Prakash was feeling alone in his room. Black shadow hurled by the evening’s faint light was making a gray picture of Prakash on the window’s glass pane. He was barely able to reason out anything but forcefully that he would have to settle down something at least their marriage what he sustained for a long time. Tonight Pritha would come and he would treat her as a queen.
Pritha unlocked the door with the key always kept in her handbag. A splashing sound was coming from the bathroom. Prakash was in wash room. The room was properly arranged and everything was neatly placed in their positions. His laptop was on the bed, open, running.
Pritha knocked the door, “You’ve e-mail, from Mitali Roy.”
“Who is Mitali Roy?”
“How do I know?”
“Wait, just coming.”
Prakash hurried, not for the e-mail but for the hug he reserved in himself to give Pritha for a warm welcome. Prakash came out and reached Pritha; hugged her tightly giving a flush on her cheek. He had planned that he would make these small things in their lives precious, more precious than being a writer. During the hugging a flash light sparked in his brain, “Yes, I know Mitali Roy.”
After so many days from where has she came down; Mitali Roy. Yes. Prakash fumbled out the name from the grave of the past. He was then ten years old and she, the dark complexioned sweet faced girl, was around eight or nine years old; the daughter of the new manager of their tea garden. Ordinary enough to be unnoticed, with her simplicity she mixed herself with Prakash friend’s group and became an inevitable companion. Every afternoon they gathered in the playground and wildly played the outdoor games. Prakash was engrossed in the thought, at far away days.
“What happened? Should we fix the date tonight?”
“Which date?”
“Where are you?”
“Before you.”
“The date of our marriage.”
“Obviously, I’ve summoned you for that.”
“Be seated before me. I’ll check my e-,ail first, then have our dinner and then discuss everything for our future.”
Three times. Three times Prakash eyed through the mail. Is it possible? Apparently absurd but brought everything simple like water.
Pritha gazed at him with a great curiosity in her eyes.
“Say something, please say.”
Prakash arranged himself and started to discuss everything happened during the couple of days in his life and stirred him vigorously.
“Because of that you have decided to marry fast and considered all of them as a nightmare.”
“Of course not. It’s a serious talk. Don’t act flippantly.”
“Anyway, what about your mail? Mitali Roy, your new girlfriend?”
“She was my girl friend when I was ten years old.”
“Interesting.”
“More than interesting if you read it.”
“Prakash
Could you remember me? We have last our contacts before more than fifteen years. I’m Mitali. Once my father was the manager of your Tea garden, Hatipotha. I think you can recall everything. Leaving Hatipotha Tea Estate my father joined a Tea Garden in Darjeeling India
He has already convinced. I did not tell him why I refused that I am familiar to you. Now I am revealing the mystery. Can you remember, in our childhoodduring our game of ‘Bar Bou’, you refused to accept me as your ‘bou’, because of my black complexion? Straight forward you told “That black complexioned girl cannot be my wife.” Can you remember it? When the publisher questioned me, I refused to recognize you. Do you know why? I got a chance to get revenge. Keep contact. I’ll send you my original address. Come to our place. My husband, who is much whiter than you are, is eager to meet you.”
The End
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