I love reading detective stories.
My favorites are from Satyajit Ray, and Sharadindu Bandyopadhyay, who created
immortal Bengali detectives like Feluda and Byomkesh. It is both exciting and
exhilarating to read their exploits, which usually culminate by a grand
exposure of the truth behind a crime connecting all missing dots in a sequence
of events! However, till date I still carry this doubt, whether such a species
called private investigator exists in reality. Even if so, I wonder, in real
life how he (she) unfolds a mystery before an august audience, or whether at
all, gets an opportunity to do so! I never met a person with such distinction, nor
heard any such story from a firsthand account; except in one occasion, I did
experience something similar. I was then in the second year of my study in this
Institute. The story I would like to share, requires a brief intro of my early
hostel life here. Let me put them on record. My only rider with this narration
is not to take any of my friends’ names seriously. They are all fictitious. Neither
the dialogues are very authentic. Most of them are notional. I am left with
shoddy outlines of those events, and hopelessly trying to connect those missing
dots.
---
As a matter of fact, I never left
this place since my admission here. I did all possible degrees in engineering
here, and joined as a faculty member subsequently. Presently all our hostels
are so crowded that hardly a room is singly occupied. But in our days, we had
the luxury of enjoying our rights to exclusive privacy from the day one, as we
stepped into that world; and what a world was revealed to a semi-urban boy of
seventeen in its very first night! It’s not that I was not prepared! More than thirty students from my college,
where I studied for my high-school degree, were admitted that year in this Institute.
Out of them around fifteen students got their accommodation in the same Hall
(hostel), where I was also put. Before coming here, I did hear various
horror stories about so called ragging by seniors from my friends. Though I was
mentally prepared to face them, I had no idea in what form this terror would
strike me. I was also taking comfort of the fact that a good number of my classmates
would also be staying in the same hostel, and together we would find a way to
face the situation. So when my father accompanied me to my hostel with the
luggage, I implored him to leave me at once. I was worried, if anything
unpleasant occurs before him, he might feel humiliated and insulted.
It was around lunch time. After
seeing off my father at the gate, I went straight to the mess (dining
hall). I took a tray from the counter, and looked for a seat in a table. There
seated all strange faces before me. Out of them I did find a familiar figure and
face. It was my friend, the math-genius, and once a room mate in my previous residential
school, who must have arrived there before me. But hardly could I recognize
him! If he was not distinguished by his thick glasses and a very fair
complexion, I could have missed him as well! Where was his curly and fluffy
hair, for which he was so proud of? Even he was ready to defy then the dictate
of an Army commandant, who was supervising our NCC drill, for retaining his
long hair. But, at that moment it was mowed too heavily to acknowledge its
fragile existence on his unusually big head. To my eyes it looked worse than
what he had once suffering the trauma of my experimental hair-cut! Moreover,
there was no trace of his nicely trimmed moustache and beard in his clean shaved
face, which he was carrying otherwise a few months ago! Anyway, I was very glad
to see him, and sought relief from his presence in this seemingly hostile and
unknown territory! He was taking lunch almost without looking at anyone. So I
did not receive any greetings from him, when I took my tray beside him, and dropped
myself on a chair. I asked, “When did you come?”
He whispered, “Don’t talk to me.”
“Why?”
He moved his eyeball around
trying to make me aware of the charged atmosphere fuming around me.
“Good afternoon, Professor!” It
seemed someone greeted me in front with a hissing sound. I looked up, and found
a lanky frail figure; wearing a colorful kurta (a long shirt) addressing
me. In fact, there were a few other strangers, strangely smiling at his remarks.
I could sense the teasing tone from his voice, but I could not help replying
back, “Good afternoon!”
“Good afternoon!” he mocked me
back, and sat on a chair beside me, “What is your name, Professor?”
I told my name.
“Do you know mine?
How could I? That was our first
meeting! I said, “No.”
“Well you should. Look Tano! What
a great moustache our Professor has!”
“Leave it Bhox! He just arrived.”
Tano took pity on me. But, Bhox continued, “Not till our Professor promises me that
he should get rid of it. And if you don’t, I will chop the half of it. The
other half you could carry if you wish! Will you not?”
I remained silent as I did not have
any idea how to respond. Bhox still continued, “And what a lovely hair you have?
A real hero! But look at! Ouch! Does a hero wear chappals (leather
slippers)? Dear Professor, you need a genuine shake up! Wait for the evening!”
Fortunately my tormentor had to hurry up for afternoon classes. I had to run
also to my new Department, where an orientation class was supposed to be held.
