The Fountain Pen
	Tathagata Mukhopadhyay   Mumbai, 1998

Prologue.

 

Nineteen Ninety Seven; Mrs. Sumana Ghoshal, DSc.

 

The sleek steel blue BMW had to honk at least thrice, before the Gorkha security guard opened the huge wrought iron gates to let it in. The Gorkha was clearly napping. This added to Mrs. Sumana Ghoshal’s irritation and frustration, that had started very early in the day.

It was three in the afternoon and she had just gotten back from the American Embassy at Chanakyapuri completing the visa interview. Her irritation started, when, despite starting very early, saw a long serpentine queue comprising of people from different quarters and categories. From very old people to infants on mothers’ laps, from sophisticated desi-yanks to rustic village farmer, from newly-married youngsters to nonagenarian couple – the line had everybody. Outdoors, the line was through a grilled cage, which ended in a large hall. Inside the hall the line was like a huge curled up python with several u-bends, which terminated in another hall, which had the interview-booths. It was as if the whole of Delhi had gathered there to get an American Visa. She was irritated with the time it took – she had to stand for hours in a congested and caged queue which made her legs and back ache. She was irritated with the arrogance of the uniformed black American guards heavily armed with guns and magazines, who were supposedly managing the crowd. She was irritated with the inane questions asked by the mostly white American Nationals probing the reasons for the visit, before they can be trusted to enter their sacred land. The invitation letter from the Chicago University for delivering a special lecture on the solution of twenty third Hilbert’s Problem – an all-expense paid trip – was apparently not enough for the visa-officers, for they kept asking stupid questions like where would you stay, who pays for the trip, do you have any relatives in the US and the like. And every question thrown at her was with an air of suspicion. May be it was their style, but it did not go down well with Sumana.

She had traveled widely in various countries across the continents, which included several developed countries in Europe and Asia. Never ever did she experience such, should she say, indignation!

She, Mrs. Sumana Ghoshal, wife of diplomat Mr. Sukhomoy Ghoshal, a Doctorate of Science in Applied Mathematics from the University of Paris, recipient of Shanti Swarup Bhatnagar prize for her work in Mathematics, and now the Vice Chancellor of Delhi University, deserved better treatment. After all she was the one to have found alternative solutions to the 20th and the 21st problems posed by German mathematician, David Gilbert way back in 1900!

The steel blue BMW traversed the long paved pathway and pulled up under the porch of their diplomatic bungalow in Prithviraj Road.

Sumana got down from the car and wearily trudged up the few wooden steps and pressed the doorbell on the ornate frame of the heavy mahogany front door and waited. In a while, Shyamali opened the door.

Sumana had brought Shyamali along with her about fifteen years back from her parental place, Shyamnagar, located in the 24 Paraganas in West Bengal. She had a slight defect in her feet, and as a result, had to limp slowly. Probably this had been the reason for Shyamali’s in-laws to desert her immediately after her marriage. They also confiscated the dowry-money. Her parents were too poor to get her re-married or even fight a legal case against her in-laws. Shyamali, too, was scared to get married again. In fact she wanted to take her life. It is then that Sumana offered her a shelter and she gladly migrated to Delhi as her household help.

“Where’s Sudarshana?” – She asked. Shyamali swung her head from side to side. She didn’t know.

“So she isn’t back yet” – Her irritation increased by one more notch. Today she had no college. Yet she’d left home with Sumana early in the morning, supposedly at a friend’s place for studies. And now it’s three in the afternoon! She doesn’t even care to have lunch together with her parents on a holiday.

After a quick lunch of fish-curry and rice, Sumana climbed up the stairs and flopped wearily on her bed. She is supposed to fly out to Chicago in a week’s time - her first visit to the US. Had she known beforehand of the rigors of getting a US visa, she’d have politely refused the offer to the University authorities.

Or, would she, really? She asked herself, and almost immediately came up with an honest answer.

No.

The recognition and exposure she’d be getting there in presence of a large congregation of world renowned mathematicians was simply too luring for her to resist.

Ever since David Hilbert presented the twenty three mathematical problems in 1900, the mathematicians around the world got into a constant competition to solve them. Up until now twenty two of those have been solved. Sumana’s postulations on the alternative solution to the twentieth and twenty-first problems were recognized by all top universities across the world. She was convinced that she would find the solution to the twenty-third and the last of Hilbert’s problems.

Suddenly Sumana felt confident and relaxed. The unrest that was nagging her since morning had ebbed off.

She got up from her bed and stood in front of the full length mirror that was attached on the front wall of her king-sized bed.

She was never a blazing beauty, but elegantly attractive. She wasn’t very fair. In her younger days being fair was an aspiration for all Bengali women. With her slightly upturned nose, a small pout, not-too-large breasts, rather narrow hips and long legs, she was never the conventional beauty that the Bengali girls of seventies would like to aspire for. Her eyes were attractive, even under her black rimmed glasses. She twirled in front of the mirror and had a good look at her. She’d crossed forty-five recently and she wasn’t displeased with what she saw. A few strands of grey here and there only added to her grace and elegance. She would captivate the audience there with her postulations and also her presence, she was sure of that.

She decided to start packing for her trip, even though it was seven days away. All the empty suitcases were stored in an empty wardrobe in the adjacent room which her daughter Sudarshana used. She looked at her watch – it was past four thirty. Still her daughter had not returned. She was determined not to be upset. Sumana tip-toed to her daughter’s room, which was unkempt, as usual, much like her own room in their Shyamnagar home, when she was a college going student.

In more ways than one, Sudarshana was like her, she thought. Only, she, in her college days, never enjoyed such freedom and independence. She was much more respectful and to some extent scared of her parents, than her daughter.

Otherwise, she had the same height, same complexion, same oval shaped face and like her, Sudarshana is also pursuing Applied Mathematics. She too, like Sumana, initially never agreed to study maths. However, like Sumana, she had secured very good marks in her twelfth standard board exams which made Sumana persuaded her to pursue maths. She gave her own example while trying to persuade her daughter to specialize in Applied Mathematics. Sumana was sure, once her daughter tastes the real joy of maths, all her dissatisfactions would be allayed. It was almost a replay of her life story.

Sumana still distinctly remembered the exciting time she’d had her college days. She had to take the local train every day for her travel to Calcutta. Sweet and sour memories of those wonderful times were something she enjoyed reminiscing. Sumana never considered herself to be extraordinarily talented. If she’d made it, there is no reason why her daughter would not make it big in the field of maths. And that’s the reason why she persuaded Sudarshana to specialize in Maths much to the chagrin of her husband, Sukhomoy.

Sumana fondly looked at the heap of books and exercise books on her daughter’s table. A half-empty coffee-cup placed precariously in one corner of the table. On the chair, the Sony Walkman which she’d bought only three months back was lying untidily over a heap of used clothes. Even an elephant can hide here – she thought with a chuckle.

Absentmindedly, she opened the drawer. It was packed with several writing instruments, staplers, paper-punch and various other miscellaneous stationeries. Suddenly, within the bunch of approximately twenty writing instruments consisting of fountain pens, ball point pens, felt pens and pencils, Sumana saw something that left her stupefied!

A fountain pen … a black thickset pen with golden clip…

With trembling hands, she picked up the writing instrument … no question … it bore the same French name - S.T Dupont Elysée -  embossed in gold …

Even before opening its cap Sumana could vouch it had a thick nib through which thick black ink flowed easily … no question this was the same pen she’d lost twenty five years ago…

The absurdity of the whole incident left Sumana in a state of shock…

Impossible … this was impossible …

 

Chapter 1

 

Nineteen Seventy Two: Miss Sumana Chatterjee.

