Gems are always rare to find. It took almost two years to find a suitable bride for Rupam. Last month, after astrological consultations, he was married to a homely bride of his family’s choice. Unlike other rebellious young men, Rupam had given his father, Bikash, who ran a medical store at Chakdah, the freedom to choose on his half.

Many times Bikash had, at the dinner table, asked his son, “Tell me if you love any girl and want to marry her. I have no objections if you chose your life partner. Just make sure she is a Hindu.”

“Who do you think would love an ordinary looking fellow like me? I leave it all to you. Tie me anywhere you like. A slim beauty is all I desire, complexion hardly matters,” Rupam said.

Bikash Babu was more than happy to know Rupam’s submissive views and so he put in extra effort to select a girl for his only son who had failed in B.Sc twice but was an expert in recalling drug names and their groups. A distant Uncle in Majdia town known for mangoes had given leads about two sisters. The younger of the two was finally chosen after Rupam and his father had seen her from close quarters. The couple’s brief, private stroll in the garden lined with Asoka trees, settled everything. Lopa won because of her smile and a little smattering of English and singing that she had managed from watching cable television programmes.

Rupam took several snaps from her portfolio that day, promising to take her to his house where she would live like a princess. Bikash Babu was satisfied with his son’s choice, and their union was formalised in a pompous way, with three hundred guests and sumptuous seafood making this marriage a memorable, extravagant affair in the small town.

Late in the night, Bikash Babu wept buckets in front of the portrait of his deceased wife, Purnima, who succumbed to a mysterious viral infection almost fifteen years ago. Not once had he thought of second marriage though many offers had come his way, only in the fear that his young son would suffer cruelty and neglect because of the stepmother. He was glad to have fulfilled the promise of raising his son well.

When asked where he would prefer to go for honeymoon, Rupam chose Shimla, with Lopa seconding his choice like a dutiful wife. Bikash Babu was quick to grant his wish and sponsor the trip to the hills.

Today, seeing Rupam and his wife lying wrapped in white sheets, he regretted having listened to him, regretted having sent the newly wed couple to such a distant place during winter.

“Why did I do this? Why did it happen so? They paid for my sins…what more I have to lose now… nothing…everything lost…forever…” he spoke aloud, beat his chest dense with grey hair and broke into uncontrollable sobs.

Instead of a son carrying the urn for immersion in the river Ganga, Bikash Babu carried the last remains of his dear son. On his way back from the burning ghat, he had an unexpected sympathiser in Som Babu who ran a branded shoe shop next to his. A local political heavyweight, the secretary of the Byabsayee Samiti unit two, had members often rushing to him with their problems and grievances.

Som Babu put his arm across Bikash Babu’s broad shoulder and said haltingly, “Accept the harsh truth. It is God’s will. We, ordinary mortals, have no control. You should forget all worries and lead a retired life now. Enough hard work. Take rest. Moreover, for whom should you work so hard and why?”

Bikash Babu saw merit in his words. “Perhaps you are right. Strange are the ways of God. We do not understand them,” Bikash Babu added, a tad philosophically. Little idea did he have that the sympathetic man would, after walking a stretch of molten asphalt with him, spring a nasty surprise.

As they reached the truck waiting to bring them back, Som Babu said, “What have you thought of the shop? Sell it. Put the money in the bank, fixed deposit, earn interest, do religious work and relax. That is the best way. If there were no responsibilities to shoulder, I would have joined you. But before you sell it, let me know once. I will make sure that you get a fair deal.” He gently pressed his hand.

Bikash Babu took time to understand what he actually meant.

The amazing substitution and multiplication of worries never lets one live in peace. Bikash Babu poured over the offer and on how important it was to have an inheritor. He wondered how his son’s death had emboldened Som Babu’s desires of grabbing the adjacent shop. He did not even think that the occasion was not suitable for such business talk. And he ended up making an indecent offer to buy his shop and pack him off on a pilgrimage where he would also perish as his son and daughter-in-law did.

