Congratulations !
You have been awarded points.
Thank you for !
- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Horror
- Subject: Life Changing Decisions/Events
- Published: 06/02/2020
Betrayal
Born 1978, M, from Kolkata/West Bengal, IndiaI met Timir in 1855 when I was studying English at Scottish Church College Calcutta. I was introduced to him by one of our common friends, Jasjeet Arora.
Jasjeet had told me, “Let me introduce you to, Timir Chandra Dey, the grandson of Zamindar Mehraj Chandra Dey of Ichapur!”
Ichapur was a town twenty-eight km from the city of Calcutta. Timir was living at Bowbazar street. He was taller compared to the average Bengali, handsome and had a stout figure who commanded respect at first look. Timir would always wear an immaculately white kurta-pajama and had a golden bangle in his hand and a golden chain around his neck. He was what you can call an affluent Bengali zamindar. He was a reserved fellow who seldom spoke.
Jasjeet, who had a panglossian attitude of making friends, was popular among fellow students of the Scottiish Church College, Calcutta.
One fine morning Jasjeet took to Timir’s residence in Bowbazar. Unfortunately we didn’t find him at his residence. It was only after a fortnight when we were informed by a messenger from Timir that he had expected us at his residence that evening.
Jasjeet and I arrived at his residence in Bowbazar around six in the evening and then we found that he was relaxing in one of the big armchairs in his drawing room. Timir appeared to be a bit unmindful and was ruminating about something, yet he was courteous and ordered some tea and snacks to be served for us. By the time we had settled in, snacks had arrived.
Jasjeet had joked, “Are you still thinking about Anuradha?”
Timir had a soft corner for Anuradha. She was the sister of one of our batchmates, Ritwik Chattopadhyay.
Timir looked glumly at the white marble topped table, and replied, “This is not the time to make jokes Jasjeet.”
Timir’s tone said it all.
I had said, “You are looking forlorn and unmindful, is something troubling you? You can share whatever you want. After all, what are friends for?”
Timir scratched his throat and sighed. Then he rested his hand over his forehead and replied, “I don’t know where to start and where to end!”
Jasjeet, who seemed to be astounded by the tone of Timir, recovered a bit of his composure and replied, “It is ok! You can always share anything with me and Tanmoy. You can trust him with your life!”
“Life!” replied Timir, in a sarcastic manner.
Then he said, “Well, Tanmoy, I can trust no one after what has happened.”
Then he continued, “Last couple of days opened my eyes! I cannot trust anyone including my blood relatives!”
“Why what happened?”, interjected Jasjeet.
Timir closed his eyes and continued, “I was eleven when my mom went missing! My father Hem Chandra Dey and myself were returning from Kolkata when we heard his news that my mom Rajnandinidevi was missing from our house at Ichapur. Ratanda had brought us this news!”
“This is not so simple as we were the zamindars of Ichapur. When we reached our home, we found the room we stayed in was a mess as if a storm had wrecked the room. Some of the jewelry was thrown helter shelter and looked as if a fight had taken place or someone was searching for something. My mom’s clothes were all strewn here and there. Then came the storm that transformed my life. My granddad, against whose will my father had married my mother, Rajnandini, started spewing venom against my mom. Mehraj Chandra Dey, my granddad who had the temper like a storm, was angry as a raging bull. Then he also started to ransack my mom’s things including the almirahs and trunks. After sometime, he produced what appeared to be a couple of love letters written to my mom by Rajendra Prasad Chattopadhyay, our sworn enemy. But my father would have none of this. He initially didn’t believe them. Then my uncle and his son also started to spew bitter exemplary words against my mom.
My uncle said, “Look at Hem, he is crying like a baby while Rajendra Prasad Chattopadhyay is having fun with Rajnandini. What a fool you are, can’t even satisfy your woman!”
They taunted him by saying, “Mehraj, what do you expect from a person who spends most of his time involved in arts and literary works? Look at his painting of Rajnandini now! Lost love I guess. What an irony? What would people say, he brought us down with the whore that she was!”
Then Timir stopped. He took the water hookay and started taking a puff or two. Then he went up to the closed jalhousie window and took a look outside. Again he came and took his seat on the armchair.
Timir continued, “Well they drove him mad with rage, with their constant taunts and ridicule. Then my father vowed to take revenge against our enemies. He vowed to kill them all. Extermination of the Chattopadhyay family became his life’s goal. Yet, I think he searched for my mom everywhere, but in vain. He took up the challenge like the zeal of a fundamentalist and he started eliminating his enemies one by one. He even bribed the British and promised them huge sum of money as taxes if given a free hand.
