Lobhita: The Flood

The rain had started shortly after noon, bringing some respite from the scorching July heat. What began as a drizzle soon turned into a downpour, leaving the air heavy with petrichor.

By 3 o’clock, the hills beyond Narakasur and Gandhi Mandap had almost disappeared in a thick curtain of rain.

Raktim, whose office was beside the Ulubari flyover at the busy intersection, looked tense as he watched the rain through the glass window of the fifth-floor conference room. From that height, he had an almost uninterrupted view of the area, stretching nearly to the Bhangagarh flyover.

He picked up a cup of coffee and stepped out into the open space in front of his office for a smoke. Standing near a half-constructed window, he looked out at the rain. A moment later, his colleague Bedanta joined him.

“Do you think this is going to stop today?” Raktim asked, lighting a cigarette before passing the lighter to Bedanta.

“Not any time soon. Looks like heaven’s in full tears today.”

“Hmmm.”

“Why? Had any plans?”

“Yeah.”

“With her?”

“Yes. With her… a movie date,” he sighed.

“Ouch! That hurts.”

Raktim looked at Bedanta and smiled faintly.

Outside, traffic crawled as water began collecting along the edges of the road. The rain showed no signs of easing.

A few minutes later, the drains were struggling to cope. Water spilt over the kerbs and spread across the asphalt in uneven patches. Cars moved cautiously, their tyres sending up muddy sprays with every turn.

“Development, right?” Bedanta said as Raktim continued watching the scene below.

“Yeah, and a hell of a lot of it. You know, Bedni, this was one of those areas that never used to get flooded. But things have changed drastically in the last three years.”

“Yeah… Rashmita was saying the same thing the other day when we got trapped in the office cab on a rainy day like this. Sometimes I feel like going back to Dibrugarh and starting something of my own. Enough of this corporate life. And, most importantly, enough of Guwahati!”

A white hatchback slowed almost to a crawl as it entered a waterlogged stretch. Behind it, impatient drivers leaned on their horns, though there was nowhere to go.

“Well, I guess the geniuses who built roads lower than the drains also deserve a Nobel Prize.”

“And don’t forget the denizens too.” The voice came from behind them.

Raktim and Bedanta turned to find Rashmita standing near the doorway leading to the smoking area, a coffee mug in one hand. She had probably been listening for a while.

“Every time there’s a serious discussion, I somehow end up hearing the last line,” she said, joining them with a grin.

“Trust me, nobody loves throwing plastic into drains more than we do,” she added. Then, pointing at Bedanta’s cigarette pack, she asked, “Got a spare one?”

“Of course. Come here,” Bedanta replied.

“Aahh! This is heavenly! So, boys, what’s cooking?” Rashmita asked, taking a long drag and closing her eyes in satisfaction.

“Nothing much. Just that Mr Boro is going nuts over the rain. He had plans with his girl today,” Bedanta said in a slightly teasing tone as he nudged Raktim.

“Oh ho! Poor Monaliza. Did you call her? Tell her you won’t be able to make it,” Rashmita replied, looking at Raktim with a grin that made it clear she was pulling his leg.

Raktim looked at the two and burst out laughing.

“Who needs enemies when one has friends like you? It’s just 3:30, and the show starts at 8. I’m sure the rain will go away by then.”

“Really? And even if it does, then what about the flood?” Bedanta piped in.

“If the rain goes, so will the flood. Guwahati’s drainage works in mysterious ways.” Raktim shrugged.

“That’s what I like about you so much.” Rashmita chuckled. “Always positive, no matter what. I wish my man were half as positive as you.”

The three burst into laughter.

Meanwhile, as the rain continued to hammer the city, the shallow pools merged into a continuous sheet of murky water. Pedestrians rolled up their trousers and waded through knee-deep stretches, while stranded vehicles formed long queues in both directions.

