—by Kankabati Dutta
–Reading Time – 20 min Approx
It was with a heavy, anxiety ridden beat of the heart that June ran up to her room. 
She was a book worm. She just had to read a few pages every night before she dozed off to sleep. For the past few months sleep had eluded her. Ever since the dragnet of the Enforcement Department of the Indian Police had cast a shadow of fear around their home, family, surroundings and life, June and her mother had difficulty falling asleep. Even if they got to catch forty winks towards dawn, the quality of that slumber was very disturbed, crisscrossed with nightmares. In recent times, June had been reading newspaper reports of farmers of the country pushed to the brink by debts in such a way that many had no option but to commit suicide. There were similar cases among industrialists and businessmen of India too. The creator of a highly successful brand, a cafeteria chain called Café Coffee Day had been hounded by the income tax officials in such a way that he had absconded, after which his dead body was discovered after a torrid search. The man, who had been one of many talents, creating jobs and concepts, had committed suicide by jumping to his death from a multistoried building.
June came towards her bed and began rummaging through the drawers of her bedside table. The book she had recently been reading was the first part of Jean Paul Sartre’s trilogy, ‘Roads to Freedom’ a novel called, ‘The Age of Reason’. She leafed through the book and flipped out the photos of her father in between its pages. She knew she would have to tear them and destroy the pieces, as well as deleting all records from her mobile phone, including pictures of her treasured moments with her Dad. But why? Why should a man who had done no wrong but to contribute to society be hounded like a criminal, she thought, as tears welled up in her eyes. It seemed as if she were tearing her heart apart when she tore her father’s pictures into pieces, crumpled them up in her fist and squeezed them into the cups of her brassiere instead of throwing them into the wastepaper basket in the corner of the room.
Now she realized why Dad had many files, and documents including photographs removed from his homes and offices, long before the trouble started brewing. It was when he had refused an influential minister’s donation for election funds that he was hit by a premonition of what might happen. But it was a blind lane for him. Had he parted with such a large amount, his businesses would have been in doldrums and he would have ended up in jail anyway, for not being able to pay back his debts.
It was only to his daughter that he had confided the layout of his plan of escape, after closing his industries in India, resulting in lock ups and layoffs in which hundreds of employees lost their jobs in a country in which unemployment was a major problem. 
Leaving no record of his movements through air tickets or railway bookings, Janardan always travelled by SUVs, switching cars with different number plates at the border points of every province or neighboring countries like Bangladesh, Bhutan, or Pakistan.
As June did away with her father’s pictures, so loaded with memories, emotions got the better of her and she lingered a moment or two more in her room that she should have. Tears glistened in her eyes and questions clouded her mind. Why were achievers extorted and punished in India? why were Indian farmers pushed to the brink so that they had no option but to commit suicide? Such thoughts apart, the other matter on June’s mind was anxiety for her mother Sonali Bose in the name of whom many of Janardan Bose’s companies and bank accounts were held. Although Sonali Bose was not at all an active partner in the business, on paper she held most of the shares, her signature being vital to it. Sonali or Sona as she was called by John had stood by him through thick and thin. She had been a great support and source of inspiration in the struggling days of John’s making. At that time, it was she who was more prominent than him, being the only daughter of a secretary of state and herself a well-known badminton player at that, while he come from a very modest background with no money to start with. It was she who had sold off her jewelry, sold off her share of family property to provide the seed money for John’s business, as well as organizing a huge amount of bank loan through her father’s connections.
At the moment, Sonali was confined to her bedroom in flip flops and casual wear of a Kaftan style nightie so as to dispel suspicions of her own travel plans to New York the following week. A cousin of hers was a Doctor there, willing to help her out in every way – hence, Sonali had planned to fly out with her daughter and maneuver ways to get Jonardan to join them there. There were many examples of absconding Indian industrialists on the run like Vijay Mallya of King Fisher airlines and United Breweries who had been able to make it to their first-class seats aboard a flight to Europe or U.S.A. despite arrest warrants in their names. The instance of suave businessman Nirav Modi who had fled turf, following a multitude of cases slapped on him had rocked the Indian media with accusations against the ruling, regime with which he was close. Sonali used to follow these reports in newspapers, television news broadcasts and on the net. Vijay Mallya’s escapade had seemed nothing short of an episode from the pages of a thriller to her. There was a beautiful young maiden by his side when he fled, just as in the case of Jonardan. Perhaps at the moments, Sonali should have been a bit reassured to know that John was not alone, but with one of the secretaries from his office to assist him in his time of unsurmountable difficulty; but the very fact that the secretary was a person of the opposite sex bothered her no end. Her heart wrenched out at the thought that her handsome husband was pushing through his ordeal with another woman, however much innocent or professional their relationship may be thought to be.
