Short fiction from Assam: A young revolutionary meets his schoolteacher after many years

The sun shone through the window. For Manai, this day was like any other. As she lowered her feet to the cold floor, they ached. A sharp pain due to her thyroid that she ignored because it was just not that important at that moment. When it got serious, she would deal with it. She could hear Kareng, her eldest daughter, humming a song as she swept the courtyard. Her other daughter, Kare, must be feeding henru leaves to the pigs. The pigs have a good life, she thought to herself as she hobbled towards the kitchen. Her son must have already left to open his small grocery shop near the school where she was headmistress. For a while, everything seemed normal.

“Pei, shall I make saa ke-er for you now?” Kare asked.

“Yes, yes. There is a little sang-pher too, from yesterday. We can have that,” she replied sleepily.

As she headed towards the kitchen for her early morning ritual of gulping a warm glass of water for “good health”, there was a knock at the door.

“Madam, o Madam,” a male voice called from outside. She had half a mind to tell him off and say he should see her at school instead. These parents irritated her with their myriad reasons for late fee payments for their wards and she was tired of addressing their grievances, especially at home.

But she was the headmistress and hence, must deal with them. She went towards the veranda and saw a young man sweating profusely even though it was a cool breezy October morning.

“Yes, what do you want?” she enquired.

“Madam, don’t you recognise me? I am your student Longki,” the young man chirped.

He was tanned and looked malnourished. He wore boots covered in mud and a camouflage jacket that was too big for his lanky frame. Of course, she did not remember this Longki. She had come across so many Longkis in her lifetime. He did not seem to stand out.

“I do not recognise you. I am getting old and my eyesight is not what it used to be,” she lied.

The young man climbed the steps to the veranda and sat down on the mat.

“I used to be classmates with your son. He passed his matriculation and I did not. You see, I am not a headmistress’s but a poor drunkard’s son. Anyhow, that is not why I’m here. How is your son? I heard he has a wife and a son now?”

Manai was a little suspicious of the young man’s behaviour. He seemed to be in a hurry and was irritated. His eyes looked tired. Why is he here at my home so early in the morning and making small talk? she thought.

“My son, are you tired? Shall I make some saa ke-er for you and some fresh sang-pher with noklang? My son is out now and his wife is at her parents’. Did you have some work with him?” she asked him politely.

Longki looked at her and slowly proceeded to take out something from the pocket of his worn-out pants. He kept the object on the inghoi next to him. To Manai’s horror, it was a gun. She could recognise it instantly. She was shocked but she tried to remain calm, as if this was something that happened every day in her life.

“Longki, my son, what do you want with a poor woman like me? I have nothing. I am a poor teacher only…” she started to say.

“Madam, why are you worried? I am not going to harm you. You are on our side and I need your help. Will you not help us?” he asked her. He gestured to her to sit down. He then began to explain to her that he was part of the liberation movement and that their group was running a little low on funds. He only wanted a little contribution from her and he was sure she would help. After all, he was working for the greater good of his people, her people, and their community, was he not? He began to tell her with feverish enthusiasm about his passion to help free their land from the state’s control. Hadn’t they been promised an autonomous state of their own? It would solve all their problems; their poverty and the injustice they suffered at the hands of the state.

Manai knew this story. The demand for statehood had been unsuccessful for so many years. This dream was killing the future of so many young men she knew, especially from the villages. It was a fool’s pursuit. She had tried her best to persuade the young people in her school to aim higher if they wanted to help the community. They could become civil servants, advocates and professors. Well, what could she do? Her children were not any better.

Longki began to speak again, interrupting her chain of thought. “Well, what do you think Madam? Will you help us?”

Manai paused for a moment. She remembered him now. The son of the village drunkard. Both parents had passed away some years ago and their only son had disappeared soon after the funeral. There were rumours. So, this was it. This is what he was up to.

“Ai tema! Longki, you used to work so hard in school. I had high hopes for you. Go to a college, graduate, and then become an officer!” she lamented.

“Madam, will you or will you not?” He grabbed his gun. He did not want to listen to all that. His face started to redden. Manai could sense his rising anger. But what was she supposed to do? She had to try her best to persuade this young man to see reality. Wasn’t she responsible for him? He was her student. Besides, she did not have money with her. She was drowning in debt and her son did not make enough. Her two daughters were in college.

“My son, I haven’t been paid my salary for four and a half months now. The ‘state’ has not even cleared all our earlier dues and I am going to retire in seven months! My family depends on me. Surely you understand. We are on the same side, are we not?” she questioned him back.

Longki was not going to listen to all this. He retorted, almost screaming, “We need to buy bullets for our firearms to fight the state. The army killed two of our comrades in an ‘encounter’. We have to do something for our fallen brothers. We need to send a message. Would you like to be responsible for our failure?”

Kareng had just come in carrying a plate of sang-pher and a glass of water. At first, she was stunned with fear at the sight of the gun and then started screaming. Longki quickly got up and pointed a gun at her, right at her face. Manai was not prepared for that to happen, she could hear Kareng sobbing.

“Longki, please try to understand, will you? I have no money. I understand your stand on the matter but please, we have no money. Leave us be. Why are you and your comrades torturing us if you claim to be working towards our betterment? We are poor. Our enemy is the same.”

Longki, with the gun still pointed at her, and without batting an eyelid, replied, “I understand, but this movement is greater than all of us. We must make sacrifices. I did. Now you must too. I will not hesitate to do anything for this movement.”

Manai knew this was a battle she would not win. Idealistic as she may be, this was getting out of hand. She needed to think fast. Those bangles maybe. But those bangles were the only things left. She went towards her bedroom and took her jewellery box out from under the bed. It was a gift from her husband. With shaking hands, she handed it over to Longki, who took the box and finally lowered his gun. Kareng ran towards her mother.

“I am sorry. I have no choice. We have to do what we have to do,” he said.

The woman did not say anything. He was not going to do anything to her or her daughter. He was truly sorry. He was. But he had greater plans and they too would appreciate that in the future. For now, he must leave.

Excerpted with permission from ‘An Everyday Story’ by Klirni Terangpi in Riverside Stories: Writings from Assam, edited by Banamallika, Zubaan Books.