365bet娱乐

(A Story)

BY Dr. S. CHANDRASEKHAR Ph.D.
(Annamalai University)

An old Ford sputtered along the main street of Amalpur one late evening in September. Most of the peasants and workers had returned home after a day鈥檚 toil in the nearby paddy fields and threshing sheds. In the narrow streets, the kerosene lamps on the lamp-posts flickered half alive an half dead. Since the lamp-lighter diluted the municipal kerosene oil with water鈥揾ow else could he make a few more annas over his meager salary鈥搕he lamps shed only weak circles of light round the posts. The town was unusually quiet, though it was only a little past nine. There was neither moon nor stars in the sky, and the sky was dark and cloudy. The only people that had not yet gone home were the ones in the little cinema house in mark square. The air was cool and smelled of the moist earth, of the ripening crops in the nearby endless paddy fields鈥搕he peasants鈥� only pride.

The car stopped and the two men got out. The younger of the two who was in his late twenties switched off the engine, put out the headlights and they both walked toward a dilapidated brick-and-mortar house which stood on the main street all alone, far from the residential section of a series of low roofed, brick-and-mortar pigeon-holed houses.

The two men were about the same height, rather smallish in stature; but one was a little older than the other. The gentle, cool winds still their long, straight, dark hair. As they walked toward the two-storied house in their white khaddar dhotis, long shirts and shawls, the measured patter their sandalled feet echoed along the uneven gravel street. The younger man, who was carrying a bundle, tried to whistle an old Indian song, that faintly sounded like the first verse of the Indian national anthem, Vande Mataram. But he whistled it in such a low tone that his ignorant of the exact tune was not too obvious.

鈥淚 wish I would learn this song. After all, it is our national anthem鈥搊r it will be when we are free. Then we won鈥檛 have to sing 鈥楪od Save The King鈥�, even after our Hindu movies,鈥� said Ramnath, the younger man. Th older man, who was in his forties, walked by his side with a quickened pace but did not reply. 鈥淚鈥檝e been humming it all day, trying to catch the tune, but somehow I don鈥檛 get it.鈥�

鈥淎re you scared? You sound as though you鈥檙e nervous,鈥� said Prakash, the older man, whose wan face looked a little weather-beaten, as they walked past a lamp-post, the last one on the street.

鈥淣o, I鈥檓 not frightened, Prakash,鈥� said Ramnath in an assured tone, 鈥渢hough I wish I knew how this secret meeting is going to end. While I鈥檓 prepared for the worst, I wish I had an idea of what to expect if anything goes wrong.鈥� Ramnath was quite familiar with Prakash, for despite the disparity of their ages he addressed him by his name rather than the formal, if affectionate, honorific 鈥淛i鈥�.

鈥淭he best way to learn all about it is to do it, and we are going to do it,鈥� observed Prakash sententiously.

Now they reached the house鈥揳 rickety old house with a pial in front, obviously uninhabited for years. Prakash pulled out a key and, looking around rather furtively, opened the wooden door which creaked slightly on its rusty hinges. Both fumbled their way in with the aid of an Eveready torch that Prakash flashed along the floor, which was covered with a film of dust. The verandah and front room were almost bare. Prakash gently closed the door, turned the latch, and slowly walked up the stairs, followed by Ramnath, who lugged his package along with some effort.

At the end of the stairs they reached a large room. As Prakash鈥檚 flashlight swept the darkness, he saw rows of little brown jute mats spread all over the floor like chairs in a classroom, and a little table, a foot above the floor, in a corner meant obviously for the presiding figure. There was a score or so of palm leaf fans scattered about, and in another corner was an oddly assorted pile of literature in Hindi and English. Most visible was the pile of orange-colonred pamphlets titled, 鈥淐an We Indians Get Together?鈥� by Jawaharlal Nehru. His eye was caught by dust-laden stacks of old pamphlets with screaming headings: 鈥淪waraj is Our Birthright鈥�, 鈥淔reedom Through Non-Violence鈥�, 鈥淥ur War Without Violence鈥�, 鈥淭his Is Our 1776鈥� and so on.

