Lobhita: The Night

He adjusted the AC temperature and directed a little warm air into the cabin. She was almost completely drenched.

For the first time, a smile touched her lips—a small, careful one, as though smiling too much might reveal something.

Raktim drove carefully, making sure he was neither too fast nor too slow. Driving in the rain was always tricky. The roads were slippery, and the potholes, often concealed beneath muddy water, made it worse.

He deliberately avoided taking the MC Road, though it was the fastest route to Kharghuli. The road was choked. He drove around the Dighali Pukhuri, and then behind the Latashil Playground via Uzan Bazar Market and reached Kharghuli.

“Do you stay at an apartment or do you have your own house here?” Raktim asked as they neared the Lal Singh Field.

“Rented. I live alone on the second floor. That’s my building,” she said, pointing towards a four-storied building.

Raktim stopped the car right in front of the gate.

“Here you are. Safe and sound.”

“Thank you.” She unfastened her seatbelt but didn’t open the door.

“So, where are you heading now?”

Raktim looked through the windshield. The rain showed no signs of slowing down.

“Nowhere, I guess. Until the rain stops and the flood recedes, the car will be my shelter.”

“It’s eight o’clock already. God knows how long I’ll be trapped in this,” he added, glancing at his watch.

There was a pause, as if they both wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.

She glanced at him. “You really had nowhere else to go? Or you don’t have now?”

“Hmm. I did.”

“Family?”

“Fiancée.” Raktim’s answer came so naturally that she looked at him.

“You were going to meet her?”

“A movie date, to be precise.” He smiled. “Which the rain successfully murdered.”

She burst out laughing.

“We’d been trying to make this date night happen for months. I was busy, she was away on tours, and somehow things never worked out. And today, when we finally managed it, the rain…”

“Hmmm…hard luck.”

“Yeah…”

“So…How long have you two been together?”

“Four years.”

“And movie dates still excite you as if it’s the first time?”

“Yeah. Well, she’d kill me if they didn’t.”

He reached for his phone and held it up.

“No signal now, but if the network was working, she’d have called me a hundred times already, asking where I am and whether I’ve managed to get out of this mess.”

“Possessive?”

“Possessive? Who? Monaliza? No way.” The correction came immediately.

“Even my parents don’t panic as much as Monaliza does,” he added.

For a moment, neither spoke.

The rain drummed steadily on the roof. Water flowed along the roadside drains. A biker sped past, splashing muddy water in every direction.

She looked out at the dark street and then towards her building.

“You know, when you first offered me a lift, I didn’t feel comfortable. I did not have a bright impression of you at first.”

“What? Seriously?”

“Yes, I am serious.”

“So, what made you change your mind?”

“The flood and the rain. Well, there were some other eyes too, and you were not alone. But…somehow, yours seemed less dangerous than the others.” She smiled.

“Most dangerous men have better strategies.” He winked.

“Perhaps. But I suppose dangerous men don’t usually speak about their fiancées.”

That earned another laugh.

“Do you like tea or coffee?” she asked suddenly.

Raktim turned to her.

“Sorry?”

“Tea or coffee?”

“Why?”

“Just asking.”

“That’s a very random question.”

A faint smile appeared on her face.

“Fine. Let me rephrase it. Since you are not going anywhere and my home is right there…” She pointed towards the building again. “Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?”

Raktim looked at the building and then back at her.

“Are you inviting me?”

“Well, yes.”

“That sounds a little risky.”

She laughed.

“Good. At least one of us is thinking sensibly.”

“I am serious.”

“So am I. But you are stranded, I am home, and it’s pouring outside. A cup of tea is hardly a criminal offence.”

Raktim didn’t reply immediately.

She waited. He looked out at the rain again.

“What? What are you brooding over? It’s just a cup of tea. You helped me out, so let me return the favour. And if someone from my family were stuck in this rain, I’d hope they’d find the same kindness.”

Raktim looked at her for a moment. Then through the rain-splattered windshield.

“Well, I don’t know…”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just thinking.”

“About?”

“Whether accepting an invitation from a stranger is a good idea.”

A faint smile appeared on her face.

“Then again, I could say the same thing.”

Raktim chuckled.

“Fair point.”

“So…?”

He looked once more at the sheets of rain outside before turning back to her.

“Well, a cup of coffee wouldn’t be a bad option.”

Raktim parked the car outside the gate, under a tree. She first got down from the car, followed by Raktim and by the time they reached the second floor, both were slightly damp despite their hurried dash through the rain.

She unlocked the door, pushed it open and immediately reached for the switchboard. Warm yellow light flooded the flat.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she said, slipping off her sandals. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Before Raktim could reply, she disappeared into one of the inner rooms.

Left alone, he scanned the room inquisitively.

The living room was modest but surprisingly well-kept. A cane sofa set with a matching tea table occupied the centre of the room, the sofa’s cushions neatly arranged. Against a wall stood a tall bookshelf packed almost to capacity. Novels, magazines and a few hardbound volumes competed for space with stacks of papers tucked between them.