During the orientation session
the professors of my Department were getting introduced to us. We were about
thirty five in number, and majority of them were from my college (high school) and
two other Institutions of Calcutta. That year from my college, more than thirty
students took admission here, and out of them twelve (including me) were placed
in my Department. We were told about different facilities, and opportunities in
the Department. However, I was not very attentive to those lectures, as I was
worried about the unknown horror waiting for me in the evening. I met my high-school classmates there too. All
of them bore the signature of a thin hair-cut and a moustache-less
appearance. Kobi, an old pal, looking at
me told, “What kind of preparation you had my dear! You are going to die
tonight.”
I told, “Why?”
He hushed, “You have not shaved
your moustache, kept long hair, wearing a Chappal instead of shoe! Didn’t you
know that those are to be observed here? This is ragging period yaar
(friend)!”
I took surprise in the tone he
was talking to me. We studied together for past two years, and interacted quite
often. But I never heard him talking with such a dramatic intonation. I frankly
admitted that I was completely in dark. I enjoyed my happy moments for past two
months in my home after the HS (Higher Secondary) examination. Though I was
apprehensive about the infamous ragging of this Institute, I did not make much
effort to know these details. Rather my parents were more worried than me.
There was a person who graduated that year itself from our town. My father
contacted him and brought a reference letter from him. I was asked to produce
that letter to one of my seniors in my Hall in case I had any trouble. That’s
all the preparation I had. There was another worry for me. I confided to him,
“I do not have any shoe presently. I am not used to it.”
“Well! You are in deep trouble,
Brother! Better get a pair. Go to Gole-Bazar (a market place in our
town). Have your hair cut, and buy a pair of shoe.”
I took his advice. No sooner than our
introduction was over, I left the place, took a rickshaw and went to Gole-Bazar.
Fortunately, my father gave me enough money for my initial settlement. That
saved my day. By then, I was knowledgeable enough about various protocols that needed
to be followed during those initial days, so called ragging period; a period
lasting for a first few weeks. After that every freshman had the equal right of
freedom and justice as others. How long could the period be? It could be a
month; it could be a few days. All depended upon the whims and rationales of a
few senior students. So I was not sure how long we had to wait for our days of
redemption. During my whole ride by that rickshaw, I was making a mental list
of ‘do’s’ and ‘don’ts’ that I learned from my friends. First, wishing a senior
was an integral part of the protocol, and one had to address him honoring his
temporary knighthood in that period. Moreover, the trick of getting a reprieve
from a person was to remember his name fully from the first letter to the last including
the acronymous middle part of it, and with a mandatory prefix ‘Mr.’ before the
full name for every utterance. Hearing
such an honorable debriefing on his existence, any person in this world should possibly
refrain from playing tricks with the messenger. Moreover, if I knew the name of
a person, he needed to take additional precaution, for not becoming a catalyst
to any untoward incident, which might get reported to the authority. However, I was also warned that reporting to
the authority may not bore well with the greater community of my new strange
world, where I would be living for at least five years.
The market place was quite far
from my Institute. It took about half an hour to reach there. It was in the
middle of July, and occasionally it rained that day. But when I reached there,
the afternoon was shining bright. To my delight I found the place quite clean
and had enough space to roam around. It was not like any other usual crowded
market place. After arriving there, first thing I did, was to find a saloon and
luckily found an empty seat there. I always felt relieved, if I find that I do
not have to wait in a cue to have my hair cut. It went smooth – a very special cut
indeed; on my request the barber trimmed my hair twice. He also shaved my
beard. When he thought that his job was done, I asked him to remove my
moustache. He hesitated a bit and asked, “Are you sure?” I told him to go on. It was a bit of consolation to me to know that
I was not the only person there, who was unhappy at that moment. With great
reluctance he finished his job.
With my new appearance, and a shining
pair of shoe on my feet, I presented myself with a renewed confidence. The moment I entered through the gate, I met
a person gentle in appearance with a philosopher’s look behind thick glasses of
spectacles. I greeted him, “Good Evening, Sir!”
“Good Evening! What is your
name?”
I told my name.
“Department?” Then he asked
again, “Which School?”
When I told the name of my School,
he was very pleased, “Oh! I am also from the same place! I heard this time a
good many number have taken admission here.”
I confirmed.
“Good! Come with me. Don’t get
afraid. I am Arunava Bose. Did you have your snacks?”
“No, Sir!”
“Then come with me in the mess.”