While Ramnath began to unpack the bundle of leaflets that he was carrying, Prakash lighted two old hurricane kerosene lanterns and lowered their wicks to shed only a little light. They burned so low that no one from the street could notice the light upstairs. Ramnath scattered the leaflets on the mats on the floor. They were 鈥�India and the War鈥�, 鈥淕andhi and Nehru鈥�, 鈥淗ow to Sabotage the British Rule鈥�, 鈥淒own with the British鈥�, and 鈥淲hat Does Jinnah Want?鈥�

On the white plastered walls hung large, soiled and uneven portraits of Mahatma Gandhi, Nehru, Azad, Lincoln, Sun Vat Sen, and Lenin. A large frayed map of India on the wall, behind the chairman鈥檚 seat, fluttered gently in the breeze from the nearby window. There were posters and the two that caught Ramnath鈥檚 eye read, 鈥淗indus and Moslems Are Brothers 鈥�, 鈥淏ritish Imperialism Is Our Enemy, Not the British People鈥�.

鈥淵ou will make the first speech, won鈥檛 you?鈥� asked Ramnath, breaking the silence and hoping Prakash would answer in the affirmative.

鈥淣o, you make it. As I know the crowd, I shall watch them as you speak and size them up. In case your speech misfires, I can mend matters,鈥� explained Prakash, who looked a little tired as his swarthy face turned toward the narrow circle of light cast by the hurricane lantern. Ever since he gave up his lucrative legal practice at the behest of Mahatma Gandhi during the 1931 Civil Disobedience Movement, he had given all his time to the national cause, 鈥渢o rid the country of the British scourge鈥濃��, as he put it. He was the ever-busy Secretary of the Provincial Congress Committee. Though he was married, he was childless and had fewer financial worries than most Indians. Educated at the University Law College, he had mastered the intricacies of the Indian legal procedure and was feared by the Administration and the police, both for his legal knowledge and forensic eloquence. He was fluent both in his mother tongue and in the English language, which stood him in good stead to sway the people in the national cause. His health had become indifferent of late, for he had spent some years in and out of jails. Only three months ago he had come out of the Pellore Central Jail鈥搉ot a pleasant place for political prisoners鈥揳nd had nearly recuperated from the effects of having been so recently a guest of His Majesty鈥檚 Government. Now, active again, he was working in his own silent way to organise a new but revolutionary group at Amalpur.

鈥淒o you know what you are going to say?鈥� asked Prakash. 鈥淟et it be brief and mean something to the people here. Forget your American studies.鈥�

鈥淪ure, I know what I鈥檓 going to say. In fact, I wrote down every word of it. I don鈥檛 want my maiden speech to fall flat. Once at a Columbia University Students鈥� meeting I got up to speak on India. My head was full of ideas, and yet, for minutes I couldn鈥檛 say a word. Was I embarrassed! Then, suddenly, words began to rollout of my lips like the Niagara Falls. I think I spoke almost like a Radhakrishnan! But I wasn鈥檛 going to take any chances this time, so I wrote down my speech for tonight.鈥�

鈥淒on鈥檛 use too many big words or English words,鈥� advised Prakash.

鈥淒o you want to see the manuscript?鈥�

鈥淣o, it鈥檚 all right. Since you have just returned from America, I thought you might be more at home in English than in Hindustani.鈥�

鈥淭hat鈥檚 true. I would prefer to speak in English. I wish this were Madison Square Garden in New York. What a thrill it would be!鈥� Ramnath seemed to have forgotten for a moment his burning passion to contribute his mite toward the liberation of his country, in his juvenile anticipation of the mere emotional effect of his speech. Just then he seemed to be thinking of only one thing, and that was his speech.

鈥淚t is not for the thrill of making a speech that I want you to talk to these people,鈥� chided Prakash, 鈥渂ut to persuade them to our point of view of the importance of freedom right and now.鈥� There was a pause, and Ramnath was embarrassed.

鈥淲hat is Madison Square Garden?鈥� asked Prakash as a disinterested, after-thought. Prakash had never left India, though when he graduated with honours from the local university, his father-in-law had urged him to go to London to study for the Bar. Even then it was only to England and not to the United States.

鈥淢adison Square Garden is the biggest meeting place in New York. It accommodates about thirty thousand people. It is built and equipped so wonderfully that addressing a packed house there means that something is being accomplished,鈥� proffered Ramnath.

鈥淏y the way, don鈥檛 decry Gandhi or his methods,鈥� advised the older man, 鈥渨hatever your personal opinion about non-violence may be. Do refer warmly to Nehru by all means but don鈥檛 criticise Gandhi by any means鈥揾is ideology or his methods. Don鈥檛 forget that Gandhi, because of his non-violence which you younger men pooh-pooh, is the greatest soul since Buddha who has made us all men out of dust.鈥� As an after-thought he added, 鈥淭his is a conservative crowd though many are young men.鈥�

Ramnath didn鈥檛 answer for a while. A goods train hooted mournfully as it laboured its way beyond the paddy fields. Now, as the train turned, the engine鈥檚 headlights became almost invisible from where they sat, though the puffing sound of the engine continued to reach the little house.