Som Babu was not invited to the shraddh ceremony. Bikash Babu had wanted to make it clear that he was not interested in having people who did not wish for his well being but were opportunists to the core. The world is full of such people, and it was his misfortune to come across a hypocrite like Som Babu. People talked in hushed tones about the rift – although the cause was not apparent – between the two shopkeepers who waged a war of words that sometimes spilled over. In order to disturb Bikash, Som sent fake customers and bogus property agents who came at odd hours to enquire whether he wanted to sell the shop. He fobbed them off in an uncouth manner, pledging to make them eat dog food if they dared to venture with such proposals again, making his voice loud and clear to Som Babu who overheard everything from behind the newspaper he was clutching with ring-studded fingers to control all malevolent planets.

Aged 59, Bikash Babu had maintained himself well. He manned his business wearing trousers and a white inner vest most of the day. He ate little, avoided junk food and drank plenty of milk. His hair was jet black, and he looked a decade younger than what he actually he was. When Rupam was alive, he was considered by many to be his elder brother.

Not the one to give up in the face of adversity, it was Bikash Babu’s turn to rebel against the norms laid down by society, to challenge destiny. His first bouncer was indeed a bolt from the blue. He came home one day with a youthful wife, who was fit to be his daughter. There is no law preventing a widower from remarrying, or any law saying that an old man cannot marry a young girl. This prized catch of his happened to be Rupa, the elder sister of his son’s bride, who had no problem in marrying him because he was financially well off.

Som Babu launched a massive drive to tarnish his image as a womaniser, quite forgetting what his son, Rupam had done to a maid servant’s daughter last year near the canal where he and his inebriated friends had waylaid her. Such allegations did not affect Bikash Babu, as he knew why he said so. He maintained a dignified silence and spoke to some acquaintances with rare honesty, “I needed a companion, so I married. I have done no wrong. This is not exploitation. I have not molested or raped in sexual frustration.”

A wave of public sympathy greeted him and others saw reason in his arguments, regretting that some elements had incited them to lash out at him in this fashion to wreck his social esteem. This objective was, however, not achieved.

Som Babu grew jealous that his peer was enjoying a curvaceous woman whereas he was deprived of such pleasure. Bikash Babu guzzled gallons of pure milk, rubbed all available potions and lotions to revitalise his sexuality lying dormant for so many years. It was quite like an unused pistol that gathered rust but it would fire excellent shots if oiled properly. The proof of that was there for all to see in less than a year. His wife gave birth to a son, delivered before the due date in a state-of-the-art nursing home at Kalyani. He was ecstatic to be a father at sixty and soon threw a party to celebrate this success in the very first attempt and distributed saris and blankets to the poor on a Sunday when mendicants came in droves from distant towns for alms.

He now forgot all about his preceding sorrow, as if he had never undergone any trauma. More than anything else, he was happy he could protect his property from usurpers like Som Babu. This child would solve all his problems, and he thanked the Almighty for this wonderful gift to him. He took his wife and infant to a temple to offer prayers. On returning home, he sent a box full of sugar-free mithais to Som Babu’s house just round the corner through a servant. His aged, wrinkled wife took the sweets and passed on the message to Som Babu who was then enjoying a massage in the next room.

It had been a long time they had actually spoken to each other. Every evening Bikash Babu brought his little son to the shop, and kept him in a pram in an airy corner and watched him smile.

One such evening while he was entering the shop, Som Babu intercepted his way and pulled the red chubby cheeks of the baby, “How sweet! How cute! Not like you at all! Features sharp like mother’s perhaps. Fairer than you…”

Bikash Babu was not interested in this description of the newborn, and he proceeded to what he was waiting to blurt out, “I have saved my shop. From sharks and pests who move in the guise of men posing as friends and well-wishers.” This barbed remark did not miss the target. Feeling encouraged as Som Babu was unusually quiet, he continued to spew fire in an overt manner this time, “Let me see what you can do to take away my shop.”