Before going there, I went to my
room and kept my belongings. Arunava scouted me the whole route. He advised, “I
may have to act rough in front of others. You should not mind. Today, I will
take to my room so that no one can disturb you. But you should not avoid
anyone. Here, we like to see that you mix with everyone in this Hall.”
I followed him to our mess.
Evening was not so bad. Arunava took me to his wing, and introduced me to his
wing-mates. Some of them behaved rough and tough, but I realized soon that most
of them were acting for some reasons. They intended to be as friendly as
possible to us, yet not violating traditional unwritten codes of conduct in asserting
their seniority to a new-comer.
I was a complete stranger in that
world. It’s not that I was a beginner in my hostel life. I had already been a
veteran for two years in that regard. That too was a college hostel, as our
high-school study was done in a college. But the atmosphere in my new hostel
was completely alien to me. It sounded so chaotic to me; it appeared so
irrational, that it made a lasting impression on my study of human nature.
Western rock and high-pitched metallic sounds were being played all around,
intermittently mixed with sudden shrill voices with strange vocabulary. We were advised many do’s and don’ts then. We
came to know that there were infamous raggers in our Hall. Again there were
also a few famous anti-raggers. If we show our attachment with those famous
personalities, we might get into more trouble. The biggest challenge was to get
the name of a senior. It might not be as trivial as it looked. The honorable person in all likelihood won’t
introduce himself. We had to get it indirectly, either listening to the names
addressed toward him, or by searching them from their copy-books lying here and
there. Sometimes they made fun of confusing freshers by calling their friends
with wrong names. Our introduction went
on beyond two o’clock midnight. Finally, when all the neighboring tantrums
seemed to ebb down, I was asked to go back to my room, with a piece of advice,
“Don’t get caught by those night-mongers!” Fortunately I was not. After
entering my room I simply threw myself on the bed, and went to sleep. Even I had
no time to change my dress!
A half an hour later I woke up
suddenly with sounds of banging and kicking at my door from the outside. Both
the window and other objects in my room were vibrating with shouts of kicking
and warning from outside. Still half asleep I replied on top of my voice, “Wait
please!” and opened the door. Four strangers with full of aggression and
abusing language pushed me into my room. The very first question they asked why
I was sleeping. I had no answer; I already got used to such irrational
questions before! Anyway, they went on observing their rituals in welcoming a
freshman, with a half-hearted indirect introduction of them. As per rules of
games, these spirited gentlemen did never utter their names to me directly. So
the task was shared by others in a round about way. I went through these
exercises with their mutual threatening and cooperation on this matter, and
could wish a “Good Morning” to a few of them with their full names. Sometimes I
needed to answer them by squatting myself on an imaginary chair. Then, they
asked me, whether I knew where the Musoorie was. By that time, I was informed
enough to know that, in that world Mussorie was not the famous hill station,
but the empty box-space between the ceiling and the top of cemented wall racks
of my room. I had to ride there, and jump from that height to the floor. It seemed they were pleased enough on my
compliance. Then, they took me out. A few others were also brought in the lawn
in front of our wing. For half an hour, we paraded, ran a few races, and, got
drenched in water thrown from top. Some of the late-night watchers of that gala
show, leaning forward against the railings of their corridors in first and
second floors, were occasionally throwing buckets full of water over us.
Finally, our hall president intervened and requested them to allow us a few
hours’ of sleep. That was my first night in this Institute!
We went through those first few fiery
days testing our patience, and in turn, grew a sort of solidarity among us in
the face of common humiliation. Many of us vowed for ending this abject
irrational practice of welcoming new-comers. We were also encouraged by quite a
few of the seniors, who shared similar views. But the opposition was in varied forms.
Some felt the practice was necessary for integrating a new-comer in the melting
pot of our cross-cultural tradition. Some took it as an avenue for hunting new
talents among them, who might otherwise put themselves under the curtain of
shyness. Some considered physical abuses abominable, though they favored teasing
and mental subversion. A minority of them wanted to oppose this culture at any
level, but they were afraid of getting labeled by a term ‘anti-ragger’, which
had a stigma of social ostracization among the student community. There were some
students who became famous by being a ragger, and a few by the tag
‘anti-ragger’. It appeared the politics in our Institute was largely affected
by these two identities, and candidates of elections in Gymkhana and Hall
councils counted support from the community for their respective causes. There
was a bit of twist in this labeling also. ‘Anti-raggers’ were also equated with
‘commies’, as the most vocals among them openly professed their allegiance to
communism. Naturally, it was difficult for a student to get himself enlisted in
the camp of so called anti-raggers with a questionable political brand such as
‘communism’. In spite of that, most of our friends when we left our Hall at the
close of our sessions in the first year, agreed that one need not be a
communist to stop ragging, and that was what we would be doing in the coming
session. We went home happily thereafter
to enjoy our first summer vacation.
