Project Heart - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

The next day, Dikhou showed up for breakfast.
Junak found him sitting with Grandpa, Niribili and Banhi at the dinner table, with Grandma standing by the side as usual. They were sipping tea and laughing at something Banhi was saying.
"Aiyo, look who's early today," Grandma cheered when Junak stepped into the room. Niribili smiled at him, Banhi raised a hand in greeting, while Dikhou gave him an impassive look before turning to the others.
It made Junak a little uncomfortable.
"Good morning koka, aita." He wasn't sure what got over him but he went and hugged his grandmother. It was only when he was holding her, warm and frail against him, that he realised how he'd never hugged a family member before. At least, not as far back as he could remember.
The woman smiled and touched a gentle hand to his cheek, which resulted in a frown. "Aiyo, why are you so cold?" Having taken a hurried bath in freezing water, Junak's teeth were still clattering and his skin was cold. Before he could tell his grandmother so, she added, "Don't tell me Jatin didn't heat the water for you."
"What?"
Grandma turned towards the door. "Jatin," she called.
Knowing what was coming, Junak cried, "No, no, aita, I was the one who didn't ask him."
"No! I told him to - Jatin, didn't you heat the water for Junak?"
Jatin, the young boy in his mid-teens, stood at the door, his head downcast.
From the corner of his eyes, Junak caught Dikhou looking at him. The accusation was clear in his gaze. "Aita, how was he supposed to know I was going to take a bath?" Junak insisted, on the verge of panicking. "I didn't tell him."
"I told you, Junak, tell us if you need anything."
"I - I know. But it was actually refreshing to bathe in the cold water." He smiled, hoping to pass it off as genuine.
"You'll fall sick," Grandma reprimanded, then turned to Jatin. "Make sure you heat the water from tomorrow."
"Okay, aita," he said, then walked out. It made Junak sick with guilt and he made a mental note to go apologise to Jatin later.
"Go now, sit." Grandma smiled at her grandson, signalling the end of that discussion.
With his heart in his throat, Junak took a seat at the end of the table, opposite his grandfather. It put Banhi to his left and one empty seat on his right after which Dikhou was sitting. He kept his gaze away from him.
"You were telling us about the dam, koka," Niribili said.
"Ah, yes," the old man replied, then began talking about some dam along a distributary of the Brahmaputra; clearly picking up from an ongoing conversation.
Jealousy flared in the pit of Junak's heart. After the first day of his grandfather asking about his education in order to make small talk, he and Junak ran of topics to talk about. The common threads between them were frayed and sensitive and neither was brave enough to bring those up.
But that was where Niribili stepped in, filling the awkward silences with casual queries and remarks to the point that now it felt like she and Grandpa were family while Junak was the outsider.
It hurt. More than Junak had anticipated or even understood.
He sat in silence while the others conversed. When Priti, the cook, brought him a bowl of jolpan, he sat eating in silence.
From under the table, Banhi lightly nudged him on the shin. He looked at her and he knew she knew that he was upset. "What's the game plan, today?" she asked, voice low so as to not interrupt Niribili and Grandpa.
"I'll work on the song. You?"
"I think I'll shoot a few scenes around the village."
Junak nodded. "Were you able to charge your stuff last night? My phone is almost dead."
"I brought spare batteries and a power bank. You can go grab them from my bag."
"Thanks." From the corner of his eyes, Junak felt Dikhou's gaze on him. He looked up and the other boy's gaze flitted away immediately. As Junak watched, he picked up a spoon and focused on the food. He was wearing a sweatshirt that morning and his hair was slightly wet and glistening in the daylight.
Junak found his heart racing in his chest. He ignored it and got back to eating.
Around five minutes later, there was the scrapping of the chair on the floor. Junak looked up to see Dikhou rising to his feet. He uttered the formal etiquettes of leaving the table, then turned to Junak. "Are you coming?" he said.
A "Huh?" slipped out before Junak could consider coming up with a better response.
Dikhou walked away from the dining table. On a bamboo stool near the door, a dhool was sitting. He picked it up and slung it over his shoulder. "You said you wanted help with your song?"
As much as Junak disliked Dikhou, his attention was a welcome change. He got to his feet, emptied the bowl of jolpan in three hurried spoonfuls and turned to leave.
"Lunch is at one," Grandma called after them as they left the room. "Dikhou, you also join us, okay?"
"Okay, aita," both chorused, unintentionally, then scowled in annoyance.
They did not talk as Dikhou led Junak through a small alley, off the main road. On either side were small houses with big yards. People were all busy with their work – men taking cows to fields, women washing clothes, men making bamboo accessories, women weaving cloth. Children were playing, while older people stood on the road talking to others.
A few people – mostly women – hollered a greeting at Dikhou as they walked past, but by and large they were left alone.
The kids, on the other hand, were really excited to see the both of them.
"Junak-da, Junak-da!"
Junak looked to his left to see a young girl on the other side of the fence. She was wearing a woollen scarf that had previously belonged to Junak. He smiled. "Hello. Are you liking the scarf?"