In a jocular tone to drain out bad blood, Som Babu said, “Listen, friend, I have a plan to share. I would ask my grand daughter to marry your son. She will seduce him and everything will be mine. Including this big shop of yours. Then it will be one family. We relatives. Nice idea, isn’t it?”

Bikash Babu squirmed at the thought that such dirty plans were taking shape in Som Babu’s mind. He was speechless and took away his son home, never brought him to the shop again otherwise Som Babu would cast sinister influence on him. The following day he tied several talismans like copper coins, black thread, capsule shaped roots of rare plants on the baby’s wrists, arms and waist. A big black dot on the forehead and another below the right ear appeared.

One fine morning, Bikash Babu was boiling milk for his infant while his wife, Rupa was having a bath. A young man tapped on the door and said aloud, “Baba, where are you? Baba, your son is here. Embrace me, take me, Baba, open this door or I will break it, Baba.”

The shrill cries reached him in the kitchen and he rushed to the door, pulling up his short pant. “Is this a football that you are kicking? Who are you and why are you shouting here? Who is your father here? Go away, this is Bikash Ray’s house. Shanti Villa. See the letterbox, idiot,” Bikash Babu shot back with large brown eyes.

The young man fell at his feet and grabbed his legs. Bikash Babu wanted to free himself but the young man tightened his grip. He suddenly broke into tears and said, “Baba, forgive my mother for she is no more. She remembered you a lot on her deathbed. She gave me your photo, address and took a promise that I should join you after her death. She died last week. In this letter to you, she has sought mercy. Please forgive us, or her soul will torment you. Accept me. I promise to be a good son, will look after you well.”

Hearing snatches of this loud discussion, Rupa came out and grabbed the photograph that Bikash babu was holding. She was shocked to find her husband in the arms of a beautiful lady.

Bikash Babu tried to explain, “Look, Rupa, this is not my photo, definitely some look alike. I do not know this woman at all. This boy is a fraud. I do not know where he has come from?”

She started crying hoarse. Hearing her wails, some snooping neighbours came out and crowded at their doorstep as if some film shooting was on. Holding the photograph in her hand to enable others to see, Rupa beat her breast and offered a good glimpse of it to several males who fixed their gaze at her deep cleavage. “Is this my husband’s dead wife?” she managed to ask.

An aged neighbour, Paresh, a postal agent saw it carefully before saying, “But Purnima di was never like this at all? Who is she, Bikash Babu?”

“My mother,” the young man pitched in, “his second wife in Bankura.”

Bikash Babu felt like slapping the young fellow who introduced himself as Tapan, twenty-one-year-old, looking much taller and fairer than Bikash, with absolutely no similarities with him. From his trunk he produced more damning evidence that established his illicit relationship and narrated to a spellbound audience the entire story of Bikash Babu’s torrid love affair. His jaw dropped all through the startling revelations of a juicy, spicy narrative, finding it incredible to associate himself as the doer of such mischief.

The proofs were circulated to the people around and they examined everything closely, arriving at the conclusion that truth had finally tumbled out despite Bikash Babu’s best efforts to keep it hidden. In their opinion, Bikash Babu had to accept Tapan as his son.

Rupa threw herself on the ground, almost hysterical, expressing worries about her own insecure future, “What will happen to my child and me now?” She stood up, hair unkempt after shampoo bath, and grabbed his white collar to seek an explanation. “Why did you ruin my life this way? What wrong did I do? First, my sister died here. Now I am worse than dead.” She slipped down his chest and tore off some golden buttons of his polyester shirt. There was nothing Bikash Babu could say in his defence, because all evidence went against him. He was quiet, and his stiff upper lip stained with betel juice made matters worse. His silence was understood to be a tacit acceptance of his misdemeanour.

What went against him was the fact that a man who could marry at sixty could also indulge in carnal peccadilloes during his youth. And poor Tapan was the result of one such encounter. The immediate effect of this high pitched drama was that his wife packed her bags and took the infant along with her to her father’s home and promised to teach her husband a nice lesson in court, as that would be their next meeting place. There was nothing he could do to stop her determined march.