 

Today, she met the hawker again, busy peddling his pens as soon as the 9 pm Seladah-Naihati local picked up speed…

She often ran into that guy in the general compartment of the Naihati local that departed Sealdah at 9:00 pm. That time in the evening, Sumana preferred the general compartment to the ladies’ compartment for safety. Her evening classes finished late, more so when it was GSM’s class. GSM – Professor Gaurisankar Mukherjee – was obsessed with teaching. His lectures, inevitably, stretched beyond the scheduled time. While teaching, GSM was blissfully oblivious of all earthly matters, leave alone the time. The students restlessly kept glancing at their watches in an effort to remind GSM of the time. Even Ramdeo – the darwan[1] – strolled up and down across the doorway – usually to no avail. Once GSM got deep into the solutions to difficult problems, he transcended above all mundane matters. It was not that they did not enjoy his lectures, but the tension of availing the 9:00 pm Naihati local never allowed her to concentrate.

Initially, Sumana’s mother was a little unsure of letting her daughter attend evening classes. Even now she got very worried if there was even a slightest delay, which, Sumana thought was not uncalled for. It took a good one and a half hours to travel from the university to their home which was in a sleepy suburb called Shyamnagar.

At times, however, Sumana got suffocated with the restrictions that were imposed on her just because she was born as a girl. Apart from going to the university she had no freedom. She was not supposed to loiter around with guys lest it spoil her reputation – only ‘bad’ girls hung around with guys. She was not supposed to wander around in the strong sun for it would darken her complexion. She was not supposed to do this, she was not supposed to do that … uff … restrictions galore … restrictions at every step …

Sometimes Sumana felt that the guy – who made a living by hawking pens in suburban local trains – lived a far happier life than hers. He may not manage a square meal most days – at least his pale and frail appearance suggested that – or he may not afford fancy dresses, yet unlike Sumana, he was free and independent.

What would be his age?

Sumana stole a glance at the pen-peddler. He must be a little older than her … four-five years perhaps. He was very fair and had an unkempt hair that turned auburn – possibly from over exposure in the strong sun - and badly needed a cut. He wore a soft drooping moustache with an unshaven goatee. His cheeks were sunken, which made his cheekbones more prominent. He was quite tall, tough, and possessed eyes that, Sumana thought, were exceptionally bright. He wore a cheap cotton trouser and an un-pressed khadi-kurta, and carried an ordinary canvas bag in which he kept his wares. It was evident he came from a poor family, and had to struggle hard to make a living…

However, usually by nine pm, he too went out of steam and after hawking for a few minutes, chose to sit in one corner if there was an empty seat available, that is. Passengers become sparse by the time the train reached Barrackpore. The hawker-boy usually took a window seat and stared languidly at the dark exterior, deeply engrossed in thoughts…

The hawker boy always continued his journey beyond Shyamnagar, where Sumana alighted. This made her wonder, where did this guy live? Halisahar? Naihati, or beyond that?

Today at Barrackpore, as soon as the compartment got near empty, the peddler-boy came and occupied a window seat just opposite to Sumana. He was carrying a plastic folder which contained cheap pens and ball pens of various colors. He exhaled deeply, before slipping the plastic folder in his canvas bag. It was obvious that he was done for the day. He ran his fingers through his semi-curled unkempt hair, now flailing wildly with the strong wind that blew through the open window. Today he appeared more jaded than other days. Sumana suddenly felt very bad for the guy. Surely he must be very hungry. She understood the pangs of hunger. Every evening at the stroke of dusk she felt so famished that even the stale chops at Dulal-da’s canteen tasted like a freshly cooked delicacy. Every evening, before taking the train she had to eat something to satiate her hunger, either at Dulal-da’s canteen or at the Sealdah station. She came from a reasonably well to do family and could easily afford to spend about a thousand bucks every month on snacking with her friends. But how about the peddler fellow? How much does he make by selling pens every day – thought Sumana - a piddling amount, surely. She was sure the guy couldn’t manage a square meal, leave alone snacking around like she does.

Anyway, why should she be bothered? She forcefully kept the hawker-chap out of her thoughts. She already had enough to keep her occupied twenty four into seven. Applied Mathematics! Why on earth did she choose to specialize on a tough subject like that? Scoring good marks in maths in the higher secondary exams was altogether a different matter – which she managed by solving Das-Mukherjee and K.C.Nag several times over. BSc (hons.) in Maths was still manageable. But MSc in Applied Maths is like getting stuck in a pool of quagmire, with no rescue aid from anywhere. By virtue of scoring high grades in mathematics right from her high school days, Sumana was brainwashed into believing that she was a female incarnation of Euclid, even though deep inside she always knew that she was far from it. She was pretty ordinary, really. Panu-mama[2] – Sumana’s uncle – went to the extent of forecasting Sumana as one of the top-notch scholars in Mathematics, who was born to win laurels for the country.

Panu-Mama was the chief architect in shaping her career – or should she say, pushing her into this quicksand which had only one way to go – down! He worked in Bhilai Steel Plant and came home only during vacations. Panu-Mama was dangerously obsessed with Maths. He loved to catch hold of young kids in the vicinity and offer free classes in mathematics. Such was his reputation that Sumana’s friends stopped coming to her place when Panu-Mama was around. Poor Sumana had nowhere to go but to be trapped by Panu-Mama – much to his delight and her discomfiture. Sumana was his star pupil! During vacations, when every other kid in Shyamnagar frolicked around, Sumana was forced to burn midnight oil with Panu-Mama, solving algebraic equations. There were occasions when every single member went for a holiday matinee movie, leaving behind Sumana and Panu-Mama – who were busy unraveling mysteries of a water tank which filled at a particular rate, but had a hole that leaked out water at half the rate, or sometimes taming the monkey who spent its entire time on climbing an oiled bamboo pole, only to slip half a distance it made every ten seconds…

Why on earth did the tank have to leak?

Why did the monkey have to flirt with the pole instead of monkeying around?

And why indeed Panu-Mama had to visit his sister in every Puja Vacation?

Before every vacation Sumana prayed to the Goddess Durga, to somehow thwart Panu-Mama’s visit. Oh, Ma Durga – please direct Panu-Mama’s boss to load him with extra work or make him miss the train or even induce a flood or hailstorm strong enough for the railway services to be paralyzed for a week! But Ma Durga never seemed to have listened to her prayers. Panu-Mama was always there, right on the day of Mahalaya – to spend Durga Puja with them!

Panu-Mama, otherwise a very nice person, was the one who advised her parents on Sumana’s career in Maths. And she knew, Panu-Mama was the last person her Ma and Baba would have ignored. So even now, every time she struggled with the potpourris of vector analysis and higher-order differential equations, her concentrated ire was always directed towards Panu-Mama. The problems that GSM Sir gave in the class kept popping up like ever increasing mountains of trouble. The pis, phis and lambdas whizzed around her brain much like the arrows in the Battle of Kurukshetra.

She could only manage zeros in two consecutive class tests conducted by GSM. These class tests carry forty percent weightage in the semester-end exams, and therefore couldn’t be ignored. To Sumana, it was not just studies; it was a constant battle of existence. Only the fittest shall survive! Would that peddler-boy ever realize the battle that Sumana had to fight round the clock? So even if he had to go to sleep half hungry at times, he was far, far better off than her – she thought.