鈥淲hat time is it?鈥� asked Prakash.

鈥淚t鈥檚 twenty of ten,鈥� answered Ramnath, raising the wick of the lantern a tiny bit.

鈥淭hat鈥檚 right,鈥� said Prakash. 鈥淭hat train was the 9-40 to Golpur.鈥�

鈥淒o you think there will be any trouble?鈥� inquired Ramnath in a brave tone.

鈥淲hat do you mean?鈥�

鈥淪ince we are holding the meeting against the District Magistrate鈥檚 orders, do you think鈥�?鈥�

鈥淚f we are found, there is jail for us. Nothing more than that,鈥� interrupted Prakash.

鈥淚 don鈥檛 mind the jail鈥�.鈥� Ramnath paused. 鈥淏ut how will the police find out that we are meeting here tonight?鈥� he wondered.

鈥淣ow, don鈥檛 tell me that you have forgotten our British Gestapo, the C. I. D. After all, you have been away in America for only five years.鈥� There was a look of painful surprise in Prakash鈥檚 eyes.

鈥淥h, yes! I haven鈥檛 forgotten the C. I. D. But I can鈥檛 imagine our own people being so unpatriotic as to betray us.鈥�

Prakash did not answer.

鈥淒o you suspect anyone?鈥� continued the younger man. 鈥淚 can鈥檛 think of any sane Indian being pro-British. Even a Moslem-Leaguer wouldn鈥檛 do it.鈥�

鈥淵ou would be amazed,鈥� replied Prakash. 鈥淚f three years of Nazi occupation could produce hundreds of European Quislings, 170 years of British rule could produce thousands here. And it has.鈥� He paused. 鈥淥ur nation is demoralised. People want jobs. They are hungry and they want to eat. Who but the British Raj can give them jobs鈥損etty jobs, big jobs, any job. It is jobs that lure our fellow-Indians and they become traitors to their own country. Sooner or later they become unconscious little cogs in the vast imperialistic machine. We may always have such Indians!鈥� Prakash had a distant and sad look in his eyes as he spoke.

鈥淒o you mean there will be a C. I. D. officer in mufti in tonight鈥檚 crowd?鈥� asked Ramnath, without concealing his surprise.

鈥淧ossibly, though I wouldn鈥檛 expect him to join the crowd. If the news about this meeting has leaked out, the police will come after the meeting has begun and break it up.鈥�

鈥淲ill there be any violence?鈥� wondered Ramnath.

鈥淧erhaps there may be a lathi charge. It depends on who comes to break up the meeting and arrest us. If the Indian police comes, there may be quiet and even dignified arrests, like Gandhiji鈥檚 arrest. After all, even the wretched police-wallahs feel the way we do, way down in their hearts, though they have to keep their jobs. But if some hot-headed British idiot comes, there may be a lathi charge or even shooting, broken skulls, and what not.鈥�

鈥淲ell, if there is violence, we shall hit .鈥� Ramnath forgot his creed.

鈥淔or God鈥檚 sake, forget your American education. You are in India! You are a member of the Congress! You are a follower of Gandhiji! That means non-violence above all else!鈥�

鈥淓ven under provocation?鈥�

鈥淯nder all circumstances. Don鈥檛 you remember Gandhi鈥檚 statement that we must be prepared to sacrifice even India鈥檚 freedom on the altar of non-violence?鈥� Prakash was about to reach for the latest instruction from the Party鈥檚 Working Committee on this point; but just then they heard the patter of sandalled and bare feet at the door downstairs.

鈥淗ere they come,鈥� said Prakash, as he picked up the lantern and walked downstairs to let the crowd in. Thank heaven, they were punctual! Young Ramnath, slightly nervous, distributed more leaflets on the mats on the floor. He smoothed his hair with his little comb, and pulled out the speech from his pocket.

