First Light by Sunil Gangopadhyay

Shashibhushan felt very uncomfortable. There were no chairs in the room and, having politely declined to sit on the
chowki
, they had no option but to remain standing. Time passed and neither man nor message came from within. Suddenly, one of the clerks raised a face from his ledger and said inconsequentially, ‘Jyoti Babu Moshai and Natun Bouthan are in Chandannagar.’ Radharaman and Shashibhushan couldn’t make head or tail of this communication. ‘We have come to see Rabindra Babu,’ they repeated politely. The clerk, still writing busily, had no answer to that. After a long time a servant poked his head into the room. ‘Rob Babu’s door is locked,’ he said casually, ‘He has gone out of Calcutta.’ Shashibhushan and Radharaman exchanged glances. But before either could say a word, a young man came bustling in. He was slender andhandsome and had an open, innocent face. ‘Bhujangadhar,’ he addressed one of the clerks, ‘Give me twenty rupees from my monthly allowance. I have to buy food for the street dogs.’
    â€˜Pardon me,’ the man he addressed as Bhujangadhar answered quietly, ‘You’ve already drawn your allowance.’
    â€˜So?’ The young man said with a touch of asperity. ‘Shall the dogs starve because I’ve drawn my allowance? You can adjust the amount next month.’ Then, turning to Shashibhushan, he asked curiously, ‘Where are you coming from Moshai?’
    â€˜We come as ambassadors from the Maharaja of Tripura.’ ‘Tripura! It nestles among the hills and no one can see it. And the kings eat pearl dust and diamond dust. Is all this true? But Baba Moshai is in Almora. You can’t see him now.’
    â€˜We have a letter for Rabindra Babu.’
    â€˜Robi! Robi is only a child. What can you want with him? He has run away from England and is hiding in Chandannagar. Didn’t you know that?
    â€˜He has written a book of poetry which—’
    â€˜Yes, yes.’ The young man cut Shashibhushan short. ‘Robi writes poetry. Good poetry. We get his books printed but no one buys them. Do you know who I am? I’m Robi’s brother—Som. Don’t you believe me?
Ohé
Bhujangadhar! Am I not Robi’s brother—Som?’
    â€˜Yes. You are Som Babu Moshai.’
    â€˜I write poetry too,’ the young man smiled sweetly at Shashibhushan. ‘Robi sings well but I can sing even better. Would you like to hear me?’ Then, bursting into song, he raised his arms above his head and started twirling round and round, stamping his foot to the beat. Gradually the twirling and stamping turned into a wild dance. Putting out his hands he seized Shashibhushan by the waist. ‘Come, dance with me,’ he urged. ‘It will put a smile on your glum face. Dancing improves the temper.’
    At this moment another man entered the room. He was portly, fair and good looking with well-cut features. ‘Why Som! What are you doing?’ he cried clutching the dancing Som by the shoulders. ‘Don’t you see there are strangers present?’
    â€˜I’m not doing anything,’ Som whirled around. ‘I was singing
. . . I sing better than Robi, don’t I Gunodada? And I asked them to dance because dancing is good for the health.’
    â€˜No Som,’ Gunendranath said, gravely. ‘One should not dance in public. Come let’s go into the house.’ Putting an affectionate arm round Somendranath’s shoulders, he guided him gently out of the room.

Chapter IX
    â€˜Moran’s Garden’ in Chandannagar was a stately mansion so close to the Ganga that it created the illusion of having risen from it. A flight of stone steps, ascending from the water, merged into a wide and beautiful veranda and beyond it to an elegantly appointed salon. The rooms of the house were situated on different levels and of varying shapes and sizes. The windows of the salon