Since the past two days, a problem on establishing a differential equation of a vibrating drum was giving her sleepless nights. She was supposed to submit this home assignment the next day, yet she, after five steps, had no clue how to proceed further. She occupied a window seat and opened her exercise book on her lap, concentrating hard on the solution … occasionally biting her ball-point pen …

The train was still stationary at the platform. She thought and thought until all her thoughts started fusing with each other like heavy smog in her brain. She looked vacantly through the window, only to spot the hawker-boy standing very close to her, glaring at her note book. Upon realizing that she had noticed, he looked up at her.

She was about to look back on her note-book, when she heard him say,

“Not happening, right? No solution as yet.” For a thin frame, he had a surprisingly deep voice that had a hint of huskiness.

Sumana was annoyed. Was the guy trying to be pally with her? She chose to ignore him, and tried to concentrate on the problem lying on her lap.

“You may consider trying by substituting lambda for d-square-phi upon dy square, and do a Laplace transform. After two steps you shall find d-dy of cos-square phi cancelling out from the right hand side, and making the equation rather simple… rest for you would be breeze…”

Sumana’s annoyance increased exponentially. Who the hell did the guy think he was - Laplace’s great grandson? If he considered him to be such a pundit, why the hell was he hawking pens in a train, instead of teaching in a college, school or at least in private coaching classes? Idiot.

The compartment was surprisingly empty. The peddler chap boarded the train and occupied the seat opposite the Sumana. Audacity – sheer arrogance, she thought. She chose not to look at him and tried hard to concentrate back on the unsolved equation, but making little headway.

At Ichapore, the guy alighted, and within five seconds, stood on the platform, next to Sumana’s window.

“I know you are angry” – he said softly.

Then as the train started and started accelerating, he said – “Without applying Laplace Transform, you will be wasting time. There are no other solutions to this, trust me…” And then he turned and vanished into the darkness.

Sumana was aghast. The audacity of the peddler-guy made her blood boil.

Sumana had the habit of taking a shower before retiring to bed. Else she couldn’t sleep. That night she was unable to sleep even after taking the shower. The peddler-guy’s words still percolating in her mind, made her restless. She hoped she could find an alternative solution and take a suitable revenge on that impetuous peddler-chap.

She sprang off her bed and sat on her study table, the notebook with half solved problem still lying open, which was now decorated with a lot of meaningless designs which she usually created when she got stuck…

What did he say? Substitute lambda for d-square-phi by dy square, and do a Laplace transform… Fair enough … she’d do that even though she was sure it wouldn’t work…

Well…well…well – it seemed to be working … oh yes … the cos component was getting cancelled … making differentiation of sine inverse lambda easy…and then divide either side by sine y, oh yeah … it was so goddamned simple … why couldn’t she think about this before …?

In no time, the differential equation of vibrating diaphragm was lying resolved in front of Sumana’s beleaguered exercise book!

She scratched her ears and sat ramrod straight on her chair. That peddler-boy surely knew his maths. Suddenly she realized it was hard to ignore the guy’s talent…

But why, why on earth did he make a living by hawking pens? Sumana was now sure that, even though talented, he couldn’t complete his studies. Who in this blasted society would recognize a talent without a degree?

The chap must be having a large family to support … his old Mom … may be he is married too and has a wife and kids to feed…

Sumana realized that her subdued empathy for the peddler-boy had resurfaced. This time at least four times more strongly…

 

---

 

Chapter 2

 

Next day, GSM was absent. This gave an opportunity to Sumana to leave early. She was at Sealdah station by seven thirty in the evening, and was quite surprised to spot the peddler-guy near a tea stall, sipping tea from an earthenware cup. Suddenly she felt very bad for the chap. He was not lucky like her to have been born in an affluent family. The entire responsibility of running the household was probably on him – which, she thought, was the reason for not allowing him complete his studies and utilizing his talent more meaningfully. He is talented no doubt, but his talent would go unrecognized and unutilized. With an opportunity, who knows, maybe this guy, instead of GSM, would have tutored them.

Sumana suddenly felt a deep urge to talk to that guy.

She jostled her way through the crowd and cried,

“Hey you, listen.”

He spun back, spotted her and said with a chuckle,

“Oh, it’s you. So you solved the problem, right?”

Sumana was slightly taken aback. As if he knew that she would solve the problem with the help he’d provided, and talk to him at the next available opportunity. The idea of lying crossed her mind – how about denying that his method worked? At least that would dent his pride. Almost immediately she realized that it wouldn’t work. He is one hell of a confident guy … so bloody sure of himself. So she chose to tell the truth,

“Many thanks; I was the only one in my class who could solve it. I mean, not I, but you. I could have never solved it without your help”. Sumana considered herself to be proud and conceited. She, herself, was surprised by her submission.

“Oh no, not at all. All I did was to give you a little hint. The full credit of the solution is yours” – said the peddler-guy, matter-of-factly.

Sumana felt an unsurpassable urge to continue conversation with this interesting character. She said,

“Why don’t we go and eat something there at the Dey-Café. I am famishing. They make the world’s best Moughlai Parantha.” Almost immediately Sumana felt a tad embarrassed. It was almost as though she expected the guy to accept her offer for he was surely hungry. Or he may think she was trying to pay back for his help in solving the problem by offering a meal.

The guy smiled again. For the first time Sumana noticed the prominence of his cheek bones that almost reflected light from their fair truculent faces. His was unshaven with a week-old growth of beard, which had an odd brown tinge to it. And he had a superficial tan on his extremely fair skin probably due to the strong sun. His long flowing semi-curly mane of a hair concealed the collars of his kurta. He tossed the empty earthenware cup into a bin, and said, “Chalo”.

Sumana noticed an air of controlled arrogance in him. In West Bengal, when you address a lady, it’s always ‘aap’, not ‘tum’. By the same yardstick, he should have said ‘chaliye’, not‘chalo’. Using ‘Chalo’ to a lady whom someone is speaking for the first time could be viewed as indecency. However, coming from him it did not, strangely, sound too incongruous.

“Chalo” – replied Sumana, boldly.

After they settled on a table inside Dey-Café, Sumana asked,

“What would you like to have?”

“Nothing”, he said, nonchalantly.

“Why? You don’t feel hungry”

“Of course I do. But I’m not hungry now. Moreover all these paranthas are very oily. Doesn’t suit me”

Sumana was surprised by the reply, for she’d taken it for granted that this bloke was starved.

“Oh I see” – she said with a hint of sarcasm – “So which food suits your liking, may I know?”

“Oh, there are many, For example, I like freshly baked bread. Nice pastries. Good, rich brewed Colombian coffee – not those instant ones which you get here – then, good wines and champagnes – ”

“Wines, you mean liquors, daru?”

“Wines are not what you call – darus. They are made from the finest quality of grapes. Anyway, why am I explaining you these? You order anything for yourself. I will have a black coffee, even though I know here they serve only instant coffee. And please tell them not to add any sugar.”

Some attitude – Sumana thought – for a chap who does nothing more than street peddling. He was behaving as if he was the successor of Emperor Charlemagne. Suddenly it dawned on her that she does not know his name yet.

“What’s your name?” – She asked.

“You really want to know? And does it really matter?”

