Redemption

"Yes, Kapu", he said. I was impressed by his politeness.

"Why have you stopped us?"

"We need some money, Kapu," he replied.

"I am carrying very little with me," I said while extracting my wallet from the right hip pocket, and added, "But freedom fighters seldom beg or rob."

"Kapu, we haven't eaten for two days while passing through the Chakma area. We also need money for cigarettes," explained the younger of the two quite innocently.

"Suppose I give you some cigarettes," I offered.

"But we will still need some money," he reposted.

"You may take all the money I have. But I am worried that the army patrols may be passing this way sooner than you might think, and I would hate to see you harmed in any way. You may get caught-up in an ambush if you go inside the forest now. I suggest both of you come with us to my house for tonight. We will feed you and give you a place to sleep. And I promise to take you early tomorrow morning wherever you think it is safe for you to go, along with your weapons," I said.

They looked at each other and me in total disbelief, and then at Lalthanzama to know if I could be trusted. My driver assured them by saying that he trusted me like his own brother, and that they could at once unload their weapons and get into the vehicle.

They looked askance at my wife, like children wanting reassurance from a woman, and she said, "Come with me, and no body will harm you."

They moved fast and were soon inside the car exchanging greetings and news with Lalthanzama. I started the engine and roared off.

When we arrived home, the duo made friends with my children, cook, maid, dogs and cats in not more than ten minutes, and the house resounded with chatter and laughter. My wife organised a bath, change of clothes, and an excellent dinner for them, which the young men greatly appreciated. They were, however, quite exhausted by fatigue and excitement and, after listening to some music on the record player, went to sleep like children.

I had watched intently as they relished the family warmth they perhaps missed in the life-style of their choosing, and wondered if joining the insurgent bands was only an innocent deviation for these young men. Although I was strongly tempted to engage them in some conversation of professional interest to me, I decided to be as little instrusive when they were under my protection as they had been noble when I was at their mercy. Before it was dawn, I packed them in my car with all their belongings and, in addition, gave them cartons of cigarettes, cakes of soap, some bread, boiled eggs, biscuits, sugar, salt and tea as a gift - all that my Mizo maid, whose brother was also an insurgent, knew would be necessary for them to survive in the jungle for a few days. While dropping them where they wanted to go, on the edge of a dense forest about ten miles from my house, I suspected their faces were incredulous, and their eyes wistful and moist, as they saw me leave.

Many days later, an envelope addressed to me contained a neatly typed missive on the letter-head of the insurgent governor of the area which read: "We reciprocate the attitude of friendship and sympathy adopted by you and your wife towards our people, and take this opportunity to advise you to have the olive green colour of your car changed so that our men do not shoot at you by mistake."

"I've been thinking," said the Colonel on the phone the same evening, "of advising you and your wife to curb your magnanimity as an abundant measure of security. It appears that you might be having some underground chaps over to enjoy your hospitality without you checking their antecedents. I've just seen some diaries our troops seized a few days ago. They contain glowing accounts of your house. I must confess, though, that it is the first time that we have found some positive sentiments in our enemies’ thinking towards us Indians. But it's still my duty to tell you that such sentiments can always be a kind of disinformation, and, more importantly, to caution you before you jeopardise your security again."

"Whose diaries are these in any case, Colonel?" I asked, without expecting to be surprised.

"Two youngters called Lianzuala and Saithuama. They were shot in an operation we launched recently. So, in fact, we have already neutralized the immediate danger involved, but you and your wife would do well to be a little more careful."

I couldn't quite make out if there was a hint of sarcasm in the Colonel's voice. But I suppressed the temptation to ask him the number of battalions used and the cost of operations for killing two teen-agers who were perhaps looking for cigarettes, food, and redemption.