a short story

The "other" number.
He pulled one last drag on the cigarette, the final embers burnt brightly before dying out. With one swift flick of the  finger he flung the butt away. The aftertaste was bitter but satisfying. It was difficult getting these damn cigarettes now with the general bandh extending to its 60th day. He could very well remember that day when the morcha supporters bombed the CM. He had huddled the scared ministers into the safe room and then from there to the safety of Bagdogra Airport the next day. He could still recollect their horrified faces. Who would have thought that such an august gathering of all ministers of CM s cabinet would be bombed upon. Now the bandh is one fish bone badly impacted. The hills are dark and soundless. People hungry and unhappy cut off from the rest of the world. He looked pitifully at the snubbed out cigarette. Who knows when the next batch of cigarettes will arrive.
Rubbing his hands to beat out the chill he looked at the lake below. The lake shimmered like liquid silver. Today like every afternoon, at the end of the hard days work, he had jogged up to the monastery. From its terrace the view of the mirrik lake awed him everyday afresh.
He has opted for this outpost, the peaceful serene beauty of this quaint lake town had forever attracted him. His DSP had obliged, everyone was fond of him, he was capable and hardworking and his aryan good looks had created in-roads into the hard hearts of his superiors.
For once he glanced at his watch. It was late evening. By now his 3 yr old son would be back from the park where he goes every day with his grandfather. He visualised his wife preparing dinner in the kitchen and hoped she too would be looking at the clock. Wasting no more time he again jogged uphill leaving the monastery behind he reached the church. The church was quiet and desolate, its gardens full of blooms. He plucked some over-ripe squash fruit hanging from creepers on the wall playfully juggling them he found his favourite bench and sat down. The caretaker knew him from his frequent visits. This sipahi came to this height every day to catch the mobile network. The caretaker carefully slipped away.
He had not been home for 45 days now. He brought out his brand new note 4 and dialled his home number. After 3 attempts it did connect. His 6 yr old daughter was the first to speak today, "Baba...!!!" then his father, "Babu...!!!". His wife spoke less mostly about money and salary and school fees and, "Maach er daam khub bereche..!!!". The family lived 500 kms away from where he was. His wife never liked the mountains, She had arthritis. Five minutes into the phone call and he already needed another cigarette. He searched his pockets in vain but then.... his fingers touched the"other" phone... the "other" phone was small, unorthodox, hidden away safely.... looking up at the new rose moon he dialled the "other" number....

THE   END