She was a little irritated by his answer. He has an air of superiority which can be nerve wrecking.  Sumana thought these were nothing but pretentions and attitude. She had no doubts whatsoever that he followed her every day at the Sealdah station to her train compartment and did everything to impress her – even offering unsolicited solutions. And now, when she asked him for his name, he is refusing a straight answer. What did he think of himself? Okay, he may be sharp with his maths, so what?

“Yes, it matters” – she said with acid in her tongue – “I need to know the person I am talking to.”

“Das. Akhilbandhu Das. It’s a little old fashioned, so I am a little shy to disclose.”

Sumana suppressed a grin. He was right on the ancientness of the name. Horrible!

“I am Sumana –”

“Miss Chatterjee, Sumana Chatterjee, right?”

“How did you know?” Her surprise was genuine.

“Easy” – he said – “You write your name with rather bold letters on the covers of your exercise books, and then decorate them with various designs.”

She gulped an exclamation and said,

“You follow me every day, don’t you?”

“What’s wrong in that? You are a very attractive lady.”

Sumana turned a little pink. She’d never heard that even from her female friends, ever. Not only was this guy a little audacious, he was also straightforward and guileless. However, Sumana was now convinced that apart from his knowledge of maths, he also was a good talker, possessing more than passable knowledge on many subjects under the sun. He was no ordinary train-hawker. Sumana was determined not to be outclassed by Akhilbandhu in conversations. With some effort she regained her poise and said,

“So I take that every evening you neglect your job of peddling pens and keep ogling at me, looking for every other opportunity to impress upon me. It was my attraction which compelled you to do so. Didn’t it ever occur to you Mister that it was a complete waste of time?”

Without showing any reaction or emotion, Akhilbandhu took a small sip at his black coffee and said,

“I wanted to help you.”

“Help? Me? Why me?”

“Because, you love maths.”

“Says who,” - said Sumana animatedly – “Quite the contrary. I hate maths.”

“I disagree” – Akhil swung his head from side to side – “Mathematics makes you think. Else, you wouldn’t have devoted your precious time thinking so hard to find solutions. One can never do that without an inherent love for the subject”

“You are wrong again. I have no choice but to think, or else I won’t pass my exams.” – Sumana said gloomily.

“Clearing an exam is hardly an obstacle. You can do that with closed eyes. You think because maths forces you to think. You think because thinking maths excites you, provides you with the vitality. You think, and therefore you live.”

“Hmmm …” – Sumana wasn’t sure she understood Akhil fully, but nodded her head nevertheless, while Akhil continued,

“You spend every minute of your day in unraveling mysteries of maths, this is what prevents you to get complacent, and remember, complacency is death - death of mind. Maths gives you no scope for any void in your grey cells. The moment you solve one, there is one more waiting to keep you alive, and yet another one waiting behind the wings…Maths gives you the vitality richer than the elixir of life – this is what eggs you on and helps to retain your attractiveness…without maths you will be rendered a complacent vegetable. Do you follow?” – asked Akhilbandhu with a glint in his eyes.

Sumana wasn’t sure of whether she completely understood what Akhil was saying. For the first time she looked at his deep-set eyes and noticed that they weren’t black. They were deep brown. There was something in his eyes that made looking straight into them a difficult exercise. However, determinedly defiant, she said,

“Don’t you bombard me with all your philosophical nonsense? I never wanted to pursue Applied Mathematics. It was forced on me.”

“If that was true, you would have quit long back, during your under grads. Why didn’t you do that? It was only because you were in love with the subject. It provided you with the daily adrenaline to keep you mentally active. You are into this for so long because you wanted this, nobody forced you.”

“What’s your qualification?” – Sumana decided to change the topic.

“I … err… I love Mathematics, like you.”

“Then why do you peddle pens in trains and platforms? “

“Oh that” – Akhil smiled mirthfully – “That is just an excuse for me to help students like you. It gives me a great platform to mingle with college and university students who commute every day for their classes.”

“Don’t bullshit. Then how do you make a living?”

“Why, by selling pens. There is a decent profit margin in this job. I get extra commissions on reaching targets. I kill the proverbial two birds with one stone – help students while making a living. Tell me which vocation would have given me such liberty?” – He grinned like a kid. Sumana noticed that the guy had an inherent simplicity, which is why it was difficult to remain angry with him.

Sumana mouthed a big slice of her Moughlai parantha and said,

“You have a great funda on all aspects of Maths, don’t you?”

“If I had command in all aspects of Maths – as you just said – I would have been the Almighty, because everything whatever is happening around you is in accordance with some theories in maths. If I knew everything in maths, I would have ruled this world, because everything in this world in maths.”

“That’s preposterous.”

“Trust me it isn’t. From time immemorial, from the big bang to the black hole – everything is maths. You see that huge clock in Sealdah station – its Maths. That bus outside the café – which just applied brakes to bring itself to a dead-halt – is the result of a bit of Maths. The solar and lunar cycles, new moon, full moon, spring, summer, fall, winter – everything, every damned thing, is driven by maths and nothing but maths. How can you disregard maths that’s so entwined in every aspects of our life, right from the commencement of creation to the point of annihilation – if it were to happen someday? Then there are other examples…”

“Like?” Sumana was finding this conversation pretty interesting.

“You are aware of the Fibonacci Numbers, I presume, and its overbearing presence in nature…The Fibonacci numbers are the numbers in the following integer sequence: 1,1,2,3,5,8,13,21,34,55,89,144,…

“I know” – said Sumana – “In modern times they also use 0,1,1,2,3,5,8,… like that, where the sequence starts with either 0 or 1, and then each subsequent number is the sum of the previous two”

“Right. So you must be aware of the Fibonacci Square and the spiral created from it – often called the Fibonacci Spiral.”

“I half remember, but I don’t mind hearing it from you again. You explain so well” – Sumana said, without realizing that her invisible armour of conceit was dissolving slowly.

Akhil had finished his coffee. He ordered for another one and said,

 

“The Fibonacci spiral is an approximation of the golden spiral created by drawing circular arcs connecting the opposite corners of squares in the Fibonacci tiling; this one uses squares of sizes 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, and 34. Give me your exercise book.”

 

Akhil took out a stubbly black old fashioned fountain pen with a golden clip and nib from his kurta-pocket and drew;

 

“See, this approximate square I drew –”

“I know, this one uses squares of size 1,1,2,3,5,8,13 and 21”

“There you are. You see, you are thinking already. Well, if I connect the opposite corners of squares in the Fibonacci tiling, we get something like this” – he drew again with his ancient fountain pen that had thick black ink in it.

 

“You must be aware of the presence of the Fibonacci Spiral in nature. For example, the arms of spiral galaxies or phyllotaxis of leaves, they all follow the Fibonacci spiral. Also mollusk shells follow the same pattern… amazing…” Akhilbandhu’s voice trailed off.

“No wonder they also call it a Golden Spiral” – Sumana said, forgetting the half eaten Moughlai parantha, which was fast getting cold and stale.

 

“Well, no, not exactly. A Golden Spiral is a logarithmic spiral which has a growth factor of phi, where phi denotes the Golden Ratio. In simple words, a golden spiral gets wider, or further from its origin, by a factor of phi (φ) for every quarter turn it makes.”

“I know, Golden Ratio, usually denoted by Greek letter phi, which has a value of 1.618 or so…” Sumana said.