Prakash led the men鈥搕he youth members of the local Congress Committee and prospective members, men between twenty to thirty鈥搖pstairs. After brief introductions, they squatted on the mats. The lantern wicks had been raised a little and the small hall was now lighted better. Prakash, who seemed to know almost everyone in that group of about forty or so, asked a gentleman in a Gandhi cap who carried a number of files, 鈥淪hall we begin? Is everybody here?鈥�

The man looked about and, after a moment鈥檚 scrutiny, said, 鈥淚 think so.鈥�

Prakash sat in front of the little low presiding table and began to speak.

Ramnath, seated near Prakash鈥檚 feet, felt a little nervous and at the same time happy. Happy, because Prakash had opened the meeting instead of calling on him immediately to deliver his speech.

鈥淏rothers, I welcome you here tonight,鈥� began Prakash. 鈥淎s you know, we are meeting here tonight under special instructions from the Working committee of the Central Congress. You have no doubt read the special instructions of Mahatma Gandhi and his now famous 鈥楺uit India鈥� movement. I don鈥檛 want to take up your time, but we must discuss a plan鈥揳 course of action to make the 鈥楺uit India鈥� resolution take life and become a mass movement in Amalpur, as it is becoming in every other village, town and city. You know how dangerous the task is. There is a war going on, both in the East and the West. You know that the British Government has already declared that it would tolerate no interference with its war effort, and it will crush our movement鈥搉o matter what the cost. If necessary, the British are prepared to hang everyone of us, in the name of crushing Hitler and saving democracy in Europe. Already our National Congress has been declared illegal. The arrest of our leaders is imminent. You know what that means.鈥�

A distant cry was heard. Prakash paused, and there was a moment of tense silence, but the noise faded away. It was only the fading wail of a pariah dog.

鈥淏efore we take up our discussion to plan a working mass movement, I want you to listen to a special talk tonight by a brilliant young friend. He has very recently joined the ranks and is our latest asset. He is from our Province and he recently returned from America after a brilliant academic career there. His foreign education has not made him a prig. On the contrary, his travel and education have made him more patriotic and nationalistic. He arrived this morning from Allahabad where he met our beloved leader, Panditji. He has a special message for us. He will explain to us how our struggle for freedom is a part and parcel of the grim world struggle for a better world, a world where no tyranny, be it British, German, or Japanese, can flourish. Before I call upon Ramnath, I must beg you not to forget the secret nature of this meeting and not to applaud, or in any way express your appreciation. I don鈥檛 think anyone, beyond those of us here, knows that we are meeting here tonight. But our enemy is powerful and he is sparing no efforts to crush us. While I am confident that there are no informers in our patriotic Amalpur, we must be extremely careful.鈥� He paused, looked at the eager and bright face of young Ramnath. 鈥�Shri 搁补尘苍补迟丑.鈥�

Ramnath, who had been squatting near Prakash, rose, pulled out his manuscript and took a few steps toward the low table on which the hurricane lantern stood. He began, 鈥淐omrades, I want to tell you how happy and proud I am to be here tonight before such a distinguished band of workers, and standing right next to our devoted and inspiring leader Prakash. As I want to say quite a few things, I have written down my thoughts so that they may be coherent and precise. I have shown them to Narain. He thinks my plan deserves a trial. With your permission I shall read it, and I hope all of you will be able to discuss it at the end.鈥�

He raised the wick of the lantern a tiny bit, bent over the little table and began, 鈥淔ellow Indians....鈥� when suddenly sounds of scurrying feet, loud knocks and shouts at the main entrance downstairs broke loose. Could they be real?鈥� No, it must have been his fevered imagination. But it was not his imagination alone, for everybody seemed to have heard it. Ramnath stopped and looked at Prakash, who in turn looked at the confused but silent group in the little hall, and advised, 鈥済o on鈥�. But the banging on the door downstairs continued with such vehemence that all knew it was not imaginary. Somebody, if not the enemy himself, was at the door. The next minute they heard a shot fired in the air!

鈥淲e might as well open the door and see what this is about. If it is the police we鈥檒l let them in, for they will break the door anyway,鈥� said the man with the files with a look of incredible composure. But the furious pounding downstairs continued and, before Prakash could decide what was to be done, the door downstairs gave way with a bang and a crash, and in a moment the criss-cross flashes of a bevy of torches flooded the stairs and the small hall. A posse of Indian constables, C. I. D. officers in mufti, and two British officers ran upstairs. In the flashlights鈥� glare, the kerosene lantern paled into nothingness.

Everyone was on his feet by now, but no one seemed to know what to do. To escape? To jump out of the window or to fight or scream? What..?

鈥淭his meeting is declared illegal. All under arrest. Don鈥檛 move!鈥� rasped the gruff, cockney voice of Sergeant Harrison.

