WHEN DARKNESS FALLS

Pintu Naskar

Bhola examined his surroundings carefully with his piercing eyes. It was almost 2 in
the night. The streets were lifeless. A strange and suffocating silence was lingering
everywhere. Only the shrill voice of an owl was breaking this silence and trying to provide
this exhausted world some life. This year, winter came a little earlier. It was just November
and Bhola was shivering. But he could understand it very well that he was shaking not
because of cold, but by the tension and fear within him. He felt the sweat of his forehead with
his palm. Standing under a lamppost, he lit up a bidi1. The light of the post extinguished after
blinking a few times.
Bhola was staring at a house in front of him. Everyone was asleep and the doors and
windows were closed from inside. Suddenly he got angry and restless. He whispered, “These
rich people – these rogues – they are responsible for our misery.” Bhola cursed them and felt
a little peace in his heart. Then he flicked the bidi away, and went beside the house. He was
eyeing this house for a few days and noticed that only a middle-aged, wealthy man and his
wife were staying there. Bhola started climbing up the pipe connected to the house and since
it was just a one-storey house, he reached the roof quite easily. He wiped the sweat of his face
with the sleeve of his dirty shirt. Then he went towards the iron gate of the attic and started
cutting the aluminium sheet attached to the gate with his knife. After doing this, he could
reach the lock, and broke it with some acid, he did not know the name.
Bhola successfully entered the house. He turned on his broken torch, which he got as
a gift in his marriage. At first, he found the kitchen and opened the fridge. He took out the
leftover chicken. He had not eaten anything for almost a day. Bhola thanked God for the
food. He could not remember when was the last time he ate chicken. But as soon as he took
the meat close to his mouth, the voice of his little daughter resonated to his ears - “Baba, I
want to eat rice and fish.” Bhola ate the food with an unbearable pain within his chest. Then
he went towards the bedroom and pushed the door gently. It opened without making a noise.
His heart was suddenly beating so fast that he became afraid of making some noise. The man
and his wife were deeply asleep. Bhola took two mobile phones and a wrist watch from the
small table beside the bed. He did not have the courage to stay at the house for a few minutes
more.

1
A smoking object.
 The road was still deserted. A gentle breeze was trying to sooth Bhola’s disturbed
mind. His shirt got wet. He took out a bidi again from his pocket. As soon as the fumes of the
bidi started going up, his discomfort seemed to dissolve. He sat on the footpath and felt the
mobile phones in his pocket. A cruel smile came to his lips. Suddenly, he noticed that a thin,
middle-aged man was staring at him. The man was sitting just a few yards away and wearing
a black shawl.
“Who are you?” Bhola broke the silence.
The man remained silent.
“Are you deaf? What are you doing here?” Bhola tried to make his voice heavier. He
became a little anxious because this stranger could snatch his things away. “This lockdown
has turned so many people into thieves,” he thought.
“I am Bimal Naskar. I came here for some work,” The man said with a harsh voice.
Bhola gave a wry smile and started, “Work! Who will give you work now? The entire
country has lost work. People are starving to death. This Corona has taken away everything
from us. Even if we survive this disease, the poverty will surely kill us.” Bhola looked at the
sky blankly.
Bimal came beside Bhola and offered him a bidi.
“So… where are you coming from?” Bhola asked putting the bidi in his lips.
“From a village near Canning.”
“Okay… Since we have nothing to do now, let me hear your story. What made you
come here and all.”
Bimal remained silent for a few seconds, perhaps trying to arrange his thoughts, and
then started, “I live in a village which is 10 kms. away from Canning station. We have two
sons and a daughter. My mother stays with us for six months, and next six months to my
brother. Before lockdown, I used to come to the station by my cycle, and then catch the train
for Dhakuria. I used to work in a biscuit company as a labour. Then in the last one year
everything has changed. I’ve lost my job. I didn’t have any idea how to run my family. I’ve
tried so many things – selling vegetables, working as a labour here and there – but failed
miserably. Then I called a relative here in Kolkata and he asked me to come to his house. He
would try to help me find some work. In the morning, I’ll look for his house. I’ve walked
enough today.”
Bimal paused for a moment. It seemed that he was trying to call up something he just
forgot. He started again, “My brother is such a scoundrel. He has refused to take care of our
mother and said on her face, ‘I don’t have money to feed you in this situation. Either go to
Bimalda’s house or die on the road.’ So, she is staying with us now. But, for the last 4 days
she has been suffering from fever. I wanted to take her to the hospital, but she refused, ‘I’m
not going anywhere. The doctors are killing the patients as they can’t cure them.’ I don’t
know who informed this to her. But this too can be true. When I was leaving home today in
the morning, she just told me, ‘come home before I am dead.’ ”
Bhola started feeling cold now. The cold breeze was hurting his bare face. Only two
shirts were not enough to beat this cold. Bimal noticed it and offered his muffler.
“You don’t need it?” Bhola asked.
“You need it more than me. I’ve the shawl.”
Bhola wrapped the muffler tightly on his ear and began to tell his tale.
“My story is almost same to yours. Nothing much to add. I’ve a son and a daughter in
my family. My pregnant wife died two months back. She had some complexities while giving
birth to our third child. I failed to provide her enough doctors and medicines. I used to sell
vegetables and fruits on my van before a university hostel. Then this terrible disease came
and students went home and the days of starvation started in our family. Now, sometimes I
try to sell vegetables but can not make profit. My children have not eaten anything since
yesterday. In the morning, I’ll sell some things I have and buy some rice. Today is my
daughter’s birthday, you know.I asked her, ‘What do you want on your birthday?’ And she
said, ‘Baba, I want to eat rice and fish.’ ”
Bhola could not say anything more. He closed his eyes and reclined to the lamppost
beside him. Tears flowing on his cheeks. Both of them did not speak a word for long time.
The darkness of the night began to illuminate slowly. Birds started chirping here and there.
Sometimes, newspaper hawkers were passing the road with their cycle.
Bimal took out a packet of puffed rice from his bag, and said, “Give it to your
daughter and tell her that an uncle has gifted this.”
Bhola smiled. Suddenly he remembered of the two apples he theft from the house. He
brought them out and gave one to Bimal. They started eating the apples silently.
After a few minutes, they stood up. For the first time, they noticed each other vividly
and it appeared to them that they were not different – they were like one person with different
faces – they were like one soul.
“So… We have to leave now. It’s a new day and we must find ways to survive the
day. Oh yes… your muffler.”
Bimal did not take it back. He said with a smile, “Keep it. It’s a gift from another
sufferer like you. Good bye. Your children are waiting too.”
 They started walking in the opposite directions. They were unable to see much of the
road in front of them due to the thick fog.
Bio: Pintu Naskar was born and brought up in a small village of South 24 Parganas, West
Bengal. After passing his graduation from Ramakrishna Mission Residential College,
Narendrapur, he went to Santiniketan for higher studies, and now is an M. Phil. research
scholar at Visva-Bharati. He has taken up his pen to portray the sufferings and misfortunes of
people who are struggling every moment to survive. His short stories and poems have been
published in several books and magazines, such as “Caravan”, “Labanya” etc.