A buyer in civilized society
After a while, the rain subsided. That night, Kushal was struck by a high fever. His mother murmured with concern, "Did he catch a chill?" while his father concluded, "He must have fallen ill from getting drenched in the rain."
That night, after a long time, Kushal lay beside his mother. Clutching her hand tightly, he shivered through the darkness, as if holding on to the only warmth he could find.
The next morning, a new sun rose over the city. From the sacred bathing rituals at Babughat to the sweetness of Sharma's gulab jamuns in Bhawanipur and Putiram's confections—the city slowly awakened, returning to its familiar rhythm. Life, as always, moved on.
Suddenly, Apu's phone rang.
She had been writing in her diary—something she held close to her heart—and she disliked interruptions at such moments. But the moment she saw Kushal's name flashing on the screen, a quiet excitement stirred within her.
"Hello," she answered.
A soft female voice responded from the other end, "Hello… Apu?"
Apu paused, slightly startled. "Yes, speaking. Who is this?"
"Actually, I'm Antara. You probably don't know me. Last night, I met someone who lent me his phone because mine had switched off. In the rush, he forgot to take it back… so it's still with me. I saw your name at the top of the call list, so I called you."
A strange heat spread through Apu's body—from head to toe. Her muscles tightened. The thought that Kushal had given his phone to another girl—and then forgotten about it—ignited something sharp and unexplainable within her. For a moment, she couldn't even speak.
Antara's voice came again, gentle yet practical, "If you could please come and collect the phone, it would really help me."
Struggling to steady herself, Apu asked, "Where should I come?"
"To my house, if that's okay. My mother isn't well, so I can't step out today."
"Where do you live?"
"I'll send you the GPS location on this number."
"Alright. Send it quickly."
Apu hung up.
Her head throbbed with a mix of anger and confusion. She couldn't understand why she felt this way—why Kushal giving his phone to someone else disturbed her so deeply. What right did she even have to feel this anger?
Her phone buzzed again—a message from an unknown number. Antara had sent the location.
Clenching her teeth, Apu muttered under her breath,
"They exchange phones, and I'm the one who has to go all the way to return it."
Yet, she knew she had no choice.
After checking the address, Apu considered calling Kushal's mother. The thought itself made her uncomfortable. Their past conversations had never been pleasant. Still, with no better option, she dialed the number.
Uma was clearly displeased to see Apu's call. Nevertheless, she answered.
"Yes? What do you want?"
Apu disliked her tone, but she forced herself to remain calm.
"Auntie, is Kushal there? I need to speak with him."
Uma replied sharply, "Kushal is sleeping. He's had a fever since last night. This is what happens when he goes to teach you. He never listens to me. Apparently, going to your house is more important than listening to his own mother."
She said everything in one breath, each word edged with accusation. Apu remained silent, swallowing the sting.
After a pause, she said softly,
"Alright, Auntie. When Kushal wakes up, please tell him to collect his phone from your house."
"Oh, so his phone ended up at your place again? Just another excuse to go there, isn't it?"
This time, Apu didn't respond.
"I'm hanging up," she said, and cut the call.
Afterward, Uma muttered to herself, bitterness spilling unchecked,
"Mother and daughter together have ruined the boy. Despite all my warnings, he keeps going there. Shameless women. They enter respectable society only to corrupt decent boys. They won't end well. They'll go to hell."
I do not know whether such women truly go to hell.
But what remains hidden within so-called respectable society often stands exposed in theirs. If they did not exist, perhaps the lustful men of this society would commit even greater crimes in broad daylight—yet still be called respectable.
And ironically, it is those very men who become customers of this so-called 'indecent' world.
What crime Apu and Joya have committed to deserve such labels—perhaps that truth will unfold gradually. Or perhaps their story will end beneath the weight of these accusations.
Some pages of life become stained.
And as long as life remains, those stains never truly fade.
To be continued....