Project Heart - Chapter 7: Chapter 7

"Were you at Baruah bor-deuta's place?"
Dikhou froze, one leg half raised to cross the threshold. His mother was sitting at the porch, gathering the rice stacks that were put out to dry. She was busy with her work and did not look up but he could sense her displeasure. "Yes," he said. "Aita asked me to stay for lunch."
"Lunch was hours ago."
"I..." He sighed, unable to come up with an excuse. He wondered why he needed an excuse at all; his mother never disapproved of him going over to Nildeep Baruah's house. "I lost track of time."
His mother still did not look up. "And what about the cows?"
"I asked Milon to bring them."
"Well, I just saw Milon goofing around with his friends." She finally turned to him, her eyes sharp. "No cows."
Dikhou mentally cursed, her displeasure making sense now. It was so typical of Milon to forget important tasks. "I'm going," he cried, running back the way he came, out of the gate made of bamboos.
The grazing field was deserted except for their three cows. He went and untied the ropes from where they were attached to stakes buried into the ground. Uttering the familiar words to make them follow him, he tugged the cows out of the field and towards his house.
When he returned, his mother was no longer sitting outside. Lights poured out of the windows of the medium-sized brick house, its exterior walls painted a light blue that had dulled and greyed over the years.
Dikhou tied the cows in the byre, washed up and walked inside.
The drawing-room was small and mostly bare except for an old sofa set. There was a framed photo of Dikhou's father on a high shelf, with a garland of dried flowers around it. He was in his late thirties in that picture, with bright eyes and dark curly hair that resembled Dikhou's and a shy smile that didn't. On the wall opposite to it were framed certificates – awards and degrees earned by Dikhou and his sisters - and a picture of his eldest sister with her husband, taken on their wedding day.
Dikhou walked to the door on his left that led to the dining room.
Kopili was sitting there, at the table, with her head downcast. She was aptly reading from a notebook that had stick-figure-like numbers scribbled on it in pencil. Next to it, half a dozen thin notebooks were neatly stacked.
"Tea?" his mother asked when she saw him enter.
Dikhou nodded, taking a seat opposite his sister. The room, housing a dining table meant for six people, was too big for just the three of them. Its walls were bare except for a japi hung on one side. Next to it were three small framed photographs, each of Dikhou and his siblings; they were all kids there, with gaps in their teeth, silly hairstyles and unabashed glints in their eyes. A lone tubelight bathed the room in white, unflinching light.
"Show me Lohor's answers." Dikhou leaned forward towards the stack of notebooks, peering at the labels that held the names of their owners.
"It's not here. I already checked his," Kopili replied without looking up. "You should tell him to stop goofing around and study more."
Pouting, Dikhou leaned back on his seat; the worn-out wooden chair was rickety with its four legs not sitting properly on the floor. "I hope you went easy on him, the poor kid's terrified of maths."
"He thinks three multiplied by seven is thirty-seven, so I think math is more terrified of him."
Dikhou laughed. "Maybe he needs a better teacher."
Kopili reached out and pinched his arm.
"Ow!" He leaned over the table and tried to grab her long braid, but she backed away in the nick of time, smirking at her victory. "You–"
Their mother walked in, grunting in displeasure. "Grow up, you two." She placed a cup of milk tea in front of Dikhou and passed him a container of pitha. "Just because bor-deuta asked you to stay for lunch doesn't mean you should accept it without thinking."
Dikhou frowned then. It wasn't unusual for him to eat his meals at their neighbour's place. "Is something wrong, ma?" He tried reading her face. She was a small woman, short and thin, but she carried herself with a poise Dikhou had never seen in any woman in their village; back straight, chin out like she was ready to take on the world. His sisters had inherited that from her, Dikhou wasn't sure if he did.
Right now, her brows were twisted in a clear display of annoyance. "Nothing's wrong. You just shouldn't impose on them when they have guests."
"Oh I'm sure it's because of the guests that he stayed," Kopili broke in, smirking suggestively. "Niribili is very cute. Or do you like Banhi more?"
Dikhou felt something then, something that was like an itch underneath his skin, like a clog in his throat desperate to break free. He ignored it and said, "Oh yeah? Like you weren't totally flirting with Junak last night?"
Kopili's eyes widened. With a face drained of blood, she turned to their mother. "I wasn't!"
The woman held both her children in equal exasperation. "You two need to stay away from them."
Need, she said. Not should.
Dikhou felt a surge of panic. Could it be that she knew about Junak being... whatever he was? It did not seem likely, but if Dikhou could find out with a single google search, anyone could. And if even a single person in the village found out, it wouldn't be long before everyone did.
"Junak is Niyor's son," his mother said like that explained everything. "You know what that man did to your father."
That did explain everything. As Dikhou's panic subsided, a familiar ache took its place. He should've known this was what was bothering his mother. Last night, when they went for to Nildeep Baruah's house for dinner, his mother had only exchanged basic formal greetings with Junak and stayed away all night, ignoring his presence altogether. Dikhou hadn't noticed then, but now it made sense.
He felt a little guilty for not realising this sooner.
"I don't think," Kopili began, her voice low, like she was testing the waters, "I don't think he's like his father.'
"And what do you know about his father?" Their mother did not raise her voice, she never did, but the sharpness stung, almost like a slap.
Dikhou winced. Kopili sighed.
Their mother gritted her teeth and looked down. Her knuckles were white from clutching onto the edge of the table. "He looks exactly like him," she muttered.
"Ma–"
Dikhou was not trying to argue but his mother misunderstood. She looked up, her eyes accusing, and said, "Look at how he's come running back to his grandparents only now when he needs something. After all these years." She huffed, her jaw clenched. "And look at bor-deuta, welcoming him like nothing's wrong. Like it doesn't hurt him."