“Correct. You don’t need to remember that because it can be easily derived from the basic principles. However, the Fibonacci spiral is very close to a Golden Spiral because, as the series grows, the ratio between two successive numbers reaches the value of Golden Ratio. For example, if we take the ratio of two successive numbers in Fibonacci's series, (1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, ..) and we divide each by the number before it, we will find the following series of numbers:

1/1 = 1, 2/1 = 2, 3/2 = 1·5, 5/3 = 1·666..., 8/5 = 1·6, 13/8 = 1·625, 21/13 = 1·61538...

So you see it is fast approaching the Golden Ratio, which is 1.6180339887… and so forth. So one can say the Fibonacci Spiral is a very, very close approximation to the Golden Spiral,  Amazing, isn’t it?”

“True” – Sumana nodded.

“You will find Fibonacci Ratio, Fibonacci Spiral and Fibonacci numbers is almost every aspects in nature. On many plants, the number of petals is a Fibonacci number; buttercups have 5 petals, lilies and iris have 3 petals, some delphiniums have 8, corn marigolds have 13 petals, some asters have 21 whereas daisies can be found with 34, 55 or even 89 petals. Seed heads, pine cones, leaf arrangements of many plants … Fibonacci numbers are present everywhere in Mother Nature. Why even some vital bodily proportions follow the Fibonacci ratio.”

“Like?” Sumana had pushed aside her half eaten plate, now completely transfixed by Akhilbandhu’s lectures.

“The ration of the length of your arm to the length of the arm from the elbow to the finger tips would give you the magic figure, 1.618. Same is true for your legs”

Impulsively Sumana stole a glance at her arms, and then looked at Akhil with a hint of embarrassment in her eyes.

“Are you still not convinced that everything in this world is driven by Maths, Madam?”

“No, not everything” – said Sumana, still defiant. “How would you define human emotions, like love, hatred, anger, sorrow, greed, complexes … in terms of maths? Life is not Maths, understand Mister?”

Akhil shrugged and said,

“Who knows? Already there are strong theories on relationship between health conditions of human being to the solar and lunar cycles which are governed by astronomy. And it is no secret, the mental ill or wellbeing of a person is connected with his physical ill or wellbeing. So please do not be surprised if one of these days some smart mathematician defines the pattern of emotions in Homo sapiens in terms of differential equations. Anything is possible Madam.”

Akhilbandhu paused, then fished out a half-burnt cigarette from his kurta-pocket, asked for a light from a gentleman sitting in the next table and lit it. He coughed a little with the first drag, and said,

“Why, even the simplest of occurrences in nature, like an apple falling from a tree, can be defined in terms of an equation. Didn’t our Isaac prove that a long time ago?”

“Isaac? You mean Sir Isaac Newton?”

“Who else? He’d lain the first stepping stone of your subject - Applied Mathematics – way back in the seventeenth century to be precise. But the golden era of applied mathematics came in the next century – the eighteenth century.”

“Tell me”, said Sumana.

“Are you sure you want to listen? You also have to get back home, remember.”

Sumana glanced at her wrist watch and said,

“It’s only eight fifteen. I still have forty five minutes to catch the nine-o-clock Naihati Local.”

“You won’t get bored, would you?”

“Oh come on, tell me. Tell me na.” – pleaded Sumana. She couldn’t remember when last she had such an engrossing conversation with anybody.

Akhil gave one deep drag on his cigarette, and was immediately attacked by a heavy bout of coughs. He coughed for a while then said apologetically,

“My respiratory system is very delicate. I catch a cold way too easily. Anyway, where was I, yes – the seventeenth and the eighteenth centuries. One can easily term them as the golden centuries of mathematics.

“The study of mathematics started in the ancient age, in 1800 BC to be precise, in Babylonia and Egypt. Then in 900 BC, so many mathematical theories were discovered in your India…”

“Excuse, me” – interrupted Sumana – “What exactly do you mean by ‘your India’? Is it not yours too? “

“Oh come on, Sumana. That was just a figure of speech – now don’t you interrupt me for silly reasons… yes, the next big mathematical boom happened in Europe, Greece, in 6^th century BC, with Thales of Miletus and Pythagoras of Samos. The new element in Greek mathematics, however, was the invention of an abstract mathematics founded on logical structure of definitions, axioms and proofs. Pythagoras was in fact a religious leader, who taught the importance of studying numbers in order to understand the world. Some of his disciples made important discoveries about the theory of numbers and geometry, all of which was attributed to Pythagoras.

“After the Hindus in ancient India, discovered the zero and the decimal system, the Muslims started acquiring the results of ‘foreign sciences’ at centers such as the House of Wisdom in Baghdad, where translators produced Arabic versions of Greek and Indian mathematical works. By 900 AD the acquisition was complete and Muslim scholars began building on whatever they’d acquired. In the 12^th century, Persian mathematician Omar Khayyam generalized Hindu method of extracting square and cube roots to include fourth, fifth and higher roots.

“Notwithstanding important contributions from the Hindu and Islamic mathematicians, the real renaissance in Mathematics started in the 16^th century BC. A truly important discovery – an algebraic formula for the solution of both cubic and quadratic equations – was made by Italian mathematician Gerolamo Cardano.

“During the 17^th century, the greatest advances were made in mathematics since the time of Archimedes and Apollonius, The century opened with John Napier’s discovery of logarithms. Another major step in this century was the beginning of probability theory by Pascal and Fermat, which was triggered to find a resolution to a gambling problem. So you see, even gambling had a role to play in modern maths.”

Akhilbandhu paused and took out another half burnt cheap cigarette from his pocket, and lit it from the already lit cigarette of an adjacent gentleman. He took a deep drag and almost immediately started to cough violently.

Sumana was both irritated and concerned.

“You have such a horrible cough, yet you won’t give up smoking?” She questioned in an admonishing tone.

A little embarrassed, Akhil managed to control his coughs and replied in a throaty voice,

“Oh it’s nothing really. It was much bad last week. The cough would disappear soon, nothing to worry. Yes, I was talking on theory of probabilities. Swiss mathematician Jakob Bernoulli and French mathematician Abraham De Moivre, built on of the works of Pascal and Fermat, and authored two very famous books; can you tell me the names?”

Sumana swung her head from side to side. She doesn’t know.

Bernoulli’s book was ‘Art of Conjecturing’ while De Moivre’s book was called ‘Doctrine of Chances’. De Moivre in his book applied the newly discovered calculus to make rapid advances in the theory, which by then had important applications in the rapidly developing insurance industry.

“Simultaneously, in England, Isaac Newton discovered differential and integral calculus, but did not publish his works for eight long years. I say long, because by then Gottfried Leibniz in Germany rediscovered calculus and got them published. Even today you use Leibniz’s notation system dx in your calculus.”

Sumana, oblivious of the hustle bustle of Dey-Café was listening like a spellbound. The enigmatic frail young man with unkempt auburn hair and unshaven goatee, with his stupendous knowledge on mathematics and its history was creating an ever-increasing impression on her heart with every passing minute. She was mesmerized. She heard him say,

“Based on theories of Isaac and Gottfried, Applied Mathematics – your subject – started making headway in applications of Engineering, Physics and Astronomy. Hitherto, mathematics was only limited to theories, but in the 18^th Century the practical applications of those text-book theories took center-stage.”

“Like?” – asked Sumana.

“Like, based on theories of mainstream calculus, Johann and Jakob Bernoulli invented calculus of variations and French mathematician Gaspard Monge invented differential geometry. Also, in France, Joseph Louis Lagrange gave a purely analytical treatment of mechanics in his work ‘Analytical Mechanics’, in which he stated the famous Lagrange equations for a dynamic system. He also contributed to differential equations and number theory, which even now forms the backbone of applied maths. Do you remember your problem of vibrating drum?”  - asked Akhil mischievously.

