It was on one Sunday evening when I went to the library carrying one such book that I got issued over a month ago. It was a very intriguing romantic novel in which the guy and the girl had never met but would communicate through letters. Had the story belonged to the present generation for which sex remains an essential ingredient of romance, no one could buy into a story like that. But the author had chosen the period of 1980s when there was neither Internet, nor mobile phones leaving the people with the only option of telephones or letters to talk to one another.

I took my tea and moved towards my favorite chair in the corner. The story was nearing its climax so I opened the book on the end. But what I found between the last pages immediately shifted my whole attention.

It was a folded pink-coloured paper tightly stuck inside the binding of the thick book. I pulled it out and opened what appeared to be a full page letter written in ambiguous handwriting.

It was strange to find a letter in a library book which doesn’t belong to any particular person. Who would have kept it inside the book? There might be a possibility that the letter had not been posted to whom it was addressed or maybe the receiver had temporarily kept it inside this book and forgotten.

All kinds of thoughts kept flashing through my mind while holding the letter. The paper was thin and a bit decolorized revealing the contents of the back side. Giving it a close look, anyone could tell that it must have been written long ago.

Reading the letter meant to decipher the topsy-turvy alphabets written in black…

“Dear Amartya,

My love, I miss you so much. I am extremely sorry for having not come to the library today. I was so caught up in the preparations of relocation.  So, I asked Rajnish to give you this letter.

As you know that my family has decided to take me to Kanpur for higher studies, I am supposed to leave Delhi the day after tomorrow. I wish they could approve of our love. I wish they could understand that we cannot live without each other.

I had been thinking over it for a long time and now it’s time to tell you that my promises were not mere words. I meant each and everything I said to you and it’s now the time to abide by.

Life would be difficult for both of us without the love and blessings of elders, friends and most importantly, financial support. But I can still assure that I will keep you happy. I will prove to be the best husband.

I love you so much and I am ready to face any challenge that life throws upon us.

Will be waiting at Nizamuddin railway station at 8 pm tomorrow. I know you will come.

Yours forever

Prasoon

Something that nullified all my interest in the book I had been reading was definitely this intriguing letter which had raised a new set of questions for me.

Did the girl named Amartya receive the letter? If she received the letter, what decision she might have taken?

During those times, girls were not allowed to step out of their houses anytime. Going to the railway station in the evening to run away with a boy would be well-nigh impossible. But this didn’t seem to be the climax anyway. The letter still lying in the book was telling a different possibility.

The guy Rajnish must be Prasoon’s friend who would have not handed over the letter to the girl. He must be Amartya’s secret admirer who would have lied to her about Prasoon and then married her. That’s what happens in every story on trusting a false friend.

But this all would mean that Prasoon and Amartya would be having separate lives. Neither Amartya would ever come across this letter nor would Prasoon know how his own friend had deceived him for life.

The chain of thoughts was disturbing my mind. I could not believe that such a small piece of paper had made me so curious. But it won’t be a noble thing to intrude into a stranger’s life, which won’t make a difference even. They both would be old by now and having their children. Perhaps, the children might have got married too. There’s no point of going to the old lady and tell her, “Here is the letter which your beloved left for you 30 years ago .”

I knew that I couldn’t change anything but I couldn’t ignore the letter either. The fact that they would spend their whole life with a misunderstanding was pushing me to do something. Atleast I wanted to see Amartya and Prasoon, how they met, what Rajnish did after getting the letter. Are they married now? Did Prasoon marry another girl? Is he happy? Is he alive?

I jumped off the chair carrying the letter and rushed towards the librarian. I showed it to him and asked him to help me with it. Being as clueless as me, he apologised for not knowing any of the three people mentioned in the letter.

But I was sure the letter would give more hints. It said that Prasoon was sorry that he couldn’t come to the library that day. That means that Amartya and Prasoon used to meet in this library. So they must also be having their membership registered. I asked the librarian to check in his database for their names.

