Mamta Kalia

forehead. His mind wandered towards
many memories when he was taking out
the handkerchief.
Vijay Mitra could not be saved even
after much effort. Many students
including himself had argued that the
political loyalty of any student is his
personal right, he shouldn’t be rusticated
on that basis. But college administration
was not ready to hear a word, strict
measures had been taken in the campus.
Police was deputed as precaution and
before the thrashing attitude of some
professors the courage of students failed.
The rustication of Vijay Mitra was first
the matter of discussion and then was
forgotten.
But on his consciousness Vijay Mitra
remained alive for a long time. His bed,
his books, trunk, table lamp, his clothes
made his memory deeper. He could never
understand the weakness in his heart
for Vijay Mitra, his words, his emotions,
his style, his attitude.
Suddenly one day when Mitra’s father
came to take his things. He melted. Seeing
the hopeless, tired and broken personality
of the old man, he could hardly say—
“We tried but…
He couldn’t understand what to say
after this ‘but’ and Vijay Mitra’s father
didn’t want to know anything. During
the packing and loading of his things
on the rickshaw there was a hard silence,
through which much was said in a way
that words could not. He kept looking
at the rickshaw going out of the hostel
gate. In a few minutes Vijay Mitra’s father
changed into a shadow.
He was depressed. Now there weren’t
things reminding of Vijay Mitra’s
presence, but there was an insipid
emptiness in that corner. He felt this
throbbing emptiness. For the first time
he had heard a silence buzzing as if
someone were saying in his ears—
“Comrade, why did you keep my diary
with you?”
This was Vijay Mitra! Was Vijay Mitra
inside him? He glanced around the room,
then very carefully put out the red diary
and questioned himself— “ why did you
hide the diary of Vijay Mitra from his
father?”
And there wasn’t any answer of his
own question. He began passing the pages
of the diary as if the answer will come
out of it. Suddenly his eyes became glued
to a page. Vijay Mitra had written on
a page— “the proletariat must try to
get help from farmers and prepare for
armed revolt. The farmers should make
revolutionary committees in countryside
and prepare to capture the lands. The
labour class will have to take the
leadership in their hands, then only
revolution will succeed. —”Lenin”.
Reading this page he was at once
filled with terror and guilt and he thought
it imprudent to keep the diary. The
sentimentality which had provoked him
to keep the diary, was now again
provoking him to escape from it. He
stood up at once and marched towards
April-June 2010 :: 121