“Hmmm… Laplace-transformation – the key provided by Professor Akhil”

“Not Lap-lace – it’s pronounced L(ah)’pla.”

“Whatever” – Sumana said grumpily – “French names are difficult to pronounce.”

“It’s the same for a Frenchman when asked to pronounce a Bengali name say ‘Pundarikakshya Purakayastha’. Anyway, what I was about to say is Laplace was contemporary to Lagrange. While Lagrange was dabbling with his differential equations, Laplace was busy writing a couple of books named ‘Celestial Mechanics’ and ‘The analytic theory of Probabilities’. In fact the former book made him so famous, that people started referring Laplace as the French-Newton. On this of course I take serious objections.”

“Why, why?” – Sumana curiosity knew no bounds.

“Because, right from sixteenth through eighteenth century, in the evolution and development of modern mathematics, seventy percent of the total contribution were from the French mathematical geniuses. Mathematicians like Pierre Laplace, Adrien Legendre, Abraham De Moivre, Gaspard Mongy, Marquis de L’Hopital, Augustin Loius Cauchy, Joseph Fourier, Joseph Lagrange, Blaise Pascal … all arrived like a huge tsunami of talent…”

“But there were great mathematicians from other nations as well. How can you not consider the contributions of Isaac Newton, Gottfried Leibniz, Jakob Bernoulli, Leonhard Euler, Leonardo Fibonacci, George Boole etc.”

“You got me wrong. My idea was not to undermine the contributions of the eminent mathematicians you just named. What I meant was, no other single nation produced as many big names as France did, between 16^th to 18^th centuries. So naturally their contributions, by sheer numbers, outclass the rest.”

“True, very true” – paused Sumana, and then said – “But you missed a very famous name in your list of French mathematicians. He was also considered as the forefather of modern philosophy…”

“Whom are you referring to?” – Akhil asked quizzically.

“Descartes. Monsieur Rene Descartes. The inventor of analytical geometry” – Sumana was very pleased to find at least one loophole in Akhil’s lecture.

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Can’t remember everything you see. Age is catching up, I guess.” – Akhil said playfully, scratching his head – “The bloke wrote a famous book – well let me remember – ‘Philosophical Essays’ – it was called, if I recall correctly. It’s getting late; wouldn’t you like to go home?”

Sumana glanced at her watch. It was eight thirty. She had to leave immediately, if she wanted to catch the nine-o-clock local. However, she felt very reluctant to leave Akhil. Something strange, something inexplicable was happening to her. She was thoroughly enjoying his company. His talks were not at all sounding boastful, like it did on the first day when he gave her unsolicited advice on the solution. She could feel an element of respect for the vagabond peddler-boy creeping within her, involuntarily.

“Let’s sit for some more time. I can take the nine-thirty Kalyani local. As long as I am back home by eleven there are no issues. Often, when I miss the nine-o-clock, I have to avail the nine-thirty, you know that, don’t you?”

“Hmmm… which means you are enjoying this conversation.”

Sumana nodded. Yes.

“And why do you think dear lady are you enjoying this? I’ll tell you why. It’s because fundamentally, you love mathematics. This is exactly what I told you some time back. You just proved me right. C’mon, admit. There is no shame in admitting.”

Any other person coaxing Sumana to such submission would have received her instant ire. She would have sprung up and boisterously defended herself to prove him wrong. Why, even Akhil would have got the same treatment a day before. But today things were different. She was quite enjoying Akhil’s domination. Besides, she didn’t have didn’t want to waste time arguing with Akhil on silly little things. She said with a mock ire,

“Stop talking rubbish and continue with your story on Mathematics, will you?”

“Yes. Where were we? Eighteenth Century, Europe. Honestly speaking, in my view the best mathematician of the eighteenth century was –”

“Another Frenchman, I presume?” – Sumana interrupted.

“No. His name was Leonhard Euler - Swiss. To me he was the mathematician of eighteenth century. He made basic contributions to calculus and to all other branches of mathematics, as well as its applications. He wrote textbooks on calculus, mechanics and algebra that became model and style of writing in these areas. The success of Euler and other mathematicians in using calculus to solve mathematical and physical problems, however, only accentuated their failure to develop a satisfactory justification of its basic ideas.”

“That sounds contradictory.”

“It was. Like Euler’s theories were based on calculus, Newton’s own accounts were based on kinematics and velocities, Leibniz’s explanation was based on infinitesimals and Lagrange’s treatment was purely algebraic. All these systems were unsatisfactory when measured against the logical standards of Greek geometry and the problem remained unresolved until the next century, when another mathematician of eminence –”

“Another Frenchman, perhaps?” – teased Sumana. By now she was sure of Akhil;s bias for the French.

“Of course. Augustin Loius Cauchy, another great mathematician from France. He was the first to succeed in giving a logically satisfactory approach to calculus. He based his approach only on finite quantities and the idea of limit.”

“Yes, limit. How we struggled in first year to ingest the concept of limit!” – Sumana said.

“In maths, as you solve one problem, another crop up; and that’s why it becomes so interesting. For example, Cauchy’s solution posed another problem – that of a logical definition of ‘real number.’ So another mathematician – no this time not a Frenchman – but a German, named Julius Dedekind who found a satisfactory definition of real numbers in term of the rational numbers. Soon after, Carl Friedrich Gauss came up with a satisfactory explanation of ‘complex numbers.’ Not to be left behind, another Frenchman, Jean Baptist Fourier came up with his study of infinite sums whose terms are trigonometric functions.”

“I know, the famous Fourier Series!”

“Yes, even to this day they are powerful tools in pure and applied mathematics. You will be amazed to know that the concept of a function in calculus first came while trying to describe motion of a vibrating string.”

“Amazing indeed. Only yesterday I was all at sea to resolve the equation of a vibrating diaphragm, but all these were discovered way back in the eighteenth century. More than one hundred and fifty years ago! All this makes me feel very inferior, very slight.”

“No reason to feel belittled. No person – not even the great names we just discussed – was born mathematician. Mathematical skills are honed as you grow, practice and think. It’s a sport, really. You love maths, maths will reciprocate with love. In that sense it’s like a human being.” – Akhil said earnestly.

The waiter of Dey-café came and politely asked them to vacate the seats, for they had long finished their orders. Sumana paid the bill, and both of them left for Sealdah station.

The nine-thirty Kalyani local from Sealdah was sparsely crowded, and they could manage to seat side by side. Akhil’s kurta and trousers badly needed a wash, but surprisingly Sumana didn’t mind. She was rather enjoying his proximity. He surely did not have many spare dresses like Sumana. Probably he just had two pairs, with which he had to manage. Suddenly Sumana felt very sorry and sympathetic for the inscrutable peddler-boy, who until the day before was but a stranger. This guy had so much of talent, yet had to peddle pens in crowded trains to make ends meet. All of Sumana’s ire was directed to the society and its rotten systems. One look around – and one would find thousands of people with absolutely no mettle, but loaded with money which they made by evading taxes and other unscrupulous means. They live in palatial homes and ride in air conditioned cars. Something was not right in their social and political structure – thought Sumana. She was sure, given an opportunity, a talent like Akhil was capable of making the country proud. Who knew, he may have even invented new mathematical theories like Euler, Euclid or Descartes. A deep, deep empathy for Akhilbandhu was slowly turning into an irrepressible lump in her throat. She must help this guy. Somehow, she must. Should she approach her father for his help? They have lots of spare unused rooms in their Shyamnagar home. Could he be accommodated in one of them? From what she saw, Akhil’s needs were very limited. A decent place to sleep and a square meal – that’s all was required. A person like Akhilbandhu should not be wasting time hawking around in trains. He should rather devote his time in mathematical researches. But how would Papa take this? All sorts of uncomfortable questions will crop up. Why was Sumana so sympathetic to the peddler boy? Was there any relationship developing? On second thought Sumana realized that the whole idea of approaching Papa for Akhilbandhu’s refuge is preposterous. She stole a quick glance at Akhil. He was looking at the dark exterior with the cold counter wind whipping past his face, further tousling his unkempt mane. The cold wind was not doing any good to his cough – thought Sumana.