---
Once I returned from my home and joined
my fellow-mates, I found that same merriment and hulla-bolla (chaos) was
going all around us, except the fact my own role had been reversed. I had to
acknowledge to the greetings of fresh-comers with my freshly anointed temporary
knighthood. To my surprise, I found most of my friends started enjoying their
newly changed status, and acted roles of habitual bullies to them. I expressed
my displeasure to them, and more often openly, which was straining my relationship
with them. It happened so, even in my second year, I did not change my room,
which was the usual practice for a senior to move up from the ground floor.
However, most of my wing-mates decided to stay back so that we could move
together in the next academic year. Even
my wing-mates also disappointed me, as I found them behaving in a no different
way to a newcomer. The lead role was
taken by Shiva. He used to bring freshers to his room, and bullied them to a
great extent. He also encouraged others to join him. Being confronted by me on several occasions, he
shouted at me once, “What is your problem? We are having fun? Either you join us,
or you leave.”
I squarely told him, “I would not
like to see anyone suffers in my wing. So, let us behave properly.”
My other wing-mates did not
oppose me there, but neither did they show any solidarity to me. It appeared
they had tacit support to shows led by Shiva. According to them it was not a great deal, as
there was no physical abuse taking place.
Though my role got reversed, I was still depriving my sleep during this
period. I took the moral responsibility to move around my friends, and check
them against committing any excesses. I
must admit, it was no less strainful than facing humiliation from a senior. Things
were taking quite ugly turn. So two weeks later, quite a few of us, likeminded
fellows, assembled together, and decided to blow the whistle to bring an end. The
matter ended, when we got a report of such excessive abuse, and almost forced
our hall mates to come to sense and stop then and there. That night itself the unofficial ‘official’
declaration from the seniors flagged down the welcoming season of newcomers.
Our days were moving fast with
classes, assignments, and evening-addas (informal meets of friends for
gossips and chit-chats). In that evening, all of us assembled in one such
session in Samar’s room. Our Puja Vacation was
just over. So we were sharing our funs and exploits of that season. Samar was my neighbor. I had already grown a good
friendship with him. We used to take a long walk in the neighborhood in and
around our campus almost in every afternoon. He was also my lab-partner. Besides
Samar and me my other two wing mates Shiva and
Paritosh were there. In addition, two of my friends from another wing also joined
with us. KK and Bishu came from the wing opposite to our block (a unit
of a three storied building) in its first floor. Both of them were great
followers of sports, in particular, football. KK was a zealous supporter of East Bengal, and Bishu was fanatic on Mohun Bagan. So,
whenever they used to meet, they started their mock fight over claims and
counterclaims of various feats of their teams. We also used to take part in
that teasing, as each of us too belonged to one of these camps and enjoy the
fun of expressing our camaraderie to our co-supporters. In that season, both the teams shared the IFA
shield. As there was no conclusive proof of reigning supremacy of any of them,
the debate on their ranking was used to be quite intense. Added to it, we had
our funs in comparing greatness of our cricketers. There too KK and Bishu differed. While KK was a
fan of Viswanath, Bishu worshipped Gavaskar. In that evening also, we had those usual
jeering and cheering of their respective teams and sports personalities. Samar, seated on his chair, was making occasional puns
and twists of words in these gossips. He was very popular among us. He was a
natural talent of fine arts. He could play Tabla and Flute, was a good actor
and could draw sketches nicely. The biggest charm of his behavior was his
simplicity, and always carried a smiling face in every situation. Like Samar, Shiva was also popular with my hall mates. He was
a typical urban boy. He was tall, could mix well with others, maintained a
Bachhan-styled hair, and tried to mimic his art of speaking for impressing
others. However, rarely I could get along with him. It was not a secret between
us, neither to others. Shiva used to lead all this discussion to his favorite
topics on girls and sex, which were not to my taste, and I used to express my
displeasure. Likewise, I also detested his cheap porn jokes, which he used to
crack often. I was surprised, how a person like Samar
started enjoying his jokes and mannerism. My other two wing-mates, Dipten and
Paritosh, with whom I grew intimacy, were nice and gentle. Dipten was a
reserved person. He was formal in his interaction, and used to maintain a
distance, while Paritosh was more open, but quiet.