On another shelf sat a collection of old VHS tapes. Beside them were several LP records arranged upright in a wooden rack, their worn sleeves hinting at years of use. The sight caught his attention. Not many people still hold on to records anymore.

The room didn’t feel rented. It felt lived in.

“Here, wipe off the water from your head,” she came out after a minute with a towel.

She had changed into a loose, knee-length sky-blue cotton nightdress. It was unremarkable, the sort of thing nobody would wear to impress anyone, yet it suited her far better than the polished appearance she had presented outside. Her damp hair was now tied loosely behind her head, and without that carefully put-together look, she somehow appeared younger.

“Thanks.” He took the towel, rubbed his wet hair, and sat on a single sofa while she settled into the one opposite him.

“So, you still have these?” he asked, pointing to the old VHS tapes and LP records.

She glanced at the shelf, smiled, and looked at Raktim.

“Memories! These VHS tapes belonged to my elder brother, and the LP records are my mother’s prized collection. When Dada left for the US, he gifted these to me. I have an old VCR. Sometimes I revisit these old classics.”

Raktim smiled. The mention of VHS tapes reminded him of an amusing childhood incident, which he shared with her.

“So, where are your parents?”

The smile faded slightly from her face.

“Home.”

Raktim let the matter rest and turned his attention to the books on the other shelf.

“I love books. This is just a fragment of the collection I have. Well, this floor has ten rooms in total. I’ve rented four of them. One is my bedroom, one is a guest room, this is the living room, and the fourth I’ve turned into a mini library of sorts. The owner keeps the rest of the rooms.”

“Wow, that’s nice. A personal library in this fast-paced modern world is a rare commodity.”

“Books are always the best. Do you like to read, by the way?”

“Yeah, sometimes.”

“Sometimes? Now what is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, I’m not a voracious reader. You could say I’m the kind who mostly hunts for bestsellers.”

“Got you.”

“So, I suppose you must have quite a few classics in your collection?”

“Umm… why don’t you see for yourself? Would you like to have a look at the library?”

“I would love to.”

“Sure?”

“Absolutely!”

“Wait. First, let me make some tea. So, ginger tea or plain?”

“Ginger.”

“I’ll be back in a minute,” she said and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Hey, can I smoke somewhere?” Raktim called out from the living room after a few minutes.

After a few seconds, she emerged from the kitchen.

“Come here. There is a small balcony outside the kitchen. I generally smoke here,” she replied.

Raktim hesitated.

A part of him felt slightly uncomfortable. Inviting a total stranger home for a cup of tea as thanks for the favour he had done when they were both caught in the rain was one thing; calling someone into the kitchen was another. The kitchen felt more personal, and they had known each other for only a few hours. Despite the warmth she had shown him, he still felt like an outsider in her home.

Yet refusing after asking for a place to smoke would be awkward.

He got up from the sofa and headed towards the kitchen. The tea was almost ready by then. He stepped out onto the kitchen balcony, where two high stools stood side by side. Sitting on one of them, he lit a cigarette. A moment later, she joined him, carrying two cups of tea and a plate of cookies.

“Here.” She carefully placed the plate on the balcony ledge.

“Thanks.”

He offered her a cigarette. She accepted one and sat down on the other stool. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“It seems like this is your favourite corner, apart from the library,” Raktim said, sipping his tea.

“Sort of, yes,” she smiled.

“I love sitting here alone, especially when it rains. But heavy downpours like today aren’t really my thing. I prefer a soft drizzle, swaying in the wind and caressing your body.”

“Poetic. Seems like you’re a poet too,” Raktim said, looking at her.

“Was that sarcastic?”

“No, not at all. Apologies if it came across that way.”

“Chill!”

They looked at each other briefly and smiled. After a while, they went back to the living room.

Raktim glanced at his watch. It was close to nine. The rain outside had grown heavier.

“It doesn’t look like the rain is going to stop anytime soon. It’s only getting worse,” she said, noticing the worried look on his face.

“Hey, do you have a TV?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Could you switch on a news channel? It’ll give us a clearer picture of the flood situation.”

“Fair point. Come in.”

“Where?”

“To the bedroom. The TV is there,” she said, getting up and motioning for him to follow.

Raktim hesitated.

“Bedroom? Umm… would you mind checking it yourself? I’m fine here,” he said plainly.

She looked at him, understood his predicament, and didn’t press the matter. Five minutes later, she returned.

“It’s very bad. Chandmari, Zoo Road, Zoo Tiniali, Ganeshguri, Lachit Nagar, Anil Nagar… in fact, the flood seems to have invaded every corner of the city. The news is saying this is the worst flood the city has ever witnessed.”

Raktim’s heart almost sank. He got up and went to the kitchen balcony. He lit a cigarette, took a few deep drags, and finished it in a jiffy.

“Does it help?” she asked after he came back to the living room.

“What? What helps?” Raktim asked, slightly caught off guard.

“This,” she said, miming the act of smoking.

“Sometimes. Why? You smoke too. Doesn’t it help you?”

