Junak Baruah wants to win the prestigious short film competition in his university. But with hundreds of participants and a stellar jury on board, winning means making a film that's never been made before.
And that means breaking the rules and taki...
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Dikhou kept his promise.
The next morning, Junak found himself sitting on the sand bed again and this time he wasn't alone. In front of him sat Dikhou with the dhool on his lap. The breeze from the river was ruffling his hair and the air was set alight with the music pouring out from between his fingers.
Junak was unable to look away. Or even breathe.
Dikhou was a performer. Many people knew how to play an instrument but being a performer required flare. And Dikhou, that goddamn jerk, was filled to the brim with it! From the moment he looked down and his hands met the dhool, it was like he became a different person altogether. He was smiling, banging his head to an exciting tempo, his hands flying, his fingers expertly drumming the dhool.
The music was loud, nearly rattling Junak's bones. His heart had sped up too, as if trying to match pace with the rhythm of the dhool.
Dikhou tapped the single drumstick on the body of the dhool and ended the song. The notes were still echoing in Junak's ears when Dikhou looked up, his lips curled into a smile. "How's this one?"
"I like it," Junak replied. His heart was still wild inside his chest.
Dikhou rested his elbows on the body of the dhool and leaned forward. His sleeves were rolled up, as usual, revealing dark skin along lean muscles. "So, this'll do?"
"Y-Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah." Junak picked up his camera from where it sat on the sand next to him, filming Dikhou. "Yeah. It should."
"You don't sound so sure of yourself," Dikhou said, not unkindly. More... curiously. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"
Junak scowled at him.
Dikhou's smile widened, raising his hands in surrender. "Just asking."
Junak kept the camera on his lap after ending the recording and then leaned back on his palms. The ground was soft and slightly damp under his skin. In front of him, the river flowed lazily, its waters glittering under the sun.
He let out a sigh, wondering what indeed was he doing. He had a plan. It sounded fool-proof. But now, he was less certain. He did not know if they were going to find the actors and the dancers. And there were also his worries regarding the consequences of his film.
He felt like a thief. A liar. How would his grandparents react if (or when) they found out he was making a Bihu song about a lesbian couple? How would the villagers react? Hell, how would the so-called woke people in Guwahati react?
There was going to be a lot of backlashes, and he was suddenly not sure if he would be capable of dealing with it.
Something gently nudged his shoulder and he looked sideways to see Dikhou holding out a water bottle towards him. Junak wordlessly accepted it and put it to his lips.