Our adda started with usual exchange
of information and teasing on our exam preparation. Then it turned toward
sports and movies, and finally settled with Shiva’s hot topics on his recent
exploits with his girlfriends in Puja Pandaals. The audience was quite enjoying
and appreciating his story of tricking a girl with usual punctuations of slangs
and lingos of teen agers. The story was
yet to be finished, when suddenly Dipten knocked the door, and entered the room
in haste. Finding all of us there, he announced with a serious tone, “I am
sorry, I am interrupting you. But I thought I must inform you all.”
Samar
asks, “What’s the matter boss? You look so serious.”
“I am not getting a few hundred
rupee notes. I kept them in my purse. It was lying on my table. Someone must
have stolen it.”
Samar
exclaimed, “No way Boss! Are you sure you did not lose your money somewhere
else?”
“I am quite definite. There were
two hundred rupee notes. I counted them even in this afternoon. Within these
two hours they got stolen.”
Shiva commented with an
irritation in his voice, “What is happening yaar! We should be careful about
outsiders.” He looked quite disappointed
at not being able to finish his story.
Dipten told with conviction, “It’s
not an outsider. Who is going to come in these hours? Moreover, I was around.
Only for a few minutes, I had a brief chitchat with Paritosh. I was clearing my
doubt over a Fortran program.”
Paritosh confirmed, “Yes! Yes!
You came to my room. Did you lock your room?”
“No. It was only for a few
minutes. Usually I lock the door, if I am away for a longer duration. Of
course, right now I kept it locked, you see.”
Dipten was naturally very upset
on loosing his money. There was a bit of silence. KK told, “Parui was also
telling he was not getting a few bucks in his room. He was not sure whether he
lost them somewhere else.”
Bishu added, “Not only Parui,
Jode too had lost.”
Paritosh confirmed, “Yes. He told
me the other day; he was not getting his money. So may be, this stealing is
going on for sometimes.”
Everybody looked quite alarmed. I
commented, “It means somebody from us is stealing our money. Otherwise, it
cannot be such a frequent affair.”
Shiva shouted with excitement,
“What are you saying? How is it possible that one of us is stealing?”
Samar
too supported him, “No way, Boss! It must be an outsider. Why don’t we catch
that milkboy or the dhobi? We might get a clue!”
The mood of that evening dramatically
got changed. Our adda also came to an end. Bishu and KK went to their rooms as
they had to study for the exam. Shiva too left saying he had to finish some
assignments. I was also about to leave, but stopped when I heard Dipten saying,
“I suspect a person.”
“How come?” Samar
asked.
“He took a book from me to read,
and later being asked denied of having it. So I went to his room and found it
lying on his table. Of course, he apologized, and swore by Goddess Kali that he
had forgotten about it. But I doubt; it appeared to be intentional.”
“No way!” Samar
still could not agree.
Paritosh said, “I also suspect
someone. Most likely we are talking about the same person.”
We found Dipten and Paritosh eyed
each other and smiled, as if they reached a consensus. We pleaded, “Tell us.
Whom do you suspect?”
They did not oblige us. Paritosh
only told, “It was also a book. Once he took my JT Bell (A book on
coordinate geometry written by Robert J.T. Bell, and identified here by the name
of the author). When I asked he denied. Then I found the book on his table.
It was a new one, and my name was not yet written there. He insisted that he
owned that copy. But I could find a few exercises marked by me with pencils.
However, he was very adamant and not to be convinced. I could not say more.”
Samar
told, “Oh? Why don’t you ask that bastard to return your book?”
Paritosh said, “You know. I am
not good at shouting and quarreling.”
I told, “But others should be
warned. Let us inform our wing mates.”
Both Paritosh and Dipten almost
simultaneously told, “Please no! It may lead to false accusation and a loss of
face for all of us.”
---
I suspected Shiva as the person
meant by both Paritosh and Dipten, almost immediately. But I was afraid to ask
them by naming him as I was already known not in good terms with him. So I
might appear mean to them and unfairly biased against him if he was truly innocent
in their affairs. So I went to my room with the anxiety of knowing that one of
us had the habit of stealing. Next day I asked the coordinate geometry book
from Shiva. He gave it to me. I searched for pencil markings in exercises, and
found them quite easily.
