. He gave off a little smile while he said this. But this time, Niloy didn’t consider it to be murderous. Rather, he laughed at it loudly – his own way of expressing gratitude to others.

Rupanjana dusted some dirt off of Mrinal’s shirt. ‘Seriously, you wear that shirt again? I feel like I’ve seen you everyday with that shirt!’

‘Well, you know honey, violet’s my favourite colour! It certainly gives a feeling of royalty in an otherwise unroyal world, eh?’

***

-5-

 

That night was the best one Niloy had. He danced, he sang, he even did a few magic tricks which weren’t boring to anyone!

Finally, it was time to go. Niloy was the last one to leave. As he was about to go to the front door, he noticed that Mrinal hadn’t gone out yet.

‘Can I have the pleasure of giving you a lift, Mr.Misra?’ Niloy asked.

‘Oh no, thank you very much, but I’m actually going to Rups’ house.’

Rups – meaning Rupanjana said, ‘Oh, silly me! I didn’t tell you about it, did I? We are getting married this December. Do come over there!’ she said, and showed a ring on her finger, which was given to her by Mrinal. He, too, also, showed his ring.

As Niloy shut the car door, he chuckled at a little thought:

‘Had it not been for Mr. Misra’s quickness, I wouldn’t be seeing that ring on a human hand, but rather on a two-year-old rotten skeleton!’

***

M.Macabre

31.07.2021