The coup.

Smriti and I exchanged worried glances wondering whether everything had gone as planned. Kasim should have been back at the cottage by then; he was late by 10 minutes. The candle flame flickered, listing more in the direction of the silent, cool breeze that was blowing outside. The power cuts were more frequent, and nobody seemed to complain. A bead of anxious sweat trickled down her neck, finally getting absorbed into her dull pink blouse.

"Kasim's always late; I am positive he must have stopped over at Mishra's for a puff.", she sighed and looked in the general direction. Had she not smiled, I would have missed the humor, and would have assumed that Smriti had succumbed to the mounting pressure.

Smriti's smile in her eyes had always been the explaining factor to her cryptic retorts, and caustic humor. I was proud that I could figure out what was in her mind, though I did have to wait for the befuddled sentence, and the explanation in the eyes, of course.

The wait continued. We both played with the same thoughts, "Where the heck was Kasim? I hope he is not dead."

* * *

Should I hope to find a gold ring inside this one's tummy or what? Atleast that is what it looks like the way you have priced this one!", jibed the young Bengali lady to the fish vendor. I looked up from my tobacco chore, with a lit match cupped in my palms.

The matchstick flame burnt my fingertips enough to distract me from the haggling girl, clad in a white sari and a crimson colored blouse that blended well with the border of the former garment. I uttered a silent shriek, and her eyes darted in my direction, catching me suck on my sore finger.

"Are you alright, Sir?", inquired the girl with a touch of concern, taking a step towards me.

"No, I am not 'alright'", I said with a twinkle of mischief. "I am Kaushal, that's what my grandmother named me; Kaushal Roy" I wasn't trying to flirt with her, and after having blurted the first words that came to my head, I hoped she would take it in the right spirits.

"Well, that's good then, as I didn't want to be the cause of any arson early this morning." Her smile heard my sigh of relief, but her instant reply presented me with a new warrior of wits, it did seem to have a touch of naughty pride, or had I taken the place of the fish vendor now. She didn't give me any time for a comeback; her basket of groceries sans fish, changed hands, and grabbing the free end of the sari with the same hand, she walked by me saying, "Have a good day, Mr. Roy."

My eyes followed her till the end of the crowded street. Just when I was about to turn my back and swing my way, had she not turned around and given me a glance with those spirited eyes, she would have slipped away into sweet oblivion.

I thought to myself, 'She could be the one.'

* * *

The fragrance of the jasmine flowers in her hair spruced everyone's spirit in the room as she playfully walked in to the conference, albeit a minute late. Her eyes caught mine, and she had the same expression in them the day I saw her first.

It would be a lie if I say I was not in love with her, and it would not be the truth if I said otherwise. The whorl of emotions that played upon my mind is inexplicable as it was never understood by me. I doubt, if she ever fathomed my thoughts.

The Civil Disobedience movement had been declared by Gandhi, and the 1857 uprising was being incarnated by the day. I considered myself a revolutionary, and peaceful talks were my first attempt, but if that did not help, I would have had no qualms about an exploding situation. The difficult part was getting the others to believe in themselves and in me. Something more difficult than that would be finding 'the others'.

It was quite a coincidence that I arrived in to Midnapore in the summer of 1942, a few months before the announcement of the movement. The patriot in me survived the 2 years of academia spent abroad, and I was back, with a mindset to make a difference. I was holding my patience reins, everytime I seen and read about the atrocities committed by the British Government. My father was a very influential and affluent man, but political enough to keep the British at a distance. I respected him for that, but there were times when he had to give in.

Having stepped onto my motherland, I kept an eye open for fellow thinkers and revolutionaries. They could be disguised anywhere working as a sweeper to the horse-cart pusher to the clerk who held a high position in the law courts.

Lallan was my first hope in this foray of revolution. Lallan performed his duties as a priest, performing morning worship rituals at the Kali temple located next to the town center. I circled the temple in an attempt to locate him, but it was futile. And I didn't want to hound Lallan out of his house, as that would spoil the surprise. I hadn't informed anybody that I was returning. I even wondered how he would react on seeing me.

I was born a non-believer, and stayed away from any religious activities as much as I could. My mother, the person who helped me take this stand, used to enforce sanctions if temple worship was not attended twice a day, especially since I was born into a Brahmin family. Lallan was the priest's grandson, and grew to be my best friend due to similarity in thoughts. Lallan disliked all the activities associated with temple worship, but he grew up to be a priest, as it gave him easy access money to survive, and pursue his interests in journalism. He was a glib talker, managed to gain access to inaccessible places, squeeze news out of situations and people, and provide them to Kasim, the news editor. Kasim would then publish them under a pseudonym.

Talking of Kasim, he was next on the list to be surprised. I was about 99% percent sure that Kasim's reaction would be exactly the way my dad reacted. That would be nada or zilch. But once in a while, Kasim does the unexpected, hence the reserved one percent.

(To be continued...)