A ceasefire had been declared and negotiations were to follow. Everyone knew the drill – talks, accords, an impasse and then another upsurge. There was an uneasy calm that hung over us. The war would never end because there was a rage within the people that wasn’t going to die easily.
Imong, our leader, was sitting near the doorway of our hideout, smoking a cigarette. Isac, his closest associate and friend, stood a little away, sipping a mug of hot tea.
After a while, he cleared his throat.
“What’s next ?” he asked.
Imong did not reply. He was staring at the mountains, his face inscrutable as ever.
I busied myself with preparations for breakfast. It was toast and black tea, as usual. I never involved myself in the discussions. I had been brought in as a cook and errand boy, after my parents were killed in an encounter with paramilitary forces.
My parents had been a part of the underground army that had unleashed the fiery struggle for freedom. I was all of ten when the shootout had happened, and Imong had found me crouching under the broken tin roof of a shed, trembling uncontrollably. He had lifted me in his arms and had raced towards the waiting jeep. Hours later, we reached a dilapidated building in a sparsely cultivated, rocky area with very little habitation around. It was dark outside and the trauma of the entire day had numbed me. When I woke up the next morning, I realised I was safe – at least for a while.
………….
Imong rose and walked towards the table where a crudely drawn map was laid out. He signalled Isac to join him.
“We are at this point. Fifty kilometres from here is a canal. Once we cross that, we can travel down to Guwahati airport.
Isac’s brows were furrowed.
“We will need to move out of the state and travel to the border area by road. A few meetings with government officers on the other side – and then we can plan our next course of action. We won’t give in so easily.”
Isac listened quietly, his arms folded across his chest. He was looking at me.
“He will travel with us to Guwahati,” Imong said, intercepting the look that Isac cast in my direction. “Thereafter, Hans will put him up at his house till we return. We all have valid ID proofs. So there isn’t much danger.”
I was rinsing the tea cups. I paused. The familiar dread of being alone gripped me.
A day later we reached Guwahati. To all appearances, everything seemed fine. We looked like any other normal traveller.
Imong placed his hand on my shoulder. I looked up at him, tears threatening to brim over.
He planted a kiss on my forehead and turned to Isac.
“Shall we?”
Isac nodded.
I stood at the airport, watching them walk away, not knowing when or if I’d see them again.
“Let’s go,” Hans said, pulling me towards the car.
Image : Caleb Woods ( Unsplash )