On 13th December 1838, he attacked the Zamindar Rajendra Prasad Chattopadhyay and wiped out their dynasty with the British. When he was about to kill Rajendra Prasad Chattopadhyay he had summoned me and said, “Look Timir, I am killing your mother’s lover!”
Rajendra Prasad, who had seen his family massacred, cursed and yelled out, “Hem, you fool, you have made a big mistake. You have been betrayed by your own blood. If there is an almighty he will punish you for this.”
My father had replied, “I wish Rajnandini was here to see this too. I will punish you the way she has punished me. I will punish you for taking my wife.”
Then he had hacked him to death.”
Timir paused a bit and then drank a glass of water from the brass glass that was kept on the white marble centered table, beside his arm chair. Then he continued, “Peace had returned to Ichapur but not for long. In December 1840, my granddad Meghraj Chandra Dey suddenly fell ill and passed away. On his death bed before he had passed away, he had summoned my father and uncle. His last words were, “Hem, forgive me for I have sinned. May Rajnandini be your wife in your next life. I have betrayed you more than anyone.” He wanted to add something but death betrayed him.
My father, who now hated my mom Rajnandini, had turned his head in disgust. Two years down the line, when I was visting Ichapur, I was walking in the garden of our house. There is an outhouse for the servants and there is no one who is currently living there as it is dilapidated. There I had heard the sound of the trinklets of my mom’s. I am sure that I had heard it distinctly then it just evaporated just as it had been there. I had strained my ears but nothing. I was a bit terrified and spoke to my father regarding this. He had searched the grounds and garden and the outhouse but in vain. Everyone was normal except my uncle and his son went white when they heard this. Within six months the shadow of death took away my uncle. The next year, while roaming the spot I heard the sound of the foot trinklets of my mom again. This time it had lingered a bit longer and my father had heard it too. Within six months my uncle's son suffered from stroke and was paralysed. He too passed away within five years.
It was last fortnight that Ratanda, our beloved servant came from Ichapur and told me that my father had developed a habit of roaming near the outhouse, as he could get to hear the sound of my mom’s footsteps in form of the sound of the trinklets. I had returned to Ichapur to check if this was true and then when I reached to my ancestral house in Ichapur, I found my father slouched in an arm chair in the verandah. He had been reading a diary of my late grandfather. Tears were rolling down his eyes.
He then said, “Look Timir, what I found in your granddad’s almirah!”
Handing over the diary to me he said, “Read it to know the truth!”
I didn’t have the time and scope to go through the diary, because the very next day, he took me to the outhouse and ordered his men to dig up the floor of the outhouse. I was thinking my granddad had left us with the stolen treasure that maybe was hidden underground. It was exciting as the diggers found out a secret stairway hidden beneath the foundation of the outhouse which had a dungeon beneath it. The stale olid air told it all, when it emancipated from the dungeon. The flight of broken stairs took us into a room where we found two skeletons. Both the skeletons had been chained to the floor of the basement of the dungeon. They appeared to be women.
Ratanda started crying when he realized that it was none other then his eldest daughter who had been the maid of Rajnandini Devi. The sound of the trinklets restored our faith that it was none other than my mom Rajnandini. She had been laid to rest by the brutal, cunning, cruel man named Meghraj Chandra Dey, my grandfather.”
Timir had handed over the diary of the Late Mehraj Chandra Dey to us and said, “I can’t read this!”
We went home spell bound that day, and later on we came to know that Hem Chandra Dey was now addicted to opium after that incident as he couldn’t sleep soundly at night. Timir cursed his fate for this and he didn’t end up marrying Anuradha as he said, “I must end my bloodline here!”
Jasjeet and I didn’t end up reading the entire diary as it was a dark and convoluted tale of the twisted mind of Mehraj Chandra Dey.
Betrayal(Shamik Dhar)
I met Timir in 1855 when I was studying English at Scottish Church College Calcutta. I was introduced to him by one of our common friends, Jasjeet Arora.
Jasjeet had told me, “Let me introduce you to, Timir Chandra Dey, the grandson of Zamindar Mehraj Chandra Dey of Ichapur!”