“Naah. I don’t smoke for relaxation. I smoke for enjoyment. I don’t smoke when I’m tense. I smoke when I’m happy,” she replied with a sharp smile.

“But why are you worried? You have a roof over your head, and I’m not a bad cook either. There’s cooked mutton in the fridge. Some green vegetables too. I think dinner is sorted,” she added jovially.

“Aren’t things getting casual faster than usual? Is she genuinely being kind, or is there something else behind this sudden familiarity? After all, she did not trust me initially,” Raktim said to himself. He studied her for a moment and then took the sofa opposite her.

“I don’t think dinner will be necessary. I can have something outside,” he said bluntly.

“Outside?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Then she glanced at the wall clock.

“It’s late, and have you seen what’s happening outside?”

Raktim glanced at her but remained silent.

“Even if it stops now, the roads will stay flooded for hours,” she continued. “And where exactly are you planning to go? Finding a hotel in such a situation won’t be easy.”

“You look as though you are expecting me to trap you here.”

Before he could respond, she added, “Relax. I am only offering dinner. I am not some Hannibal Lecter.”

This brought a soft smile to Raktim’s lips.

“Please,” she said at last, her tone softer this time. “I insist.”

For a few moments, Raktim said nothing.

“She is right. The rain is heavy, and the roads are probably flooded and will remain so for hours even if the rain stops. And finding a hotel will indeed be difficult,” he said to himself.

“All right,” he said at last. “Dinner, then.”

A faint smile crossed her face.

“Good.”

“Tell me, how can I be a good guest?”

“Simple, stay out of my kitchen.”

“I’ll try my best.”

She laughed and disappeared into the kitchen.

The next hour passed easily.

While she reheated the mutton curry and fried vegetables, and prepared a simple vegetable fried rice, they talked across the room.

The conversation drifted from one subject to another without any particular direction. Books, films, landlords, unreliable electricians, the rising cost of groceries- anything that came to mind.

Every now and then, she asked him to fetch something from the refrigerator or hand her a spice jar from a shelf. The awkwardness that had marked their first meeting gradually faded.

By the time dinner was ready, it was close to half past ten.

They ate slowly at the dining table. The food was simple but surprisingly good. Conversation continued in the same effortless manner, neither of them probing too deeply into the other’s life. Outside, the rain continued its steady assault.

It was nearly eleven by the time they finished eating.

After clearing the plates, they stepped out to the balcony and shared a cigarette. The night air felt cool and damp. Only then did they realise something had changed. The rain had stopped.

They had just come back inside and settled into the living room when the lights suddenly went out.

“Perfect,” she muttered.

“Load-shedding?”

“Probably. Or another transformer gave up.”

With nothing else to do, they returned to the balcony. The apartments in front of their building, the street in front and everything around were swallowed by darkness.

Raktim slipped a hand into his pants’ pocket and felt the familiar crumpled cigarette packet. He pulled it out and shook it lightly. Two cigarettes remained.

“The last survivors,” he said.

She glanced at the packet and smiled.

“Looks like the rain wasn’t the only thing keeping us trapped.”

Raktim offered one to her. She accepted it without hesitation.

He placed the cigarette between his lips and then cupped his hands around the lighter to shield the flame from the damp night breeze. The tip glowed orange.

She leaned forward and lit hers from the same flame.

For a few moments, neither spoke, enjoying their smoke. The cigarettes burned slowly in the darkness.

The lane ahead seemed strangely subdued after hours of relentless rain. Somewhere in the distance came the occasional hum of a generator and the splash of tyres cutting through waterlogged stretches as bikes sped past the building, scattering water across the puddled roadside.

They smoked slowly and stared into the darkness, with occasional flashes of light in the sky interrupting the silence between them. The silence, which felt awkward and empty earlier, felt comfortable now.

When the cigarettes were reduced to stubs, they threw them out, and almost immediately, the lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then the dark lane and the apartments in front, along with their building, sprang back to life.

“Good timing,” he said.

She smiled. “Perfect timing. Looks like the electricity board was waiting for us to finish smoking.”

They stepped back inside. While Raktim moved towards the sofa, she went to her bedroom. He picked up his phone from the centre table and checked the screen. Still no network. Not a single bar.

“Shucks!”

Disappointed, he dropped onto the sofa, picked up a magazine and began turning the pages without any intention of reading it.

She emerged from the bedroom sometime later, holding her phone.

“The rain has stopped, and the news says the pumping stations are running at full capacity. They’re trying to drain the waterlogged areas as quickly as possible,” she said as she crossed the room and settled onto the sofa opposite him.

“Ha! What? Great! Any idea how bad Chandmari is?” he asked, as though snapped back to reality from a trance.

“The news said the water is receding faster in some areas. However, Anil Nagar and Tarun Nagar are still in the worst condition.”

“Hmmm… Some silver lining.”

She settled back on the sofa and looked at her phone.

“Tcch! No network.”

Raktim did not reply. For a few moments, neither of them spoke as both continued browsing on their phones.

CLICK HERE TO READ PART 1 | Lobhita: The Flood

CLICK HERE TO READ PART 3 | Lobhita: The Story