The Unventured Passions

The Theory of Everything

'6 October 1905
Rangpur

Dear Diary,

My country is burning. We, Bengalis, have perhaps woken up, for the first time, to the fact that our beautiful land was indeed to be partitioned. 'Amar Sonar Bangla', never felt more alive...
We are burning too... Our lands, our hearts, our souls!
I was there on the 16th, by Maa Ganga, chanting that holy mantra, Bande Mataram, over and over again, its what keeps me alive these day, and it was then I realised how integral I'm a part of this land.
I can't flee, their country is not mine, and what is mine is precious... I'll forever.... '

The young man dressed in khakhi hunting suit couldn't write anymore, as a cold metalic weapon nudged at his neck from behind. He had dropped the pen, immediately, and had tried to get up from the cane chair of that moderate forest bunglow, and the long piston on the metal gun made him sit in his place again. The young man closed his eyes and started to take deep breaths, calming his nerves down, if this was how his journey was to end, he'd welcome it like a man!
The noises of the dark night had suddenly amplified, the howls and the crickets, making him aware of his existence, he wasn't dead yet, and the disastrous metal pipe was still pressed to his neck.
The young man opened his eyes, and turned around, and the pistol was now on the hollow of his neck.
He stood up, slowly...

It was dark inside, and the bearer of the weapon had a mask, the head had a black turban and the face was covered with its lose cloth, only the eyes were visible. A Thuggee, the bringer of death!  These weren't uncommon in Rangpur, and the young man knew his chances. He clenched his teeth and fisted his hands, but not in defence, but in protest.

"Why are you here?"
His voice was strong.

The silent assailant didn't reply, instead had picked up the half written diary from the small cane table, eyeing the words.

"Leave me...and my diary."
The young man murmured the last two words, as the vanity of imploration to save his insignificant diary to these ruthless illiterate thugs made him chuckle in silence, his mind suddenly filled with a cruel humour.

"Bande Mataram," a soft yet powerful feminine voice had startled the young man, as his mind severed the vague chain of thoughts at once, making him look up at the speaker, his assailant!
"Bande Mataram, if that's what keeps you alive, then you have no fear of death here, in my land."

The young man had furrowed eyebrows, and his black orbs were trying their best to get an outline of the face that stood infront of him, but instead, he saw the eyes... the green ocean deep eyes!

"Princess, the perimeter is clear, no Thuggees around, shall we go check the west of the forest as well?"
The question came from a man's voice, as the female quickly replied, "At once, go ahead, I'll meet you at the riverbank."

'Princess!!'
The young man gasped, now left alone with his mystery attacker, with enchanting eyes!

"Why are you here? The Thuggees would kill anything that looks British...and the deaths aren't pleasant."
The 'Princess' had kept the diary back on the table, the gun too was lowered now, and the young man smiled gently at her question.

"So deaths can be pleasant too?"

"Why not?" The woman was now roaming around the small room, her vigilant eyes always alert of unannounced threats.
"For example, me dying for my country, or you dying in your wife's arms."

The young man chuckled, the initial feeling of hateful fear had taken shape of an inexplicable likability, rather, at that moment her words infact were intriguing him to another awakening.