By then, the street below was in chaos. A motorcycle was toppled while trying to negotiate a flooded stretch of road. Two men rushed to help. The rider got to his feet, checked himself, and then examined the motorcycle, as though deciding which had suffered more damage.

Meanwhile, Raktim, still looking outside, smiled to himself.

“You’re smiling at another man’s misery,” Bedanta said, lighting another cigarette and calling out to the office boy for a cup of black tea with ginger.

“Bro, that’s dark. Smiling while a guy crashes his bike? Monaliza needs to know what a sadist she’s marrying. Isn’t it, Bedni?” Rashmita said in mock seriousness.

“Shut up, you two drama queens. I wasn’t smiling at him. My timing was just off. I smiled at Mona’s message. I promised her I wouldn’t be late today. To which she replied, ‘Well, only time will tell. May all hell break loose, don’t be late today.’ And here I am. God knows how I’m going to make it on time,” Raktim replied with a deep sigh.

“Well, Monaliza wins again,” Rashmita said with a wink before adding, “Oye, gotta go. I need to send some emails. I think we can call it early today. I’ll call Bikash sir and let you all know. Enjoy your tea and smoke.”

Once Rashmita left, the two men continued watching the rain outside, enjoying one smoke after another. The office boy returned with tea. Then another round. After a while, the rain had begun to ease. Patches of blue appeared through the clouds at the horizon.

“Finally!” Raktim let out a deep sigh of relief.

“The rain has stopped. Hopefully, I can make it on time now.”

He glanced at his watch. “It’s 4:30. If things keep improving and I can leave by 5:30, I should reach Narikal Basti by 6:30…or maybe 7. That’s assuming Chandmari and Zoo Road don’t remain underwater.”

“But will the floodwater recede so quickly in these areas?” Bedanta asked.

“It should, I suppose. At least I hope it does.”

“Anyway, I don’t understand Guwahati when it rains, especially when half the city is underwater. I’m not going to my flat today. I’m off to Abdul’s place. Some Jolly Rogers and boiled Axom Tractor. Call Mona, cancel the movie plan, and join us, dude.” Bedanta pressed in, asking Raktim to drop the movie plan and join him instead.

“Maribo bisarisa? Kill me if you want, but don’t ask me to call her and cancel the plans. We’ve been planning this for months. Chal, you enjoy your Rogers and axom tractor. I’m off.”

“Well… as you wish.”

The two headed back inside the office. At the front desk, they were informed that management had decided to close the office early due to flooding in several parts of the city. Anyone with pending work was asked to wrap it up quickly or else complete it the following day, while those already out on assignment were instructed to head home directly.

It was almost six, and most of the employees had already called it a day. The management had advised everyone to leave early, but a few pending tasks still needed attention, or at least enough progress to keep things moving.

Raktim was shutting down his system and checking that everything was in his laptop bag when Bedanta looked up from his desk and asked casually, “Four years together, and you’re still excited about movie dates?”

“Four years together and she’s still willing to tolerate me. Despite me being the one who ruins almost every date night.”

“Wow! That woman certainly deserves the Nobel Prize.”

Raktim laughed, slung his laptop bag over his shoulder, and stood up. His phone vibrated- a message.

Monaliza: I understand it’s bad out there, but will you be able to make it?

Raktim: I’m about to leave.

Monaliza: Are you sure? I heard Chandmari has turned into a river. And so has Zoo Road.

Raktim: Let me get out first. The rain stopped almost an hour and a half ago. I’m sure things can’t stay this bad for so long. Chalo C ya soon.

Monaliza: All right, love. Just be safe. Remember, I am marrying you, and I want you to look handsome in the pre-wedding and wedding photos. I don’t want a scar on that face. 😜

Raktim shook his head, smiled, and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

After signing out, he headed for the lift and bumped into Bedanta and Abdul, who were already standing near the lift gate and discussing something.

“So, boys, what’s cooking? Deciding on the night’s menu ha?” Raktim asked casually.

Bedanta turned to him immediately.