She nodded, then her expression fell. "You... do you want it back?"
"No, no, it's yours now."
Her face lit up again. "Thank you. Ma asked me to invite you for lunch one of these days." She wrung her hands and shifted from side to side. "Will you come?"
"Uh... I'll talk to aita and let you know?"
"Okay!"
He waved at her. "I'll see you around." As he resumed the walk, he whispered to Dikhou, "What's her name?"
Dikhou was a few paces ahead of him. Without looking back, he said, "Shouldn't you get someone's name first before giving them stuff and agreeing to lunch?"
There was unconcealed hostility in his words that made Junak frown.
A moment later, however, Dikhou added, "Her name's Pakhi. Her mother and your father are distant cousins."
Junak's frown deepened, but he had nothing to say so he kept quiet and followed Dikhou.
Another two minutes later, the houses on either side gave way to pasture. Then, they rounded a corner and Junak fell short in his tracks.
A river, several metres wide, flowed in front of them. Its calm water was glittering under the sunlight. There were wide expanses of white sand beds on its sides. Dikhou led him closer, the grass giving way to the sand. When the water was only a few feet away, Junak plopped down on the soft ground; sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him, he leaned back on his hands and closed his eyes. The sun was warm against him, despite the chilly breezes wafting off the river.
Dikhou scoffed. He gently placed the dhool on the ground, then sat down cross-legged beside Junak.
"I envy people who live near rivers," Junak mused, taking in a deep breath. Though the Brahmaputra flowed through Guwahati, it was on the other end of the city from where he lived so he rarely got to enjoy the magic of a river.
"Yeah, well, during monsoons it floods half the village so I don't know what you're so envious about."
Junak's eyes flew open in a surge of panic and guilt. "I'm sorry. I didn't... I didn't mean it like that."
Dikhou did not react. He was looking out at the river.
Junak fidgeted, tracing his fingers along the soft sand, making obscure shapes. It was quiet, except for the occasional chirp of birds. There were no other people in sight.
After what felt like an eternity, Dikhou said, "Do you know how to play?" He gestured at the dhool.
"I – no, not really."
Dikhou turned to him then, his gaze accusatory for reasons Junak couldn't understand. "You want to write a Bihu song but you don't know how to play the dhool?"
"I..." Why was Junak stuttering? He had done nothing wrong! "That's the point, isn't it?" he said, raising his chin. "If I knew how to play, I wouldn't be here asking for your help."
Dikhou started at him, his jaw clenched. Junak sucked in a deep breath and returned an equally sharp look.
Dikhou was the one to yield, with a "What do you want me to do? I don't have time to teach you."
The way he said it – challengingly, demeaningly, like learning it was something beyond Junak's abilities – made Junak angry. He almost said something stupid like watch me learn it on my own but managed to hold his tongue because winning the Diamond Jury was more important than proving shit to this jerk. "No, I just want you to make me a track."
Dikhou considered, head tilted to the side.
Junak waited with bated breaths, hoping his worry and impatience didn't seep into his features. If Dikhou said no, he would have to hire professionals who were going to squeeze him dry – both in terms of money and energy.
Dikhou nodded after a while, but it lacked any charm and goodwill. "What do I get in return?"
There went Junak's hopes of getting the work done for free. Still, he could bargain the price: "We're running a little low on budget, but how much do you want?"
Dikhou's eye twitched. "What else can you offer other than money?"
Junak, so accustomed to casual innuendoes, said it without thinking, "I'm not gonna sleep with you for a track."
It took Dikhou a few seconds to get it; Junak knew from the way his face blanched then contorted into an expression of disgust, shame and anger. Without a word, he jumped to his feet and bent down to pick the dhool.
"Wait, wait, wait," Junak cried. He really did not want to deal with the bigger jerks from Guwahati. "I - I was kidding, it's a - it's a joke."
Dikhou had his back to Junak, his shoulders tense. "Well, it wasn't funny."
His years of living around sex-positive people made Junak forget how talking about sex was taboo in places like these. And not to mention how he implied gay sex. "You're right. I-It was insensitive. I'm sorry."
"You think your rich, urban self is entitled to saying whatever and doing whatever, huh?" Dikhou turned to snap at him, his face twisted in anger. "You come here out of the blue, demanding things from your grandparents, exploiting their hospitality –"
"Huh?"
"And you tell me these... things that I don't want to know, just because... what? Because you're cool? Because you don't have to face the consequences?"
Somewhere amidst the unwarranted berate, Junak had risen to his feet. He was gaping at Dikhou, unable to process any of the accusations he was throwing at him. "What are you talking about?"
"Yeah," Dikhou scoffed, "you don't even know what I'm talking about."
"Is this about what happened this morning? Because I swear I didn't-"
"Will you cut it out already? You're fooling no one."
"What?"
Dikhou simply shook his head and turned to leave. With his back to Junak, he added, "Ma was right. You are just like your father."
If Dikhou had turned and kicked him in the gut, it would've hurt and surprised him less. Junak watched, with his mouth open and throat dry, as Dikhou walked away, leaving him alone on the sand bed.