The Night

Nisha Gandhi At some point when the night was nearing its end, he woke up and stepped outside. He walked past the eastern latrine towards the back of room number three. In the dim glow of the lantern in front of the guard’s room, he could see through the slightly open window. Everyone else was fast asleep. The broken door stood ajar, as if left open for someone. One look was enough. Nothing more was needed! The valleys of Khazak were covered in mist. The trees shivered in the cold. Even though it was past ten o’clock, the sun was nowhere to be seen. Children were probably playing in the field near the hospital road. Going there would be enough to pass the time. The light had barely begun to break. Wrapping himself in a woolen coat to ward off the bitter cold, he lit a cigarette and walked outside. The benches along the edge of the field were all empty. Like a weary traveler longing for water, a lonely swing sat waiting impatiently. At the end of a faded flagpole, a tattered piece of cloth fluttered in the wind. A slight movement stirred among the bushes behind the pavement. He knew it was him. To make sure the other person didn’t realize he had seen him, he gazed into the distance and absentmindedly traced shapes on the cement steps with his toe. Brushing away the mist, he pulled up his loose sock and walked briskly towards the edge of the field. The air was thick with the scent of frost, decayed memories, and despair from yesterday. Even though it was late into the night, Biswamvar was still sitting on the porch, unable to sleep. "In this freezing cold...?" He stood there for a while, waiting for a response. When none came, he walked inside. Behind him, Biswamvar let out a sigh. "You are the reason. You alone." Karan was startled. He said nothing. "Yes, I am the reason." The unspoken confirmation of the irreversible truth tore Biswamvar apart. He stood by the half-open window, staring out. Khazak was slipping into slumber. Poornima Didi must have closed her shop. Someone was sitting on the porch smoking a cigarette. Was it the same person he had seen at the field that morning? When he had insisted, he had come closer. But when he touched him, he had jumped away. "No. Only Karan. That is my world." It seemed like dawn was approaching. Karan was sleeping peacefully. If only he could kiss his feet, perhaps he would be able to sleep a little. No. What if he woke up…? He couldn't bear the thought. Biswamvar walked outside. Sitting on the porch, the man lit another cigarette. "Don't you have a place to stay?" "No. I'm searching for someone." "Where in Kerala?" "Pathanamthitta." "Have you been to Khazakistan before?" "I used to run a restaurant here. A long time ago. Then I returned to Kerala and worked as a cook at a boarding school. When the school closed for summer, I came back here." "This land holds his footprints. Maybe I’ll find him again..." When Sudhakaran tried to sit closer to Biswamvar, he got up and moved away. "His name?" "Bomjeer." Biswamvar was devastated. He wiped his teary eyes before anyone could notice and walked away. Many times, he had convinced himself he would never see Karan again. But once, he went to check his lodging. He knew Karan wouldn’t be there. His final semester medical exams would have ended in September. Maybe he had already left. Maybe they would never meet again. For five years, he had followed Karan. It didn’t matter anymore. His world was one of lost dreams. And in it, there was only one chapter. No one ever slept again in Room Three of the boys' hostel where Bomjeer had ended his life. No one ever opened that door. Once he was sure the entire hostel was asleep, Biswamvar sat on the bed that still carried Bomjeer’s scent. In the dim torchlight, he searched through things. Finally, from an old diary that seemed to belong to Sudhakaran, he found a faded photograph. Looking at the dissected bodies on the anatomy lab table, Biswamvar murmured something to himsel