A Tale Of Two Brothers

IV

There was always so much else to look forward to.

A legend had died. It was the years' most devastating news for Indians - especially the Bengalis, even though the world was still at war. Rabindranath Tagore - the passion of Bengalis.

But passion can often turn into obscenity, or worst - insanity. At his funeral, many people surrounding tried and successfully plucked hairs from his head. They didn't even let the cremation take over - before his body was completely consumed by fire, people broke into the cordon to search and pick up keepsakes of his bones or something else.

That was all the news broadcast that day, almost on every radio channel in India at least. Adrith kept changing the channels, sitting at the window, adjusting the antenna, manipulating the controls and rotating the tuner at an extremely slow pace. At the same time, he was also trying to fix the other radios for a little extra paise (rupees). He had started teaching at a primary school nearby, to help his family earn a living, now that Rudra's university was expensive. The city itself was an exorbitant move.

Due to Rudra's school and Adrith's long hours of work, the brothers barely saw each other now. They were still the beginning and end of each other's days - but sometimes that was it. The brothers no longer smoked cigarettes together at nights. They'd still share a smoke in the evenings with a glass of masala chai, but that was it. Adrith now had colleagues for friends in the school he taught, whereas Rudra was still younger - his friends were students with pocket moneys and good studious backgrounds. Not all of them were rich, but some of their parents worked with the Whites.

Nevertheless, Rudra missed his elder brother - an astonishing thing he thought, for he didn't live afar. But it was one of the pains of growing up. The tuitions he'd get, the smokes they'd share, the games they'd play, the radio they'd listen to in silence with BBC or All India Radio on - to keep track with all that was going on at the various battlefields:

The Quit India Movement was on the move and The Muslim League protested the act - keeping in close touch with the British Raj. They were the ones who also agreed with the Indian Army participating in the international war, to Britain's aid. It was through them, their leader - Sir Muhammad Iqbal - that the "Two-Nation Theory" was introduced. They wanted a separate country - a land only for them, because they were muslims. Their intention was clear, to bisect the very earth - a plan that was in the talks for years now.

Adrith, to Rudra's shock, agreed with that sentiment. "Shouldn't Hindustan belong to the Hindus, anyways?" he said plainly. It wasn't necessarily a question, but a statement.

"I think right now, that should be the least of our worries," Rudra replied, his eyes narrowed at his older brother. "Besides, if anyone should leave, it's the East India Company. They are the ones who have forced us into war."

"This war will lead to revolutions. It may justify our freedom!"

"War has no justifications. Only blood."

"Exactly. The blood that brave soldiers are bleeding for us!"

"There's nothing brave about war," Rudra replied, a little harshly now. "It is an act of absolute cowardice!"

"Oh is that s-?"

"Enough, you two!" Their father scolded from the entrance of their room. Both of their heads snapped to look at him. He was upset. They knew it by the crease forming on his forehead like snakes were crawling, and the wrinkles forming on his nose and between the eyebrows.

There was a pause before he said, "Dinner is ready. Your mother is waiting." His voice was heavy, harsh. His fists were closed, knuckles - white. Just when they thought he'd say something else, he turned and left, disgust present on his face.

Adrith got up quickly, adjusting his muslin dhoti and then slicking his thin moustache. "There's a real world beyond your books, little brother," he paused for a moment then said, "the world looks at it differently."

He left the room.