No sooner the train left Dum Dum than Akhilbandhu got up.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“To resume my job. Peddling pens. It seems you’d forgotten.”

“No, today yon don’t have to peddle pens. Sit down, Sit down, I say. ” – she spontaneously grabbed Ahkil’s hand and yanked him down beside her, almost immediately regretted her temerity. It was not natural for a college going girl to be so pally with a train hawker. She quickly glanced around the compartment and felt as if scores of eyes were scorning at her crazy act. She only hoped there was nobody amongst her co-passengers who knew her Papa or uncles. Else she would be in deep trouble. People have tendency to create mountain out of molehills. In a flash, her anger towards the society came back. To hell with this society, to hell with these silly people around her, to hell with everything. In a sudden splurge of defiance, she held Ahkil’s hand and said,

“Hell’s not going to break loose if you do not sell a few more pens this evening.”

“That, I accept” – said Akhil with a chuckle – “Moreover, I doubt I would’ve managed to sell anything so late in the evening. Anyway, you live in Shyamnagar, I suppose.”

“Yes. And how about you?”

“I live in Chandannagar. Ever been there?” - Akhil asked.

“Yes, of course. My auntie lives in Chinsurah, which is just adjacent to Chandannagar. I’d been there many times. Nice and tidy suburb.”

“Do you know it was once a French colony?”

“Everybody knows that. The Dutch colonized in Chinsurah, while the French had chosen Chandannagar. But except for few buildings and churches, all signs of colonization have been eradicated from these twin towns. Well, well, well … now I know Mister why you are so fond of anything French. A typical Chandannagorian – aren’t you?” – Sumana said playfully.

Ahkil chuckled, but chose to keep quiet.

Sumana looked around in the compartment. It was obvious that many a curious eyes were still ogling them. Come what may, Sumana decided not to let go Akhil’s hand. She said,

“Shyamnagar is on the east bank of river Hooghly, whereas Chandannagar is on the other side, the west bank that is. It falls on the Howrah-Bandel line. I am curious to know why do you cross the river every day and hawk pens in the Sealdah-Naihati line instead of Howrah-Bandel line, which for you was more convenient?”

“If I said I do this for you, would you believe?”

Sumana turned crimson at the directness of the reply. Or was he just flirting? Even if he was, to her surprise, Sumana quite enjoyed it. A sense of good feeling tickled her somewhere deep inside, even though she said,

“Come on; don’t give me all that crap. What’s the real reason?”

Akhil laughed, and the said,

“Actually, trains in this route are more crowded, so I sell more, naturally.”

“How will you get back home now?”

“Easy. I will get down at Kakinada and avail the motor-launch service to cross over to Chandannagar. I stay very close to the river bank.”

“Who all are there in your home, I mean your family, parents, relatives…”

“You are a very curious person. Over curiosity is bad for health – don’t you know that?”

“How can I be a good mathematician if I am not overly curious? Or don’t you want me to be a good mathematician?”

“Ha ha …” – Akhil laughed out – “You have a point there.”

Sumana loved the way he laughed – just like a grown-up kid. She wanted to squeeze his cheeks, but resisted herself with some effort.

The train crossed Barrackpore. After a while Sumana asked,

“Where in Chandannagar do you live?”

“How well do you know the place? What’s the use of telling you?”

“Aha tell na. I had been to Chandannagar many times. Till a few years back, we went there every year during the Jagaddharti Pujas.”

“So you know Jonaki talkies? It’s not very far from the ferry wharf.”

“Of course I know. I’d seen movies there.”

“My place is in a narrow lane just adjacent to Jonaki talkies. So now you know. Will you come to my place?”

“Why, do you have a problem if I suddenly turn up someday?” – Sumana teased him – “No way. I’m not going to your place, until you come to my place in Shyamnagar.”

“But I too may have a problem in that.”

“What problem? You provide me private tuitions. I really want some hand-holding with my Applied Maths. I am serious. Why don’t you teach me Akhil - on Saturdays and Sundays?”

 “You don’t need tutoring. You can do it yourself” – said Akhil with supreme assurance.

“Only yesterday you’d seen my predicament. I was completely lost with the problem. Without your help I couldn’t have completed my assignment today.”

“You will, from now on. But you will have to think with a clear mind. Your involvement has to be whole hearted.”

“Which means you are not accepting my offer, right?” – Sumana felt her ire resurfacing; she was not used to refusals.

“I already told you, you do not need any coaching. You’ll do fine. Besides… besides I don’t have so much time. Do you know how much I have to travel each day?”

Sumana didn’t expect this. She was determined to help Akhil, and came up with this brilliant idea of appointing him as her private tutor. She was confident she’d make up a story and convince her parents to accept Akhil as her teacher. She was even more confident that Akhil would be happy to have this job. Not only would it provide him with some extra bucks, also give him the opportunity to spend time with her, for she was sure – from all his previous actions of following her every day and all – that this guy had some soft corner for Sumana. Did she make a mistake in her assessment of Akhil? She really wanted to help this extraordinarily talented guy, but she also knew that he was way too conceited to take any direct help. Now, after his refusal, what can she do? Sumana was ransacking her brain for a solution.

A lot many people alight at Shyamnagar. Akhil also got down along with Sumana.

“I thought you’d get down at Kakinada, which is the next stop?” – Sumana asked.

“Yeah, but I thought I will see you off till the rickshaw stand. I can always take the next train to Kakinada.”

Sumana was genuinely baffled. He was simply unable to read Akhil. Just few minutes back he’d rejected Sumana’s offer to tutor her. He sounded so disinterested. And now he got down ahead of his destination just to walk her to the rickshaw stand, which was not even two minutes away! What exactly was Akhil’ s feelings for her? He was so unfathomable!

While crossing the over-bridge Sumana suddenly said,

“I need a few pens. Would you sell me few good pens from your stock?”

Akhilbandhu searched his trouser pocket and fished out a black thick-set fountain pen with a golden clip, the same one which he used a couple of hours back to illustrate the Fibonacci spirals. She took the pen and tried to inspect the brand – some difficult French brand which was not quite legible in the semi dark surroundings. She screwed open the stubby cap, inspected the golden nib closely. She wasn’t very impressed, but she didn’t want to hurt Akhil’s feelings, so she said,

“Great. Looks like a vintage model.”

She screwed the cap and while inserting the fountain pen in her purse said,

“Well, how much do I have to pay for this?”

“That’s not for sale. Take it as a gift from a friend and well-wisher.” – replied Akhil, softly.

“That’s not fair. I want to pay for this. Not just one, I want a few more, and you will have to accept the money.” – Sumana protested.

