The Best Kept Promise

The harsh sniff of American cigarettes and counter hookah smokes had filled the small on-the-way café and burned Jagdish’s eyes. His right-hand rested on the Khaki jacket pocket while the left hand lay lousily stretched on the table top he hated waiting. He had spent the entire day on a filthy inn, waiting eagerly for his meeting. Twenty-one minutes had already slipped into the ocean of time since he arrived and the thick black mud with heart on top, which they called expresso was now cold.

Jagdish had made his trip from Barasat during the night on the aisle he was beside a bone-thin silver man, with sprouting beard, rotten beetle nut chewed teeth and eyes blood shot red. No questions asked; no conversation made. An hour later, he departed all by his own, at dawn, an unsuspecting driver gave him a lift to the holy place on the back of his truck. Jagdish slipped under the heavy tarpaulin while the truck passed though several small villages that didn’t even deserve a small speck on the map. It took him three hours to get into the filthy hotel out from the driver’s car that loaded off here, at somewhere nearer to Dakhineshwar.

Reaching back with his left hand Jagdish left the wall behind him. Matte Surface warm and chalky glancing around the room, the silence that accompanied his arrival was beginning to crack, and the left-over conversation at individual tables restarted, but surely the eye of some cafe patrons were on him. It never left Jagdish.

Tradition and culture has called Dakhineshwar a sacred holy place. He smiled at the thought and in mind credited someone’s twisted idea of humor.

Forty minutes after he arrived, two men in black jumpers entered the café, scrutinized all the tables at a glance and then walked straight towards where he sat.

“Jagdish Banerjee?”

He nodded and motioned the two men sit down.

“Where is she?” he asked, glancing at the door – his voice choked.

“Not far” the shorter of the two muttered.

The men before him smelt of cheap whiskey and body odor sweat ringed their collars and nose and both were in need of a share. The taller man pulled a rolled poloroid photo from his jacket pocket and slid it across the table.

Jagdish picked up the photo and tried not to wince as he looked into the eyes of his brother’s wife she was stripped o the waist and obvious signs of bruises and black spots were visible.

“W.H.E.R.E I.S. S.H.E? he tried to repress his rage grunting under his breath while the adrenalin pumped hard into the nerve vessels.

“Not far, as I said” a bad pronunciation showed how weak the taller man was with the native language.

“Not good enough”

“A short walk” the short man forced a smile.

Through his khaki jacket, Jagdish squeezed the grip of the clock. He felt their eyes on it.

“In time” the man waved to the waiter “Follow us form back to where we – oh!” Something struck him midway as he jogged him arms into the air. After subtle pause, he began.

“Where is the money. We might not go without it”. Jagdish tapped the hard shell case at his feet with the toe of his boot.

“It won’t take long, then” he smiled.

“But before, let us enjoy your hospitality”.

Jagdish turned the Polaroid photo face down and slid back to the adjacent side of the table. He tried hard to erase her face from his mind. Try as he might, he could not bring up the image of his brother and her wedding photo that hung on the wall of their small apartment in Barasat.

Aranya Charvi had been a doctoral candidate at the R. G. Kaur institute when Jagdish’s brother Adrij met her. They married two year and a half later, when Jagdish had to miss the reception for the list of scars that were stitched from an accident that he faced then.

They were happy, in love and were celebrating their first anniversary at Aranya’s parents lace when she was kidnapped a day later. Three days later, Adrij was dead. He committed suicide for no satisfactory reason.

When the suicide note was discovered, it said just one thing – Find her.

“Kabir, what will you have?” the shorter Man asked his partner.

“Would you like a fresh coffee? A decocted one?”

“I want to see my brother’s wife”

“Careful, Yusuf. I think you are annoying him.” Kabir laughed and gave Jagdish a mocking imitation a pout snap.

“We will continue as the refreshment session expires.”

After several minutes, the waiter returned with a tray of two tea cups and a bowl of sugar cubes.
“How long will it take?”

