Some good news in the offing...with college being closed due to Puja vacation, the IFN translator is all set to revive this thread...watch this space to follow the fortunes of Samiran Dutta
‘Then there are only a few days remaining,’ Pulakeshbabu
began to search for the calendar on the wall.
‘Bata-da, Jatri
has offered me much more.’
‘Let them do so, they have also offered two
lakhs eighty thousand to Debi and Ranen, they have asked for three lakhs. Patu
Ghosh has asked them for some time to consider their demands. I have not taken
any time. I have offered two lakhs ten thousand to both of them, saying an
advance of forty thousand in cheque would be handed over to them immediately.
They have taken the cheque with them.’
‘Taken the cheque?’ Samiran stared at them,
amazed.
‘Not only have they taken it, Debi has given a
statement in the papers—I am not leaving the club in spite of a hundred
temptations, the club is mixed in my blood. Yes, it was one thing if the club
had disregarded us. But we do not harbor any complaint against the club given
the respect we are provided here. It is only because of our request that Sukhen-da
is made the coach, we are consulted about the composition of the team before
every match, even amid the turmoil of the club election when the officials have
been very busy Bata-da has very generously lent us forty thousand rupees when
we asked him…’
Almost snatching at Pulakeshbabu’s gentle words
and adding an extra amount of zing to it, , Abhay Kundu added, ‘Where else will
we receive so much importance, so much love, money is not the be-all and end-all
of life, can one measure the love of lakhs of supporters by money?’ Abhay Kundu
was on the verge of clapping at his own words. Checking himself, he looked at
Bata Biswas, overwhelmed.
As he listened to all these, Samiran was
reminded of Nilu Gargari’s speech. Kolkata football had died and was now
stinking. Gargari had said, that he had read in the papers last year that a big
player, after taking advance from his club, had gushed that the club’s tent was
like a temple to him but after three days was heard to have gone to the flat of
an official of another club for bargaining about money. This was the stench.
A wave of revulsion swept through Samiran. The
player of the last year was none other than Debi. He felt that the hall of that
house was a morgue. These people were all scavengers. He would be sick if he
did not leave the room.
‘You will not be able to play if you go to Jatri. A lot of squabbling, tension,
infighting is going on there, it will continue throughout the whole year. Your
career would end if you go to that club. Sarathi
will give you less money, much less than you deserve. But you would be able to
play freely here.’ Bata Biswas eyed him sharply. Samira, bending his head, was
thinking rapidly. Bata Biswas assumed that this silence implied consent.
‘Prafulla, Manik, Arabinda and Satu are in the
three rooms upstairs. You go to Prafulla’s room. You can go to sign from this
place on the first day. I would give you too an advance of forty thousand.’
Samiran was dumbstruck as he listened to these
words. He had to stay there as a prisoner. The thing was shameful, humiliating.
Was he a donkey or a cow? They did not trust him enough to let him alone.
‘Bapi’s boys are here. Jatri will never try to create a ruction here; they know that then
firearms will come out in the open. You will have a hell of a time eating,
sleeping, watch movies on video; there are about fifty Hindi-English action
film cassettes here, you can have your pick. You will not feel bored at all.’
As the householder, Abhay Kundu extended his hospitality in a cordial voice.
‘Bata-da, I cannot say anything until I have
talked with auntie.’
Bata Biswas’s brows furrowed for a moment
before he regained his composure. ‘You have to talk to auntie for this?’
Pulakeshbabu said, ‘How can that be?’
Abhay Kundu said, ‘Talk over the phone.’
‘No, these talks cannot take place over phone.
I have to go home.’ Samiran’s firm voice conveyed that he would remain fixed in
his decision.
‘Then go and have a talk with auntie. Abhaybabu,
call Bapi, he will take Samiran to his house and bring him back,’ Bata Biswas
suddenly seemed to be tired.
‘It will not be possible to come tonight, I
will come and inform you tomorrow morning,’ Samiran stood up.
‘Then Bapi’s boys would keep watch over your
house the entire night. No, not because of anything else. The not only love Sarathi but also you. They would not
hesitate to sacrifice their lives for you, neither in taking lives. You can
rest assured that you are secure for the night.’ Bata Biswas stared at Samiran coldly.
Samiran did not avert his eyes. A silent challenge was exchanged between the
two.
Samiran and Bapi in
the back seat of Abhay Kundu’s ambassador, a boy named Naran sat beside the
driver. A taxi consisting of three others followed them.
On the pretext of taking out a cigarette, Bapi
raised his bush shirt and took out the pistol attached to his pant and placed
it on the seat.
‘You don’t need to show it to me, you can keep
it at the proper place.’
‘No, I am not showing it to you.’ An
embarrassed Bapi took it up from the seat. ‘It’s not meant for you, we have to
keep it for our safety.’
After that, Samiran reclined on the seat the entire
way and kept his eyes closed, putting his left hand on the forehead.
Bapi and Naran could be heard talking
occasionally but Samiran did not hear a word of what they were speaking.