Dikhou and Kopili sat frozen, their eyes on their mother, feeling her anger, resentment and sadness seep into them. Because what she said was true. Junak's parents had completely abandoned Baruah koka and aita, and Dikhou's mother had all the right to be angry because she and her family were the ones looking after the elderly couple.
Junak's face flashed in Dikhou's mind – fair, smooth skin, dark hair possibly styled after some trend, in light-coloured sweatshirts and sweaters that were too big for him.
Dikhou knew what his mother meant, where she was coming from, but it was also difficult to imagine Junak as a selfish bastard like his father. Not when he was scared of ghosts, when he picked the women's steps to dance to, when he mostly looked flustered and clueless.
But of course, Dikhou wasn't about to argue with his mother. Not over this. Never over this. "Yes, ma, we understand. We'll be careful," he said, keeping to himself the fact that he had agreed to help him.
It was clearly the answer his mother wanted to hear. Nodding, she returned to the kitchen. Or was about to.
Just as she turned, the lights went out, drowning them in pitch blackness.
From the dark ahead of him, Kopili chuckled. "I wonder how the city kids will react to the power cuts."
Dikhou was lying on his bed, mostly in the dark. An oil lamp sat in the corridor outside the door, draping his room in long, looming shadows.
He had his phone out, held over his face.
Under the google search "Junak Baruah", the phone screen showed several dozen links; most of those were videos, a few were blogs.
QUEER FILMMAKER FROM INDIA MAKING HIS MARK IN AMERICA a headline read. It was some local Indian e-newspaper. It spoke of one of Junak's videos – the same one Dikhou had seen – showering praises at his directing.
There were several articles on that video. ONE MILLION VIEWS. BREATHTAKING SHORT-FILM. BOLD STORYTELLING. MOST SHARED VIDEO.
Dikhou felt an impossible urge to watch the video again.
But he had already exhausted his daily quota of high-speed internet. And he couldn't risk watching it at home anyway.
So he scrolled down. Past the other videos that held really colourful thumbnails: rainbows, women kissing women, people dressed in androgenous clothes and makeup. Dikhou did not understand much.
He wanted to. But he didn't open any of the videos. Not that night.
His finger instead hovered over Junak's Facebook account.
Did I not accept your Facebook friend request or something?
Though there was no way Junak was going to know he was stalking him, Dikhou still hesitated. He groaned and flung the phone aside on the bed. What was he even doing? The guy was clearly trouble. Clearly. He was Niyor Baruah's son! And... not straight.
Dikhou needed to stay away.
Yet he couldn't help but be fascinated.
I can guarantee you that at least five people in this village are probably not straight or cisgendered, he had said and with such confidence! How could he even say that?
But what if... what if it was true?
Dikhou picked up his phone, the sharp light burning his eyes. He opened Junak's Facebook account.
It was almost dead, or on the verge of dying. There were no pictures except a silhouette as his profile picture. The background photo was some animated character Dikhou knew nothing about. His posts were all video links and event notifications. It was all purely work.
Disappointed, Dikhou exited. He scrolled down the search result page and found Junak's Instagram : 7126 followers, 2013 following, 976 posts.
Now, this was interesting. Dikhou clicked on it.
In his profile picture, Junak was wearing dark sunglasses. He was somewhere sunny, his hair unkempt. He was looking away from the camera, smiling. His bio read: i'd rather be a creature of the night / GRACE out now! There was a lot of rainbow and flower emojis.
Dikhou scrolled down. Due to his slow internet, only one picture had loaded – it was a picture of Junak with a blonde-haired girl who had her arm around his shoulders, their cheeks touching. They were sitting in what looked like a fast-food restaurant. The caption read: where did all the good boys go? Asking for a friend. Right below was a comment that said: No, you're not!!!!!!!! He had replied with a: Shush!!!!
Dikhou frowned, unsure of what to make of it.
Another picture popped up – it was a fat black cat sitting on a dashboard. The caption read: we're all going to hell but that's okay cause the cishets apparently won't be there?!
A group photo followed next – seven people standing in a green, spacious lawn, squinting in the sunlight. There were girls and boys, wearing loose summer outfits. Junak had his sunglasses on, he was wearing shorts and a shirt that wasn't buttoned, revealing the skin along his chest. Niribili was standing next to him, in a white dress. Banhi was not there. The caption read : all that was missing was a cake. and a beach.
Dikhou was impatiently, almost hungrily, waiting for more pictures to load when his phone rang. The called ID showed Baruah Koka.
All of a sudden, he felt like a thief caught in the act. He wasn't really sure why. But his heart was hammering in his chest and he gulped once before answering the phone, "Yes, koka?"
"Dikhou, listen." The lack of greetings could sound rude to others but theirs came from years of familiarity. That man was as dear to Dikhou as his own grandfather would've been were he alive.
"What is it, koka? Is everything alright?"
"Yes, yes. Uh..." There was a brief pause. "Can you call Plabon and ask him to come over tomorrow? I can't seem to find his number."
Plabon, a young man of Dikhou's age, was their local electrician. The only one in the village. "Okay. I'll call him." Dikhou nodded, then frowned. "What do I tell him?"
"Tell him to bring and install a home inverter."
The moment Dikhou heard the man, his mother's words returned to him, sharp and clear and strikingly true. It was very obvious why the old man wanted a home inverter now after years of surviving without one. It was so ridiculous; those three had been here for two days! And they were going to leave in a week or so and never return.
Junak was never going to return! He was here because he needed something from his grandparents, not because he cared. And look how blind the old man was to this!
Dikhou's anger flared. If some of it seeped into his words, he did not care. "Okay, koka, I'll tell him."