Yusuf looked over the top of his steaming cup at him and blow across the tea.

“Hand the money”

“When I see the girl”

“As you wish” he stood up straight and looked over Kabir something better after” And then gestured Jagdish to follow him the three men left the café by the side door and entered an alley enveloped with brick building. Yards away. Under the street light sat badly worn Maruti van, slightly tilted to the opposite direction.

Yusuf stood by the door of the van. Reaching behind him, he pulled out a revolver from waist belt of his trousers.

“I want no trick from you,” he said waving he pistol in almost a comical manner.

“He, either” Kabir said, also producing a handgun.

“No tricks,” he assured as he set his clock off from the waistband to his feet.

Yusuf yanked the handle and the door to the van slid open Aranya turned and tried to sit up. Rubber Zips made the struggle more difficult for her to open up or move freely. A gush of hot air rolled from the van and a foul stench of urine smell flew into the air. Inside, the floor was covered with rags, torn clothes and what appeared to be vomit. The rag tied around her mouth was stained with sweat and stain of blood. Her eyes met with Jagdish’s and flooded with tears, anger fear. It was terrifying to look at her she looked even worst than the Photo. Her eyes were tired, drenched with depression. Her face had numerous red spots. Her hands were almost halfly covered with gushes of injuries. Even they met only once, but she had made no mistake identifying her brother-in-law.

Jagdish quickly scanned the van for explosives or other members. No one. She was stripped below her waist with bruises everywhere. Aranya’s skin was a canvas for a myriad of cuts scrapes and filth that marked the ninety five days of her captivity.

“Aranya, I’m here to free you; to take you back.”, he ushered softly as he pulled the filthy rag from her mouth and let it hang around her neck.

Her beautiful set of white teeth were yellowed and one of her front teeth was broken nearly to the gums. She jerked her head, as he stroke the greasy matted hair out of her face.

“We have no more use of her with this money, we can get a new better concubine!” Kabir chortled and looked at Yusuf for approval.

“Shut up” his partner growled. Jagdish looked at the two men, his disgust flaring at the thought of what they must have done to Aranya.

“So you got our slave. Give the money and go home” Yusuf blurted, taking a subtle step towards Jagdish.
Jagdish jammed the case towards the two men with his foot unnoticed by either man, he slipped his hand into the pocket. As Kabir pent to pick up the Shell, Jagdish ushered bullet through the top of his head.

Without removing the SIG from the aim, he fired tow into Yusuf’s chest while he was hurrying to pick his gun up. Both men were dead before they feel on the sand covered pavement. Jagdish stepped to the door of the van. The woman inside was not the girls his brother had fallen in love with. She was not the young bride who was taken from her parent’s house a couple of months ago. She was shattered, damaged vessel that barely looked like the young woman who was taken and repeatedly abused by the dead men at his feet.

The promise that he made to Aranya’s parents seemed an eternity ago. The promise to get her back no longer seemed reasonable to him. The daughter they had was dead. Not just the life she led, but mentally. With what kind of life would she live now? Nightmares, depression and terror would eat her up psychologically.

Jagdish drew the pistol from his jacket pocket, put in a bullet and aimed at the lousy weak Aranya’s. He shot the bullet through her heart. “Go to Adrij, sister I promised to send you to him.”

With quick and practiced purpose Jagdish lifted the bode of the kidnappers into the Omni Van. With a sharp metal that lied on the deck of the Van, he excavate a dent on the five gallon gas can fixed under the exterior floor.

He could see gas flowing out and that to deplete it, he shoved a rag on the hole, and then, with his lighter, ignited the far tip of the gar. He tossed the shell case that he filled with newspapers into the van and slid the door shut.

He was a hundred yards away when the sound of the gas tank exploding rocked the silent night and the ball of flame shat heavenwards for Aranya.
For him, he kept his promise… The Best Kept Promise.

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