A Tale Of Two Brothers

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The lawlessness was still persisting.

It had been months since the riots. But nothing was calm. Some of the temporary police stations that were set up during the strikes, were withdrawn. This encouraged the Muslims and violence to continue. There were meetings held at public places, where the Muslims threatened the Hindus of manslaughter. The moderate Muslims who helped to hide the Hindus in their homes previously, said that they'd not be able to helo them this time.

A meeting was announced in the market by beating of drums. Thousands of Muslims were approached. The Hindus began to flee, fearing for their lives. A sea of Hindu refugees flooded the local railway stations. The government announced on 22nd March that, no meetings could be held in public places, but private grounds like mosques could be used for gatherings. The next day, 23rd March was observed as Pakistan Day. About five thousand Muslims marched throughout the city in procession, chanting slogans and criticising the Hindus for their treatment of Dalits.

There were reports of snatchers invading Hindu homes. Muslims would take whatever they wanted; anything that fancied them or just daily shopping. Cattle were being stolen, Paddy plants were being uprooted on Hindu-owned lands. Even though Hindus did most of the weaving, Muslims demanded that fifty percent of the loom licenses must belong to them. There were attempts to close down shops, rid the marketplace of the Hindu shops and merchants. Many Hindus who rebuilt their houses after the strike, were forced to leave the entire district. When they'd go to complain in police stations, the Muslims would threaten them to compromise.

The family didn't leave their house for days, until the unrest came to a sleep. The house would always be stocked with food so a growling stomach was never a problem. But they consumed food sustainably, the unawareness of the situations' end clouding them.

Rudra, seemed unaffected by what had happened the other day. He didn't speak much about it with his family and they never forced him. During this mist of political anger, he spent most of his time reading. He had always been a huge fan of realism, and hence read books like Oliver Twist and the entire catalogue of Virginia Woolf. He also had an inevitable love for poetry; Rumi, Byron and T. S. Elliot among others. In this new house, he had a tiny library in the living room, of wood and about eighty-seven books on it. He'd read all of them.

He sometimes paced around the entire house, reading. He had the ability to read while walking, the book usually in his right hand and the other resting on the small of his back. Rudra did this while preparing for exams walking to school, or at home, in classrooms, campus. Nothing could distract him. He said that walking helped him concentrate better, and as he was a slow reader, he preferred another activity of his body going on.

Adrith would at times have to hold his hand while walking on the road to prevent him from dying by a bus or tram, his nose in To The Light House. But he was the one to buy that copy of Woolf's classic. He had actually gifted many other classic novels to his brother for his birthdays, saving his pocket-money and now salary to buy him first-hand books. He'd always do it in advance, placing an order at the bookstore nearby and then waiting for it to arrive at least a day before the birthday. He'd always wrap it in coloured papers, even though he knew his younger brother would figure it out.

But at present, Adrith was more concerned about his little brother. He remembered as a child if anyone ever bullied Rudra, he'd be upset, traumatized at times. He not only used to choke those bullies with his thin arms, but also had to talk his brother down. But now, it was as if Rudra was untouched, unaffected, grown-up. At times, he attempted to ask the younger one about that day, but he stayed quiet, fearing to open up the gate of a terrifying memory. All Rudra had told them that the college was under attack and he was held up by an attacker. What happened next, how'd he escape, where was he the entire day was still a mystery.

The moments he didn't spend worrying about Rudra, he thought of Anita. He'd wonder about her safety, whether she'd leave the house or not, her family was protecting her or not. He'd written her many letters but wasn't sure how to send them. So Adrith piled them up in a small rectangular steel box, with a paddle and hid it under the bed his brother slept on. Many-a-times at dinner, he'd think of the chapatis and vegetables she'd make for him and pack it in tiffins (lunchboxes), hiding it from her family, feeding him morsels with her own hand. He missed smelling her hair, all coconutty. Her hands always smelled of food, natural spices and warm marinades.

Adrith had never touched her, and at times, he wished he did. He wanted to know what she tasted like, how her body moved when he'd tickle her down her spine - under her blouse. Her hair were like thunderstorms, and cheeks like summer and skin looked like marble; he thought to himself. He thought of her at nights, in the lonely cold winters. He looked at the moon and missed her face, smiling widely, as if he knew that her beauty was rising from her face and piercing the clouds to scream a Fuck You! to the moon.