Ichapur was a town twenty-eight km from the city of Calcutta. Timir was living at Bowbazar street. He was taller compared to the average Bengali, handsome and had a stout figure who commanded respect at first look. Timir would always wear an immaculately white kurta-pajama and had a golden bangle in his hand and a golden chain around his neck. He was what you can call an affluent Bengali zamindar. He was a reserved fellow who seldom spoke.
Jasjeet, who had a panglossian attitude of making friends, was popular among fellow students of the Scottiish Church College, Calcutta.
One fine morning Jasjeet took to Timir’s residence in Bowbazar. Unfortunately we didn’t find him at his residence. It was only after a fortnight when we were informed by a messenger from Timir that he had expected us at his residence that evening.
Jasjeet and I arrived at his residence in Bowbazar around six in the evening and then we found that he was relaxing in one of the big armchairs in his drawing room. Timir appeared to be a bit unmindful and was ruminating about something, yet he was courteous and ordered some tea and snacks to be served for us. By the time we had settled in, snacks had arrived.
Jasjeet had joked, “Are you still thinking about Anuradha?”
Timir had a soft corner for Anuradha. She was the sister of one of our batchmates, Ritwik Chattopadhyay.
Timir looked glumly at the white marble topped table, and replied, “This is not the time to make jokes Jasjeet.”
Timir’s tone said it all.
I had said, “You are looking forlorn and unmindful, is something troubling you? You can share whatever you want. After all, what are friends for?”
Timir scratched his throat and sighed. Then he rested his hand over his forehead and replied, “I don’t know where to start and where to end!”
Jasjeet, who seemed to be astounded by the tone of Timir, recovered a bit of his composure and replied, “It is ok! You can always share anything with me and Tanmoy. You can trust him with your life!”
“Life!” replied Timir, in a sarcastic manner.
Then he said, “Well, Tanmoy, I can trust no one after what has happened.”
Then he continued, “Last couple of days opened my eyes! I cannot trust anyone including my blood relatives!”
“Why what happened?”, interjected Jasjeet.
Timir closed his eyes and continued, “I was eleven when my mom went missing! My father Hem Chandra Dey and myself were returning from Kolkata when we heard his news that my mom Rajnandinidevi was missing from our house at Ichapur. Ratanda had brought us this news!”
“This is not so simple as we were the zamindars of Ichapur. When we reached our home, we found the room we stayed in was a mess as if a storm had wrecked the room. Some of the jewelry was thrown helter shelter and looked as if a fight had taken place or someone was searching for something. My mom’s clothes were all strewn here and there. Then came the storm that transformed my life. My granddad, against whose will my father had married my mother, Rajnandini, started spewing venom against my mom. Mehraj Chandra Dey, my granddad who had the temper like a storm, was angry as a raging bull. Then he also started to ransack my mom’s things including the almirahs and trunks. After sometime, he produced what appeared to be a couple of love letters written to my mom by Rajendra Prasad Chattopadhyay, our sworn enemy. But my father would have none of this. He initially didn’t believe them. Then my uncle and his son also started to spew bitter exemplary words against my mom.
My uncle said, “Look at Hem, he is crying like a baby while Rajendra Prasad Chattopadhyay is having fun with Rajnandini. What a fool you are, can’t even satisfy your woman!”
They taunted him by saying, “Mehraj, what do you expect from a person who spends most of his time involved in arts and literary works? Look at his painting of Rajnandini now! Lost love I guess. What an irony? What would people say, he brought us down with the whore that she was!”
Then Timir stopped. He took the water hookay and started taking a puff or two. Then he went up to the closed jalhousie window and took a look outside. Again he came and took his seat on the armchair.
Timir continued, “Well they drove him mad with rage, with their constant taunts and ridicule. Then my father vowed to take revenge against our enemies. He vowed to kill them all. Extermination of the Chattopadhyay family became his life’s goal. Yet, I think he searched for my mom everywhere, but in vain. He took up the challenge like the zeal of a fundamentalist and he started eliminating his enemies one by one. He even bribed the British and promised them huge sum of money as taxes if given a free hand.
On 13th December 1838, he attacked the Zamindar Rajendra Prasad Chattopadhyay and wiped out their dynasty with the British. When he was about to kill Rajendra Prasad Chattopadhyay he had summoned me and said, “Look Timir, I am killing your mother’s lover!”
Rajendra Prasad, who had seen his family massacred, cursed and yelled out, “Hem, you fool, you have made a big mistake. You have been betrayed by your own blood. If there is an almighty he will punish you for this.”