The local parallel judiciary comprising goons and small-time politicians ordered that Bikash Babu should adopt Tapan immediately and atone for his misdeeds by donating two bottles of his precious B negative blood to an ailing party leader who needed it immediately.

The head of the local body asked, “Dada, one personal question. Are there more such cases and heirs hidden elsewhere?” They broke into giggles and Bikash Babu stomped out in disgust, which was taken as an affront. He was not able to understand who this Tapan was and why he had come. Bikash Babu tried to bring his wife and infant son back but there was no way he could reach out and change the course of his life that had once again derailed. This kind of trouble he had never expected to arise in his life.

Tapan took avid interest in Bikash Babu’s business and sold medicines. Bikash Babu treated him like a servant and abused him. Tapan bore all this insult with a smiling face. He was gradually able to take up more responsibilities. One day, Bikash Babu wanted to go and bring his wife back, perhaps make one last attempt from his side, hoping that her anger must have melted by now. There was no other assistant willing to stay the whole day so he reluctantly gave the keys to Tapan who snatched the bunch and promised not to give him any reason to complain.

His journey proved unsuccessful; Rupa was adamant, unwilling to stay with an unfaithful husband. She spoke to him through a partly open window. He came back disappointed and stayed away from his shop for two days, seeking refuge in alcohol. He had forgotten all about the business he ran. All that he did was abuse Tapan for ruining his life, pledging to bump him off one day. He just could not think of tackling this nuisance; there was political pressure to bear, and on the personal front, Rupa just would not budge from her earlier decision. There was not a single friend he could turn to for advice or consolation; he had never felt so alone and pushed to the wall. He had jettisoned hope that Rupa would once again breeze into his life. Even gods were opposed to their reconciliation. With each passing hour, he grew more confident of this fear turning into a stark, permanent reality.

A posse of policemen stood in front of his house one sultry morning. The inspector broke open the wooden door after it was not opened despite being banged. Bikash Babu had just woken up and was proceeding slowly towards the verandah when the inspector held his arm and ordered the constables to handcuff him.

Bikash Babu said haltingly, “Stop! Stop! First, tell me the matter. I am a respectable citizen. You cannot take me like this. I also know the law.” He stood like a stubborn bull near the gothic pillar, wanting to be explained his crime first. They produced a lanky man who confessed to having bought a drug from his medical store that was not to be sold without a medical practitioner’s prescription and an overdose of that had been administered to kill a politician. Conspiracy. “But I did not sell it. I am innocent. He must have taken it from somewhere else and is trapping me. I have never seen this ugly face. I am innocent. Leave my hand,” Bikash Babu said defiantly.

They did not listen to his pleas and dragged him all the way to the market place where they had parked the police van near his medicine shop. Everything happened so fast that he could not explain his whereabouts in the last few days. He named Tapan but a person of this name was not found anywhere. He even said Tapan was living with him as his son and the entire town knew it. None admitted that in front of the cops. Nothing seemed to work; relationships genuine and fake had all ruined him.

As the van gathered motion and spewed black smoke, he saw Som Babu and Tapan embracing each other, and offering sweets to each other near his shop. He lunged forward, slapped the windows, abused Som Babu and his aide, promising to teach them a lesson. This threat did not reach their ears. They separated only to make room for the third – Rupa with her child. Tapan kissed her forehead and gave her a bear hug. Som Babu blessed them with both his hands as if they were a married couple. Tapan held the infant and walked with Rupa who looked very happy in his company. Bikash Babu drew the attention of the police to the receding scene. He thumped the windows of the van again with great force like a ferocious animal wanting to be unleashed. He rubbed his eyes to assure himself of what he saw was real. He reeled off expletives and threatened to burn them all alive very soon. Two armed constables pushed Bikash Babu inside, and one of them held the butt of his rifle near Bikash Babu’s blabbering mouth and asked him to behave properly or else he would be kept behind bars for the rest of his life. Unable to bear the sight, he closed his eyes and fell on his knees and wept as Rupa did.