Serendipity and After/29

a novel about publishing of a novel

Suddenly, there is a change in the campus air. Silence gives way to noise. I feel a cascading wave of anger and agitation all around. There are always knots of students before the central library, before the faculty buildings and in different spots of the campus. Everyone is talking politics. As if studies are no longer the top priority.

One day Einstein closed his big physics book with a sharp snap, and said to Kshirod-da,”We should do something.” Then he got up, got dressed and left the room.

Then the demonstrations and meetings began in an endless way. In the meetings the student leaders gave us the clarion call, reminding us the role of students in this crucial moment of our history.

So long the students were attending classes irregularly. Now they boycotted them totally.

Was this a movement or an anarchy? But I found myself enjoying it. It seemed like an extension of my new-found freedom that I had tasted immediately after leaving my home. Let me spoil myself a bit, I told myself.

One day while I was loitering in the campus, I found Einstein addressing a large students’ gathering spouting words like bullets. I stood behind the group and heard him almost spell-bound. I never knew he was such a fire-spewing speaker.

Suddenly, I got a poke in my ribs. It was Kshirod-da. “Follow me,” he whispered, and began to walk.

We were back to hall, to our room.

“I notice you’re taking unusual interest in politics these days,” he said to me in a grave voice, “And you don’t study at all.”

“No one is reading these days, Kshirod-da,” I said.

“That is no excuse. You should do what you’re supposed to do whatever the circumstances.”

Then without another word, he sat down at his table and began to work out his math problem. After a while I found him ruffling his hair as ever.

How could I communicate across to him that I had been feeling very restive these days, that I had no peace of mind, and that I was drifting away?

Next morning I woke up late. I saw Kshirod-da at his table toiling with his math. But Einstein had already left. I hurried up, took my bath, ate my breakfast and sneaked out the room in a way so that Kshirod-da did not see me.

It was the day of the big program. There would be a huge procession of students . The procession would start from the campus and go all the way to the town and then walk around it. When I reached before the central library, the students were coming in large groups from different halls. The student leaders were still egging on students to join in greater numbers through the microphones.

It was a sea of eager, enthusiastic humanity. I was feeling a kind of solidarity with my fellow students in their fight against the Pakistani junta.

The big procession started to move forward. The slogans from the front rent the air. I was in the middle of the the procession. I was not chanting any slogan. This chanting thing was kind of funny. I never could bring myself to like it. So I was just walking along. Then an interesting thought flashed across my mind. How would my father react if he saw me walking in a procession like this? Ha!

As we came on to the long stretch of road to the town, I could see the sandy shores of the Padma shimmering in the sun. How majestic. I just went there once. I needed to visit there once again.

It was the end of winter, but the sun was hot and we had beads of sweat over our face and neck.

We were at the gateway to the town when the police raided us with batons and tear gas. Suddenly there was a scramble. Noise everywhere. I saw the uniformed men coming toward us maniacally. “Run, run,” somebody shouted among us.

We started running down the way we had just come. We ran and ran. Without any respite, without slowing down even a bit, without glancing at our back. We ran to the best of our strength. It was a run for life — for avoiding the police’s baton, for avoiding the tear gas, for staying unhurt physically. We saw the road slipping past from our feet, we were going away and away from the town. The police were no longer chasing us, but we must not stop.

We could see the gate to our varsity. Wow. We got through it, each one of us, and then slumped down over the grass. It was a marathon. We were all panting. but we were laughing at the same time. Together.

I was exhausted and practically dragged along to reach my room in our hall. The room was open. Kshirod-da was at his table now biting his lips with the pen on a sheet of white paper. He seemed to take a long glance at me. But I didn’t glance back.

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Arin Basu, I’m overwhelmed by your comments. You’re my greatest inspiration now. Is adda translatable?

Gutbloom, why do you recommend it?

Thin Man, have you had time yet to read it?

Thanks to Tessa, mark-john clifford and SF Ali for their appreciation.