“Why? You in or what? Movie idea dropped?”

“No…no man. Just asking.”

The lift arrived, and all three stepped in, the conversation briefly drifting into random, half-formed talk.

Outside the office premises, they stopped at the tea stall under the building for their usual cups of tea. Bedanta and Abdul stocked up on cigarettes for the night and remembered what else they needed. Raktim also bought a packet.

They had just settled the bill when the sky grumbled again.

“Looks like the intermission is over,” Abdul said.

“Damn,” Raktim muttered.

“Still thinking of the movie night? Drop it, bro. Come with us instead. I don’t think you’ll make it in time anyway. And even if you do, getting back after the movie won’t be easy. Drop it tonight. Mr Rogers will love it too.” Bedanta didn’t miss the moment.

Raktim gave a small, dismissive smile.

“Tempting, but no,” he said, heaving a deep sigh and glanced at his watch.

“I am already late. Chal bhai, gotta rush.” He tapped Bedanta on the shoulder, glanced at the sky, and walked towards his car parked under the Ulubari Flyover across the road.

The moment he got in and turned the ignition, the rain came down hard. He slammed the steering wheel in frustration as people scattered for cover. He eased out of the parking and headed towards Narikal Basti.

He turned onto B. Borooah Road and decided to take the Chandmari route, since GS Road was jammed and barely moving.

He had just come down the B. Borooah Road over bridge and reached the Guwahati Club rotary when his phone rang. Monaliza.

He picked up.

“I’ve just reached Guwahati Club. If Chandmari and Zoo Road Tiniali aren’t too bad, I’ll reach your place in half an hour,” he said, one hand still on the wheel, edging through the slow movement at the rotary.

There was a pause.

“You can’t come,” Monaliza said. “Chandmari’s waist-deep. Zoo Road Tiniali is worse. Papa just got home—he was saying it himself.”

Raktim frowned slightly. “So?”

“So what?” her voice snapped a little now. “Just… don’t come. We’ll go some other time. I thought it would ease up after the rain stopped, but it’s only gotten worse.”

The line cracked.

“Hello? Hello? Mon…hello…damn.”

He checked his phone—no signal.

“To hell with this development! Emergency services disappear in emergencies,” he muttered to himself.

“Now what? Chandmari is out. Zoo Road Tiniali too. No point even trying that side—I won’t be able to make it home to Sundarpur anyway,” he told himself.

For a moment, he thought of Abdul’s place. Maybe just crashing there. Maybe finally taking up Bedanta’s offer properly this time.

But even that thought stalled. The GS Road was choked.

Abdul lived somewhere near Bora Service, close to SB Deorah College. That didn’t feel close now—just another stretch of the city that would take longer than it should.

He eased the car forward again as the rotary opened slightly, slipping the phone back into his pocket, letting the traffic decide the rest for now.

The traffic was moving at a snail’s pace, and it took him ages to get from Guwahati Club Rotary to Silpukhuri without taking any diversion. By the time he reached the mouth of the lane leading to Nabagraha Crematorium, with Pantaloons on his left, it had almost come to a standstill. He rolled down the passenger window and asked a passerby why the traffic wasn’t moving.

“Chandmari is underwater,” the passerby said, glancing down the road as if it was obvious.

“A couple of parked cars… people are saying they are half-floating. Everything is blocked.”

He shifted his stance, rainwater clinging to his clothes. “If you don’t have to go that side, don’t. Waste of time today.”

“I stay that way too,” he added after a beat, almost as an afterthought. “But I am turning back. No point sitting here. This rain’s not letting up anytime soon.”

Raktim leaned a little closer to the window. “Chenikuthi? Can I go that way?”

The man made a face, somewhere between doubt and irritation. “Crowded, I think. Already jammed up. Better you don’t. Go back if you can.”

He paused, then added, softer, almost indifferent, “Find somewhere to park. Wait it out.”

Raktim looked around. Traffic on the opposite side was indeed thin. With nothing in particular in mind, he revved his engine and turned right towards Panbazar.