He said that disclosing the members’ details was strictly against their policy and returned me the letter. But I was not to give up so easily. I told him how important was for me to reach these people and solve the mystery of this incomplete story.

Finally, he got convinced and started to search but couldn’t find the name in the records older than the year 1980. I flipped the letter on both the sides. There was no mention of any date, but on the corner of the letter was printed in small letters, “paperprint 1972.”

The librarian told me that he didn’t have older records. But he would inquire in the server room for such repositories. He asked me to wait for a couple of days.

…

Two days later, the librarian called me up and said that he had found many results of the people who took membership during that year and needed the letter to verify the handwriting. My face lit with a broad grin to find him so agile and helpful in his approach. I went to the library and gave him the letter.

The bespectacled man looked no less than a detective as he started to scan the letter using a magnifying glass and compare the handwriting with the entries in an old tattered register.

“I think I got it.” The librarian exclaimed. ‘Prasoon Basu’. On the next page of the register was written, ‘Amartya Das’ along with their respective addresses. This meant that they both registered in the same month- November 1963.

I became as happy as if it were a big part of my personal life. Indeed, joining the broken pieces of this story really started to matter to me.

But those must be their old locations, I thought. Prasoon might have moved to Kanpur and Amartya would be living in her in-laws’ house. So, I took the landline numbers given against the addresses.  More than Prasoon, I was interested in meeting Amartya because the letter was meant for her. And because she probably had been living with a wrong person.

The same day after coming home, I dialed the number of Amartya’s former address. No ring tone. I dialed several times and got the same response. Quite possibly, the number didn’t exist anymore.

Now the only option left to me was to go to the address mentioned in the record register.

Next day, I took a half day from office and drove towards the place which was two hours away from my premises.

I stopped at the main gate of what looked like a small derelict structure of unplastered walls. As I knocked the door, an old lady in white saari with a hunch back opened the gate. She must be her mother, I guessed.

But just as I asked her about Amartya, her bleary eyes sparkled with extreme suspicion. Before she could ask anything, I said to her with a sense of urgency in my voice, “I am from the same library where she used to go. They have sent an important parcel for her. So, it would be very kind if you could tell me her current address or phone number.”

The old woman seemed to understand.

“Amartya’s parents were my landlord. She has been very close to me since being a small girl. Earlier, she used to visit me here but since after her marriage, she had been calling me once a month. You can have her phone number.” She said in a gentle tone showing me the call details of her phone.

I copied the number and left from there thanking her for the help. I felt myself so excited for the suspense to finally come to an end.

I dialed Amartya’s new number hoping to reach her this time.

“Hello” . Came a soft and calm voice of a women from the other side .

“Hi! I hope I am talking to Mrs. Amartya.” I said with a touch of hesitation.

“Yes. This is Amartya here. Who is this?” She asked.

“Well, I am a college student and also the member of Relber library. Somehow, I got a parcel by mistake which was meant for you. I had to dig into the old records of the library to find your number.” I sighed.

“Oh! that’s so kind of you. But I used to visit the library a long time ago. Who has sent the parcel to me?” She sounded curious.

“Please madam don’t take me wrong. But I can’t tell everything right now.” I said. “Tell me the place and time convenient to you so that I can hand over the parcel to you.”

She gave me the address of her home and asked me to visit the same evening. The place was another two hour away from where I was. Hence I started driving to reach her said place by the evening.

As I reached the rendezvous, I was flabbergasted to find a magnificent four-storey mansion at the start of the road. I stopped at the house she mentioned and rang the doorbell.

In a while, the gate was opened and I saw a tall woman clad in immaculate brown cotton suit standing before me. Her short hair layered with a dusting of grey were adding impressive sophistication to her personality. It must be Amartya whose old dull eyes threw a puzzled gaze at me from beneath the thick spectacles. But as I reminded her of the afternoon’s phone call, she welcomed me inside her home with a warm smile.