鈥淢ay I see the warrant?鈥� It was Prakash鈥檚 voice.

鈥淭he Deuce with the warrant! How dare you ask for a warrant?鈥� shouted Harrison. 鈥淒on鈥檛 you bloody well know that the Congress is declared illegal?鈥� 鈥淒on鈥檛 you know that this meeting is a flagrant violation of District Magistrate Hilton Brown鈥檚 orders?鈥� added Deputy Superintendent Stanbury鈥檚 more rasping accent.

鈥淒amn explanations! The beggars know what the damn thing is about,鈥� Harrison shouted, as if he were addressing an audience of fifty thousand deaf mutes. It was not really Harrison, but too many glasses of chota peg, thought Prakash. Ramnath, dazed in the melee, wondered how a European could behave like this.

鈥淲hat authority have you to break up this meeting and arrest us? Every Englishman in a pair of khaki trousers can鈥檛 have the right to arrest anybody,鈥� cut in Ramnath.

鈥淪ome Englishman in a pair of khaki trousers, indeed!鈥� Harrison screamed. 鈥淎rrest!鈥� he snapped. But when the constables and Stanbury began to clink their handcuffs, a scuffle ensued. Torches, lanterns, mats, paper, or whatever one could find began to fly through the air of the crowded room. 鈥淟athi charge! Lathi charge!鈥� the voice of Harrison kept shrieking and yelling. His lathi and those of the Indian constables began waving right and left, beating and bruising the men as they scrambled about in the now darkened hall. In the confusion of beatings, shrieks, shouts and groans, pandemonium reigned. No one could be sure who beat whom. There seemed to be more policemen than the men in the room. Someone cried, 鈥淵ou Indian police, can鈥檛 you see that you are Indian just like us?鈥撯�� There was a pause and then the thud of a body falling on the floor. 鈥淒on鈥檛 you see what you are doing? It鈥檚 all for you. Don鈥檛 you want our country to be free鈥�?鈥� Somebody rolled down the stairs, hitting each step with a thud. A dark figure jumped out of the window and landed on the gravel of the sidewalk with a crunch, followed by a groan.

In the darkness Harrison鈥檚 gruff voice continued to re-echo. 鈥淏eat the Congress bastards! Kill the bloody Congress-wallahs!鈥�

Someone shrieked in agony. The sound continued until it faded into a hysterical giggle. 鈥淐all the doctor. Call the doctor鈥搕he doctor,鈥� somebody moaned over and over again.

II

When Prakash returned to consciousness, he realised with some effort that he was lying in the hospital, his body swathed in heavy bandages. As he slowly regained his senses, he became conscious of aching limbs鈥揳nd of the events that had led to where he was now.

His eyes travelled around the room, and he discovered himself to be in a semi-private ward of the hospital of the Central Jail鈥搉ot an unfamiliar place, for Prakash had been there at least once before. He wondered when and how he was transported all the distance from Amalpur. He noticed the limp bodies on two adjoining beds. They were strangers鈥損erhaps criminals and not political prisoners. Slowly and painfully he turned his head to see whether there were any other patients in that ward鈥搗ictims of the previous night鈥檚 raid. As he now recalled more clearly the events of the previous evening, he became less conscious of his physical pain and more anxious for the welfare and whereabouts of his fellow-patriots.

He wondered what had happened to them and to young Ramnath specially. Had any escaped, or were all under arrest? He was anxious for an answer鈥揳n answer above all to the question about Ramnath.

While these questions raced through his confused mind, a young Indian nurse walked in from the corridor with a tray of medicines. Depositing the tray on the little table next to the bed, she smiled at him.

鈥淕ood evening, feeling better?鈥� she asked.

鈥淵es, much better, thank you, but my head and ache awfully.鈥�

鈥淵ou will be all right. It鈥檚 nothing serious.鈥� She didn鈥檛 tell him, but she knew that the police had broken a couple of his ribs. There was a nasty cut on his left, temple. The police brought him in last night unconscious and bleeding.

She took his temperature. 鈥淵our temperature has come down. It鈥檚 normal now. You should be well enough within a week to stand trial.鈥�

鈥淲hat about the others?鈥� eagerly asked Prakash.

鈥淚 believe all but two escaped with slight injuries. They are in the police lock-up. One Amalraj was badly beaten. He is in the General Ward. He needed a blood transfusion, but he is all right.