He had just travelled a few metres when he saw her—a woman standing beneath the shutter of a closed stationery shop. She looked calm, though there were signs of irritation on her face. She stood there glancing at her watch almost continuously. She was dressed in a neatly ironed salwar-kameez that looked expensive without trying. A black handbag hung from one shoulder. Strands of wet hair clung to her face.

People hurried past her, trying to shield themselves from the rain. Nobody stopped; everyone was in a hurry. The rain seemed determined to make things worse. Raktim drove as slowly as he could, watching her until she slipped out of view.

He was already about to move on when the thought returned—uninvited, almost inconvenient: she didn’t look like someone waiting for shelter, but like someone waiting for a person who wasn’t coming. He eased off the accelerator without fully deciding to, checked the mirror once, then again, as if looking for a reason to dismiss it. The road behind him stayed empty.

Almost without noticing, the moment he committed to it, he braked. The car came to a stop, not sharply, but with a quiet finality that surprised him. He reversed a little, carefully scanning the lane, and then steered towards the edge of the road.

He pulled up in front of her and kept the engine running, telling himself it was only because the rain wasn’t letting up—and that stopping for a few seconds meant nothing at all.

He rolled down the passenger window and called out.

“Excuse me, madam. Madam…” He gave a light honk to get her attention.

Startled by the sudden sound, she looked around.

“Madam, here… this side,” he called, honking once more.

This time, she noticed him and looked in his direction. Pointing to herself, she seemed to ask if he was calling her.

“Yes, madam.”

Seeing him practically shouting through the rain, she instinctively lifted her handbag over her head. It offered little protection against the wind-driven drizzle that still hung in the air, but it was better than nothing. Lowering her head, she stepped off the pavement and hurried towards the car, splashing through shallow puddles as another gust of damp wind swept across the road.

“Are you calling me?”

“Yes. You seem to be stranded. Can I drop you somewhere?”

Her expression hardened immediately.

“Thanks, but no thanks. I can manage. I’ll get an auto or something.”

“But I don’t think you’ll find one at this hour. I’ve been told the city is marooned. The bus services have been snapped too.”

“The rain’s only going to get worse,” he continued.

She looked around. There was no sign of an auto or any other public vehicle. She checked her watch and then pulled out her phone. No signal.

“Trying to call someone? The network’s down. Mine died too.”

She hesitated.

“Look, it’s completely your decision,” Raktim said, sensing her reluctance.

“I was passing by. I saw you stranded. So I thought I’d ask.”

She didn’t reply.

“You don’t have to trust me,” Raktim continued. “But I don’t think you’ll find an auto anytime soon.”

She glanced down the road; it was almost empty with occasional vehicles passing by without slowing. She looked around once again.

“Madam, the rain will worsen. Before it’s too late, please get in. You will be soaked.” Raktim insisted.

With no other option, she reluctantly accepted the offer and got into the car.

“Do you always stop for random women?” she asked sharply as she took her seat and closed the door.

“No.”

“Then why today?”

The question caught him off guard. He thought for a moment.

“I don’t know. You looked stuck. If someone from my family were standing out here, I’d hope somebody stopped.”

No matter how much Raktim tried to present himself as a true gentleman, she seemed far from convinced, and uneasiness was still evident on her face.

“Where do you stay?” he asked as she settled into the seat.

“Kharghuli, near the Lal Singh Field.”

“Okay. No worries. I’ll drop you safely.”

“Where do you live?”

“Sundarpur.”

“Sundarpur is on the opposite side.”

“Yes. But the flood has forced me to change my destination.”

“So where were you heading?”

“Nowhere. If you are done with the interrogation, shall I start the engine?”

“Hmm…It’s just that I…”

“Yeah, I get it.”

CLICK HERE TO READ PART 2 | Lobhita: The Night

CLICK HERE TO READ PART 3 | Lobhita: The Story