My father had replied, “I wish Rajnandini was here to see this too. I will punish you the way she has punished me. I will punish you for taking my wife.”
Then he had hacked him to death.”
Timir paused a bit and then drank a glass of water from the brass glass that was kept on the white marble centered table, beside his arm chair. Then he continued, “Peace had returned to Ichapur but not for long. In December 1840, my granddad Meghraj Chandra Dey suddenly fell ill and passed away. On his death bed before he had passed away, he had summoned my father and uncle. His last words were, “Hem, forgive me for I have sinned. May Rajnandini be your wife in your next life. I have betrayed you more than anyone.” He wanted to add something but death betrayed him.
My father, who now hated my mom Rajnandini, had turned his head in disgust. Two years down the line, when I was visting Ichapur, I was walking in the garden of our house. There is an outhouse for the servants and there is no one who is currently living there as it is dilapidated. There I had heard the sound of the trinklets of my mom’s. I am sure that I had heard it distinctly then it just evaporated just as it had been there. I had strained my ears but nothing. I was a bit terrified and spoke to my father regarding this. He had searched the grounds and garden and the outhouse but in vain. Everyone was normal except my uncle and his son went white when they heard this. Within six months the shadow of death took away my uncle. The next year, while roaming the spot I heard the sound of the foot trinklets of my mom again. This time it had lingered a bit longer and my father had heard it too. Within six months my uncle's son suffered from stroke and was paralysed. He too passed away within five years.
It was last fortnight that Ratanda, our beloved servant came from Ichapur and told me that my father had developed a habit of roaming near the outhouse, as he could get to hear the sound of my mom’s footsteps in form of the sound of the trinklets. I had returned to Ichapur to check if this was true and then when I reached to my ancestral house in Ichapur, I found my father slouched in an arm chair in the verandah. He had been reading a diary of my late grandfather. Tears were rolling down his eyes.
He then said, “Look Timir, what I found in your granddad’s almirah!”
Handing over the diary to me he said, “Read it to know the truth!”
I didn’t have the time and scope to go through the diary, because the very next day, he took me to the outhouse and ordered his men to dig up the floor of the outhouse. I was thinking my granddad had left us with the stolen treasure that maybe was hidden underground. It was exciting as the diggers found out a secret stairway hidden beneath the foundation of the outhouse which had a dungeon beneath it. The stale olid air told it all, when it emancipated from the dungeon. The flight of broken stairs took us into a room where we found two skeletons. Both the skeletons had been chained to the floor of the basement of the dungeon. They appeared to be women.
Ratanda started crying when he realized that it was none other then his eldest daughter who had been the maid of Rajnandini Devi. The sound of the trinklets restored our faith that it was none other than my mom Rajnandini. She had been laid to rest by the brutal, cunning, cruel man named Meghraj Chandra Dey, my grandfather.”
Timir had handed over the diary of the Late Mehraj Chandra Dey to us and said, “I can’t read this!”
We went home spell bound that day, and later on we came to know that Hem Chandra Dey was now addicted to opium after that incident as he couldn’t sleep soundly at night. Timir cursed his fate for this and he didn’t end up marrying Anuradha as he said, “I must end my bloodline here!”
Jasjeet and I didn’t end up reading the entire diary as it was a dark and convoluted tale of the twisted mind of Mehraj Chandra Dey.
- Share this story on
- 7
JD
06/02/2020Great to see a new story from you, Shamik! And it was an interesting one full of twists and turns, mystery and intrigue. I enjoyed your story, but I also felt a little confused in the end because I didn't understand why the grandfather killed the mother and her maid, and then blamed it on the other family. I understood the family blamed were considered 'enemies' but I didn't understand why. And I understood that the grandfather did not like his son's choice of bride, but I didn't understand why... especially not to the point at which he murdered her. For those reasons I felt a bit frustrated because as a reader it seemed that the details of the story that would help me understand it better were missing. But nevertheless it was a good read. Thank you for sharing your short stories on Storystar, Shamik! :-)
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Shamik Dhar
06/02/2020In the 19th century there was a power struggle in Bengal between zamindars of Bengal. It was mainly a struggle for money and power. This is a historic fact. Many zamindars betrayed others in this power struggle. Here Meghraj Dey took revenge on his son to satisfy his ego and to instigate his son to his sworn enemies, since he was too old to do so. This he achieved by killing his daughter in law and blaming in on his enemies.
COMMENTS (1)