So I confided to Paritosh about
my suspicion. He readily agreed that he also meant Shiva the other day. We went
to Samar, and later called Dipten. We all shared
that piece of information, and decided not to disclose our suspicion to anyone
unless we could find any proof of Shiva’s involvement in stealing money. We
started also observing the wings where Shiva was visiting, and found that he
was occasional visitor of those rooms from where moneys were stolen. One
evening we again heard that there was another incident of stealing. This time
it happened to Subir who was my schoolmate as well. He brought money from his
home for paying mess bills. The amount was about Four hundred rupees. I met him
in his room, and wanted to know how the money was stolen, and who the persons
were visiting these days. He had no specific answer to my queries, and did not
mention anyone’s name in particular, but we knew that Shiva often did go to
their wing for a gossip. I consoled
Subir saying that one of us in our Hall must be in that horrible business and the
thief won’t stop unless he found himself in our trap. Hence, there was a good
possibility of recovering his money.
Though we were suspecting Shiva,
we were careful enough not to give any hint to him. Neither, we disclosed it to
others. He was interacting with us with his typical mannerism and carefree
attitude. Once he asked me, “What is happening boss? We need to be careful
about our money. I heard Subir also had lost his bucks.”
I told him, “Yes, it’s quite
unfair. He came from a needy family, and it would put him in great difficulty. He has to pay his mess-dues. Anyway, we have
to find the culprit.”
He teased me, “Are you people
after someone? After all, Subir is one of your schoolmates, and so many of you
are here. You must be doing something.”
“Yes, we also felt we need to
act. But, It’s difficult. Whom to suspect? Let’s see.”
“Tell me boss. If I need to do
anything, I am available.”
He expressed his sincerity in tracking
down the culprit.
Paritosh finally suggested,
“Let’s check his bank account. If he is stealing, he must have been depositing
it in his account.”
“How could we?”
“I will get his pass book, and
give it for an update. He has given me one of his room keys.”
Paritosh did get the book from
his room, and we all went to the bank for updating it. To our surprise, there
were really a few deposits within this period, and our suspicion became firm
from that day.
We were not sure how we could get
a conclusive proof of his involvement. Even the deposits in bank accounts were
indicative, not enough for challenging him. However, the providence played its
role. We were not at all prepared for
the chain of events unfolded next. This was how our investigation ended, rather
unusual and a bit of anticlimax compared to what we find in finishing pages,
paragraphs or sentences of a detective story. Nevertheless, that was exciting
too. The evening started as usual. I was in my room studying for the end-sem
exams, which were scheduled after a fort-night. Suddenly, I got a knock at my door and heard
an excited voice calling my name. I found Arun and Jyoti outside my room. They
informed me, “Parimal’s money was stolen, and Shiva was seen there a few hours
ago.” By that time, some of my friends might have guessed that we were after
the thief, and Shiva was a possible suspect. I immediately called Samar and Paritosh, and went to Shiva’s room. He was
inside, and opened the door. I told him, “There is another report of stealing.
This time Parimal is the victim. Let us search everyone’s room, and find out
whether the money is there.”
Paritosh added, “Parimal was
intelligent enough to write the numbers of those notes, as all this stealing were
going on. There should not be any difficulty in identifying the stolen bucks.”
I stared at Shiva, but he
appeared unmoved.
Shiva told, “Search Boss! This is
not fair. But what can I do?”
He remained seated on his chair
during our operation. We were so desperate that we were looking for the money
at every possible place in his room. We searched his bed, books. He also opened
his suitcases. But of no avail. I had to be always apologetic during this
operation, however with dogged determination we went on carrying out the
search. I exclaimed, “We should also search our pockets. Let us try that.” But when
we turned our heads and looked for him, we did not find him there. He was
nowhere to be seen. He left his room by then. But a few minutes later, we heard
Jyoti running and shouting with excitement, “Shiva was caught red handed. He
was found keeping the money over the flush-tank in a toilet. Parimal was
following him and caught him in his act.”
---
That night itself Shiva was sent home
accompanied by some of our friends. He did not face us after being caught,
neither we were interested in getting us into any further embarrassment. He had
to skip his year of study. His mother approached us for a possible
reconciliation allowing him to stay in our wing, and completing his study for
that year. But so hotheaded were we then, we rejected her request. I regretted
later for our impoliteness to her. Shiva rejoined our Institute a year later,
and he finished his study one year after we graduated. During his remaining
years in our Hall, he maintained a low profile, hardly speaking with any of us.
However, in his final year, when I was doing my Masters here, we had our
rapprochement. We met occasionally and exchanged greetings. Once we played a few games of chess in one of
our in-house competitions. He was a better chess player, and defeated me quite
easily!
04/08/2013