Her house was very beautiful for the artistic interior and was decorated with big handmade paintings on every wall. I guess every Bengali’s house must be the same way for their keen interest in art and culture.

She gestured me to take a seat on the sofa while she went into the kitchen. On the front wall of the living room, I saw her old black and white portrait with a man. This must be her husband, Rajnish. I thought to myself, how could this man ever live so happily despite the sin he has committed by cheating his dear friend and cleverly marrying the girl he was in love with.

Quite in sometime, Amartya came back with a tray of tea and biscuits.

As she sat down, her eyes were fixed on the envelope in my hand. It was the best time to give her Prasoon’s letter when her husband was nowhere around. But a part of me was a little hesitant to disclose the reality which could fill her heart with extreme loathing for her husband.

I didn’t want to spoil their stable relationship. But I also wanted to justify Prasoon’s true love to Amartya. I wanted to know about their story. I wanted to know what happened after this letter. I wanted to know if she was happy with Rajnish, or should I say without Prasoon…

I opened the envelope and took out the paper which had been waiting to go in the right hands for so many years.

With immense curiosity, she clutched the letter and began to read. I could see the lines on her wrinkled forehead getting denser as her eyes were hurriedly roving down the letter.

As soon as she finished reading, she removed her spectacles and started crying the tears of regret over an irreparable loss. I had absolutely no words to console her until the short spell of silence was broken by her own words.

“When he was alive, he told me about this letter. I never thought a kind heart like you would come someday to bring it to me. I am so thankful to you that I have absolutely no words”. Her every word carried a blend of unmanageable emotions.

“He told you?” I asked in perplexity.

She nodded in affirmation.

So Rajnish was dead and also that he was not as bad as I thought. Atleast he had the courage to disclose his lies.

The lady continued, “Now whenever I miss him, I will read this letter and recall the time which I would say as the biggest milestone of our love.”

I noticed that what all she was saying twisted the whole plot of her story. It was clear that I won’t go without resolving this mystery for myself.

“Who are you talking about?” I said with curiosity blended with a tinge of frustration.

“Prasoon”…she replied.

“What??? How is this possible? I mean, I too read the letter. Prasoon said that he would wait for you at the railway station the next day. But had it reached you, it weren’t lying inside the book which Rajnish was to hand over to you”. I was thoroughly confused.

“You are right. I never got this letter. Let me explain.” She gave a small grin wiping off her tears and said, “long ago, when we were in high school, I and Prasoon met in the same library you were talking about. How can I forget the sweet encounter when we both reached for the same book and our eyes met for the first time. Love came like a sudden rain which not only drenched the surface but entered deep into the soul. We found an interesting way to communicate which somehow suited the restrained environment of that era. We would write letters to each other which we would keep in the books issued from the library and exchange them with each other.

One day Prasoon told me through his letter that his father has got posting in Kanpur where he too would be moving for higher studies. He told his family about us and also tried to convince them but they took it as an immature gesture and disapproved of our marriage.

Love, when pure can overcome the biggest of all hurdles. Our love was also built on trust and faith. When his closest friend, Rajnish came and told me that Prasoon has left the town breaking away with me, my heart said to me that my love could never betray me.

So I reached the station, fortunately just a minute before his departure! His eyes were filled with tears while we ran towards each other forgetting everything. A true relation neither needs an evidence nor does it leave a space for questions. That’s how it used to be in old times, strong and everlasting.

Just as he wrote in this letter, he had always been the best husband. And I too would always feel myself as the luckiest person to have him. Unfortunately, he died of heart attack last month. If he were here, he would have been very grateful to you.”

I looked at the old lady sitting before me lost in a strange world. I don’t know whether it was the past about which she just told me or the present where her beloved is no more with her. But a feeling of contentment rushed through my heart as I saw her kissing the letter and placing it back in the book.

I left the place silently with tears of mingled joy and sadness.