鈥淗ow is Ramnath?鈥�

鈥淥h yes! you mean the American-educated young man. I am sorry to say he is in bad shape. He is in the Emergency Ward; I鈥檝e just come from there.鈥�

鈥淏ut he will be all right soon?鈥� Prakash鈥檚 voice was not hopeful.

鈥淚鈥檓 sure he will be,鈥� she assured him, though she felt like bursting out that he had been badly beaten and had a fractured skull. She knew he was still unconscious, and the doctors disagreed about his chances to live.

Prakash lay silent, but deep in thought about young Ramnath and the hopes he held for him in his country鈥檚 political life. He had a strange premonition that something was wrong. Suddenly he felt feverish and wanted to rush out to Ramnath鈥檚 side and nurse him to life and health. But he lay helpless, thinking of all that Ramnath wanted to do for India and the impatient purpose and lofty idealism of his young mind. The twitching pain at his temple began to increase and his head ached terribly. As the nurse straightened the sheets over him, Dr. Mitra, the jail doctor, a distinguished-looking, elderly physician, walked in with his genial smile. Prakash knew the doctor, for every political prisoner in that Province had sometime or other been under Dr. Mitra鈥檚 expert and tender care.

The nurse greeted the doctor with 鈥淭emperature normal, doctor,鈥� and, walked away to the next bed.

The doctor bent over Prakash and whispered as he felt his pulse, 鈥淲ho was the renegade that informed the police about the meeting?鈥�

鈥淚 have no idea. I would certainly like to know,鈥� muttered Prakash.

鈥淲hen you discover the informer, we must give him a private hanging,鈥� advised the doctor in a low voice.

鈥淗ow is Ramnath?鈥� inquired Prakash.

鈥淚 don鈥檛 want to worry you, but his condition is very serious. In fact, he is in a rather critical condition. He hasn鈥檛 yet recovered consciousness. If he hangs on until tomorrow, there may be a chance of recovery.

鈥淢ay I see him?鈥�

The doctor did not answer for a minute or two. He looked away, far out into the almost endless stretch of barren ground, where the huge, massive walls of the prison rose toward the grey and cloudy sky.

鈥淚 feel a little better,鈥� added Prakash eagerly.

鈥淰ery well. If you wish, you can see Ramnath, but I am afraid we have lost him.鈥� Even the old doctor, who had witnessed countless deaths, seemed to be brooding over young Ramnath鈥檚 battle for his life. He still looked away and seemed a little lost.

A nurse walked in hastily. 鈥淐ase number eight is critical, doctor. You are wanted in the Emergency Ward.鈥� No sooner had she finished her summons than the loud speaker on the wall began to wail, 鈥淒r. Mitra, Dr. Mitra, wanted in the Emergency Ward.鈥�

鈥淎nyone there now?鈥� Dr. Mitra asked the nurse.

鈥淥nly two internees, doctor,鈥� she replied.

鈥淚 am going there straightaway. Bring this patient鈥揑 mean Mr. Prakash鈥搕o the Emergency Ward. Case number eight.鈥� Dr. Mitra walked away briskly.

Ramnath lay on the hospital bed as if he were in a deep sleep. His calm young face was partly covered with a slight stubble and a spate of bandages was wrapped around his head.

The young internee bent over Ramnath, rose after a minute, and whispered to Dr. Mitra, 鈥淚 am afraid he is sinking.鈥�

Another internee felt Ramnath鈥檚 pulse. 鈥淰ery low,鈥� he murmured.

鈥淎ny chance?鈥� asked the first internee.

鈥淐an鈥檛 say,鈥� replied Dr. Mitra.

Prakash, supported by the nurse, slowly walked in and stood near Ramnath鈥檚 bed. Everybody was silent, but suddenly there was a gasp and a moment鈥檚 heavy breathing. Ramnath opened his eyes and surveyed the room and the people in it for a split second. The corners of his mouth quivered for a minute as he tried to say something. Prakash bent low and could barely hear Ramnath鈥檚 whisper, 鈥淭he speech鈥搘ill you鈥搑ead鈥搕he speech.鈥�?鈥� Then his mouth became still and his eyes closed weakly. Prakash continued to bend close to the young face, hoping Ramnath would speak again, until Dr. Mitra gently pushed him aside and bent to examine Ramnath. After a minute he stood up and pulled the white sheet over the inert face. He turned to the nurse with a vacant look. 鈥淚nform the mortuary, the police and the press,鈥� he said.