Thanks for providing the link....I remember being hugely inspired when the story 'Shibar Phire Asha' (The Return ofShiva) was first published in 'Pujobarshiki Anandamela' in 1990
Comments
Is it the same as IMG-R's now?
‘Then there are only a few days remaining,’ Pulakeshbabu began to search for the calendar on the wall.
‘Bata-da, Jatri has offered me much more.’
‘Let them do so, they have also offered two lakhs eighty thousand to Debi and Ranen, they have asked for three lakhs. Patu Ghosh has asked them for some time to consider their demands. I have not taken any time. I have offered two lakhs ten thousand to both of them, saying an advance of forty thousand in cheque would be handed over to them immediately. They have taken the cheque with them.’
‘Taken the cheque?’ Samiran stared at them, amazed.
‘Not only have they taken it, Debi has given a statement in the papers—I am not leaving the club in spite of a hundred temptations, the club is mixed in my blood. Yes, it was one thing if the club had disregarded us. But we do not harbor any complaint against the club given the respect we are provided here. It is only because of our request that Sukhen-da is made the coach, we are consulted about the composition of the team before every match, even amid the turmoil of the club election when the officials have been very busy Bata-da has very generously lent us forty thousand rupees when we asked him…’
Almost snatching at Pulakeshbabu’s gentle words and adding an extra amount of zing to it, , Abhay Kundu added, ‘Where else will we receive so much importance, so much love, money is not the be-all and end-all of life, can one measure the love of lakhs of supporters by money?’ Abhay Kundu was on the verge of clapping at his own words. Checking himself, he looked at Bata Biswas, overwhelmed.
As he listened to all these, Samiran was reminded of Nilu Gargari’s speech. Kolkata football had died and was now stinking. Gargari had said, that he had read in the papers last year that a big player, after taking advance from his club, had gushed that the club’s tent was like a temple to him but after three days was heard to have gone to the flat of an official of another club for bargaining about money. This was the stench.
A wave of revulsion swept through Samiran. The player of the last year was none other than Debi. He felt that the hall of that house was a morgue. These people were all scavengers. He would be sick if he did not leave the room.
‘You will not be able to play if you go to Jatri. A lot of squabbling, tension, infighting is going on there, it will continue throughout the whole year. Your career would end if you go to that club. Sarathi will give you less money, much less than you deserve. But you would be able to play freely here.’ Bata Biswas eyed him sharply. Samira, bending his head, was thinking rapidly. Bata Biswas assumed that this silence implied consent.
‘Prafulla, Manik, Arabinda and Satu are in the three rooms upstairs. You go to Prafulla’s room. You can go to sign from this place on the first day. I would give you too an advance of forty thousand.’
Samiran was dumbstruck as he listened to these words. He had to stay there as a prisoner. The thing was shameful, humiliating. Was he a donkey or a cow? They did not trust him enough to let him alone.
‘Bapi’s boys are here. Jatri will never try to create a ruction here; they know that then firearms will come out in the open. You will have a hell of a time eating, sleeping, watch movies on video; there are about fifty Hindi-English action film cassettes here, you can have your pick. You will not feel bored at all.’ As the householder, Abhay Kundu extended his hospitality in a cordial voice.
‘Bata-da, I cannot say anything until I have talked with auntie.’
Bata Biswas’s brows furrowed for a moment before he regained his composure. ‘You have to talk to auntie for this?’
Pulakeshbabu said, ‘How can that be?’
Abhay Kundu said, ‘Talk over the phone.’
‘No, these talks cannot take place over phone. I have to go home.’ Samiran’s firm voice conveyed that he would remain fixed in his decision.
‘Then go and have a talk with auntie. Abhaybabu, call Bapi, he will take Samiran to his house and bring him back,’ Bata Biswas suddenly seemed to be tired.
‘It will not be possible to come tonight, I will come and inform you tomorrow morning,’ Samiran stood up.
‘Then Bapi’s boys would keep watch over your house the entire night. No, not because of anything else. The not only love Sarathi but also you. They would not hesitate to sacrifice their lives for you, neither in taking lives. You can rest assured that you are secure for the night.’ Bata Biswas stared at Samiran coldly. Samiran did not avert his eyes. A silent challenge was exchanged between the two.
Samiran and Bapi in the back seat of Abhay Kundu’s ambassador, a boy named Naran sat beside the driver. A taxi consisting of three others followed them.
On the pretext of taking out a cigarette, Bapi raised his bush shirt and took out the pistol attached to his pant and placed it on the seat.
‘You don’t need to show it to me, you can keep it at the proper place.’
‘No, I am not showing it to you.’ An embarrassed Bapi took it up from the seat. ‘It’s not meant for you, we have to keep it for our safety.’
After that, Samiran reclined on the seat the entire way and kept his eyes closed, putting his left hand on the forehead.
Bapi and Naran could be heard talking occasionally but Samiran did not hear a word of what they were speaking.
http://scroll.in/article/819792/first-read-the-story-of-the-boxer-who-had-to-win-more-bouts-outside-the-ring-than-in-it