Although Jonardan was about to reach his mid-fifties, his trim masculine good looks, captivating personality, baritone voice and sexual prowess could beat that of any young lad in late twenties. Although Sonali had been instrumental in laying the foundations of his business; it was John who had taken such good care of her later. Even her parents could not have been so caring, was what she felt of him at times. The only aspect that bothered her about him was that, with his handsome physique and enigmatic personality, other women, too were drawn to him, attracted towards him no end. This annoyed her a lot.
Whether at parties, social gatherings, flights, meetings, Sonali tried to keep a tab on her charming husband, the love of her life. It was for this reason that Sonali had been against the employment of women in John’s company and had been, to some extent able to resist the inclusion of women staffers for quite some years. However, at a later stage of the wide and varied ventures undertaken by him, it became impossible to exclude women employees altogether. As of now, Jonardan Bose’s work force consisted of professionals of all genders, ages, provinces, religions, the only thing that mattered to him was whether they were highly qualified, superbly efficient, or not.
Fragrant with the aroma of channel no. 5, John’s favorite scent, bottles of which he had gifted her with, Sonali sighed. It was raining heavily outside. Shadows among lurked the trees, the branches and leaves of which were tossing and turning in the wet, stormy gusts of wind.
June emerged in the doorway. “Shhh, she said, putting a finger to her lips.”
Sonali turned towards her daughter, “What is it, darling?”
She asked, “Quiet Mommy. The police from the Enforcement Department are here.”
“I know”, said Sonali.
“Just remove any photo of Papa’s you may be having with you. Other documents too”, whispered June.
“I’ve already done that. Your Dad’s passport and all other documents had been removed way back.”
“Are they in the house?”
“No.”
“That’s good. Wise.”
“Actually, it was your father who guided me step by step as to what measures were to be taken. The police can never match his wits. No one can.”
“Hmmm, Mommy, lower your voice”, despite this suggestion of her daughter’s, Sonali went on saying.
“They are harassing the best of people who have made great contributions to society. Why, even the former finance minister of India, such an erudite, educated man was, languishing in Jail. It’s often that when a new regime comes to power in India, some of the most capable people from the previous regime are arrested and harassed. Even and courts often lose their impartiality and follow the dictates of those who are in power.
“Shh.
Don’t raise your voice”, said June once again. At this point, she realized her mother to be in an uncontrollable state of emotions. She might continue to talk on and on, as long as there was someone like her daughter in front of her to lend an ear. Hence, she decided to slip out of her mother’s room and tip toed to one of the larger drawing rooms at the foot of the staircase where she had left Tom behind in a state of anxiety for her.
The moment she reached the staircase, Tom’s, voice came to her earshot, “Don’t worry, I won’t run away, Sir. Why don’t you loosen your grip a little?”
“What’s going on? Why are you hurting Tom like that?”, were the words that escaped June’s lips before she knew it.
“We’re not out to hurt anyone, girl. Can’t you see, it’s just his hand I’m holding on to?”
“But you’ve grabbed it so hard, it’s hurting him!”
The young police officer in plain clothes from the enforcement directorate looked June in the eye with a queer, intense gaze. “You feel pained when you see him hurt, don’t you?”, he shot this question to June.
June looked away. The young man’s strange gaze was not unfamiliar to her. It was her beauty that had evoked such looks in men, ever since she had grown up into a woman.
Some masculine glances were lecherous, some romantic, some filled with admiration. These things used to make her extremely uncomfortable, embarrassed, insecure, sometimes even a bit scared during her adolescent teenage years, of growing up when her body gradually changed from a child’s world of innocence and simplicity to a girl’s form, on to a woman’s body.
That particular phase of growing up, when the breasts started budding, first stains of menstrual blood began to trickle, was a troubled, almost traumatic period for most girls, and who knew better than June, as to what it meant to emerge from a child’s shell into a full-bodied woman’s form?
There were many things she could not discuss even with her parents but could tell Tom about. She herself did not know why she could open with him. Was it because he was such a good listener, not judgmental or too anxious about her, when hearing her out like her mother? June sighed, who would understand her if she said her beauty had brought her suffering and insecurity? It was as if she was at fault in being born a woman in India. When men threw leering glances at her, she trembled from within. Even since the police raids and other problems started brewing in their household and family life, ever since her father went missing from the house, she had clung to Tom all the more. A stage had come when she felt she could not live without Tom. At this point, it was him her world revolved around.
She took a deep breath. The reason behind the young police officer’s actions vaguely, gradually began to become clear to her.
—by Kankabati Dutta
To be continued…
