CHAINS OF FREEDOM

15th December, 1915

Banaras

Since the sun had gone into hiding with the arrival of winter, Banaras had awakened beneath a thick blanket of fog. It was one of the coldest mornings of the season. The streets were unusually quiet. Even the temples seemed slower than usual to open their doors, and the ghats were almost deserted beneath the pale winter mist.

The political tensions of the past few days had done little to improve the mood of the city. The roads were clearer than usual, the crowds thinner, and only the occasional guard or policeman could be seen in the distance.

For most people, it was a morning to remain beneath a warm blanket.

But not for Roy.

The young scholar, soon to become a scientist, rode his old silver bicycle towards the Central Library in the heart of Banaras. Wrapped in a black woollen blazer and a colourful muffler, he pedalled through the fog, ringing his bicycle bell as though determined to wake the sleeping city himself.

Today was important.

Roy's young freedom association was meeting to discuss its future. They had already organised small gatherings and distributed pamphlets, but the question remained: how could they bring ordinary people, particularly the youth, into the movement?

As Roy hurried towards the library, he suddenly noticed a young woman rushing through the entrance.

She wore an old long skirt, a brown blouse and a sweater. Her long braid swung behind her as she hurried forward, repeatedly looking behind her as if making certain nobody was following.

Roy barely had time to move.

Thud!

She collided with him.

“Can't you see?”

Roy was too stunned to speak.

“Ah?”

“Yes, I'm talking to you. Can't you see while walking?”

Books and papers lay scattered across the stairs.

“Excuse me, madam,” Roy said, finally recovering. “I guess I must be the one complaining here.”

The woman glared at him before looking at the books.

“Look what you have done. I have to take these to the library, otherwise Professor Sahib will finally throw me out of the job. Good for you scholars and sahibs—you can do whatever you wish.”

“Job?”

“Yes, job.”

“Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't know you worked here. Let me help you.”

“You must. I wasn't letting you go after making this mess.”

Together they gathered the books.

Finally, only one paper remained.

“So, here we go,” she said. “Here comes the last piece of paper—Dr. Mishra Kant's thesis.”

“On the history of Kashi,” Roy replied.

She looked at him.

“You know it?”

“Of course.”

“So you know how to read too?”

Roy immediately realised his mistake.

“I mean—I was talking about multitasking. Working, reading and all. I didn't mean—”

Trishla smiled.

“I know what you meant. But what is the point of working in a library and stacking books all day without being able to read them? That would be an even greater shame than illiteracy.”

Roy stared at her.

“You are more intelligent than I thought.”

“Careful,” she replied. “Compliments from scholars can be dangerous. They make ordinary people believe they are scholars too.”

Roy laughed.

“What is your name?”

“Trishla.”

Before he could say anything else, she hurried towards the library.

Roy watched her disappear.

For the first time that morning, he had forgotten about his meeting.