“Oh, just stop arguing, will you?” – Sumana was a trifle shocked with Ahkil’s voice, it had a metallic twang and suddenly sounded like an order. He sounded totally different.

“Just keep that and go home. Use it when you feel like using it.” – Akhil spun back and walked back along the over-bridge, which was now almost devoid of any passer-by. Sumana was too baffled even to react to the sudden change in Akhil’s behaviour. She kept staring at his lean frame until it disappeared in the murky darkness.

Later in bed, Sumana was unable to fall asleep. All the events of that evening kaleidoscopically crossing her over-taxed brain weren’t allowing her to dissipate into the oblivion of slumber. After tossing and turning on her bed for a while, she sat on her study table and switched on the table lamp. The fountain pen – Akhil’s gift – was lying on the table. Sumana inspected it once again. It had the brand name embossed in gold. ‘S.T Dupont Elysée’ – Sumana read with some difficulty. She’d never heard of the brand. It was a vintage model and most definitely would not be available anywhere in Calcutta. She removed the cap and started making design on a foolscap paper on her table. She had this habit of making nonsensical designs whenever she had thoughts on solving a problem. The designs were sometimes flowery, sometimes chains of geometrical squares or triangles. She was surprised to feel the smoothness of the nib. The lines were black and thicker than the modern nibs, but extremely smooth. Even though the pen was heavier than the normal ones, the ease of writing more than compensated for its weight. All the conversations between Akhil and her that had happened in the evening were being replayed in her mind, over and over again. Suddenly Sumana stopped making designs and started writing a few names on the paper…

Euclid … Laplace … Euler … Leibniz … Newton … De Moivre … Bernoulli … Pythagoras … Descartes …

She paused for a while, and then wrote again,

… Akhilbandhu Das …

---

 

Chapter 3

 

Sumana’s probing eyes expectantly swept platform no 4 of Sealdah station one last time, but to no avail. Akhilbandhu was not to be seen anywhere. The Wheeler’s Book Stall – where Akhil waited every day now had an expatriate white couple, who were being endlessly nagged by street urchins, asking for alms. Dejected, Sumana hopped into the nine-thirty Kalyani Local as it was about to depart.

She had reasons to be dejected.

Her semester-end exams were knocking at the door. After two weeks of classes, she would have about ten days preparatory leaves before the exams commenced. She would have four papers on consecutive days with no breaks in between. And to top it all, the last paper is GSM’s. The very thought of writing exams always sent shivers along her spine. This time, GSM’s tricky problems made her all the more jittery. She was sure that her hitherto impeccable record of passing all the exams would be broken this time. Nothing in the world could make her pass in GSM’s paper. Akhil was her last hope. Since the past fortnight, he too had vanished.

In the past couple of months, no doubt she’d got lots of help from Akhil. So much so, Sumana never got perturbed if she was not able to solve any problem in the class or in her home assignments. She was sure Akhil would be able to bail her out. And bail her out Akhil did, every time. Sumana recorded all of Akhil’s solutions in a separate, new hard-bound exercise book. This exercise book became her constant companion. Whenever she got an opportunity, she’d drag Akhil to any secluded corner – in Dey Café, in a park or even on the platform benches – to discuss her mathematical problems. The more she saw, more she got amazed by Akhil’s talents. She knew, even the best of Maths teacher’s had to come to his or her class after some preparations. And here was a guy who never took any preparations, for it was not possible for Akhil to know the type and kind of problem Sumana would come up with on a given day. All solutions were at his fingertips. It was not just the tortuous derivations of GSM, Akhil lorded over on all her mathematical subjects with ludicrous ease. Sometimes Akhil never even used a pen or paper – he would just recite the solution as if he was reciting his favourite poem.

Initially Sumana used to be flabbergasted with Akhil’s extraordinary skills, but not anymore. She had taken it for granted that Akhilbandhu Das is a mobile mathematical encyclopedia, and as far as mathematical problems are concerned there was nothing which was beyond his reach. He’d tamed the subject to a point where it would just dance to his tune.

Maths aside, there were times when Sumana found Akhil’s talks hard to comprehend. There were times when Akhil just chose to sit still with his eyes closed. He would just spend his time in thinking. Sumana usually never disturbed him then. One afternoon at the lawns of Victoria Memorial, Akhil spent two hours only with his thoughts. He sat there beside Sumana with his eyes closed as if in a trance. Finally a fed-up Sumana nudged him awake,

“Hey you, have you come here to sleep?”

Akhil woke up from his spell and said – “Who said I was asleep?”

“I said. You were sleeping.”

“Did it ever occur to you, Madam, that thinking is also a work – a fruitful work? An organized chain of thought is the embryo of any process that would follow. Even the most convoluted theories, the largest of projects, the biggest of inventions – all had started from mere thoughts.”

“What exactly were you thinking of now?”

“Thoughts are limitless – in mathematical terms, tending to infinity. I think of the earth, the moon, the sun, the solar system, the environment, Homo sapiens, the root cause of our existence, our emotions, love … and scores of other matters. I exist because I think. Yes, Cogito, ergo sum.”  - Akhil’s voice started trailing off, almost as if he was going back to his trance.

“Now what does that mean?” – Confusion writ large over Sumana’s face.

“I think, therefore I am. Sorry, the Latin version slipped out of my tongue”

“Latin? Don’t tell me you know Latin?”

“I do, as a matter of fact. It’s a very interesting language. But you don’t have to be bothered; I shall speak to you in Bengali.”

“Mr. Akhilbandhu Das, when will you stop surprising me? Who are you?”

“Akhil, Akhil Das” – he grinned naughtily.

“What exactly do you mean by ‘I think, therefore I am’?”

“It means a clear consciousness of my – or for that matter anybody’s – thoughts prove my own existence, which I can use to argue the existence of God.”

“I don’t think I understood what you’re trying to say,” – Sumana said unsurely.

Akhilbandhu looked at Sumana forlornly for a while and said,

“Never mind. You will understand, one day.”

“Amazing! You think so much on so many things, yet when it comes to Maths, you solve them in a jiffy, almost even before thinking. How do you manage to do that?”

“It comes automatically. Didn’t I tell you maths exists in everything around us, the earth, the sun, the moon, the nature – everything. Once you are engaged in thoughts on all these matters, you do not have to think separately for your maths. It comes automatically. It’s like a habit.”

“You also think about God – you just said that. Could you explain God through your mathematics?”

“If you view God as a metaphysical object, then God can be defined through maths.”

Sumana was confused big time with Akhil’s explanations and interpretations, which appeared knotty and convoluted in her mortal brain. She said with a hint of irritation in her voice,

“Which means you do not really believe in God, do you? Have you any doubts that the Almighty is the creator of this universe?”

“I believe God created only two classes of substance that make up the whole of reality. One class was thinking substances, or minds, and the other was extended substances, or bodies. Understood?”

Sumana swung her head from side to side. No, she didn’t.

“You and your high funda thoughts; why should I be bothered? As if I don’t have enough problems already.”  - She said grumpily.

Despite the fact she seldom understood Akhil’s philosophy, Sumana enjoyed his companionship. Every evening after classes, her eyes expectantly searched for Akhil. Even a glimpse of him rejuvenated her. For some reason if Akhil failed to be present at the Wheeler’s Book Stall, she felt edgy.

Sumana treasured her new hard-bound exercise book. It had mathematical solutions  in Akhil’s handwriting. He had a beautiful slant and classical hand. He seldom made mistakes, so the words and letters appeared like beautiful black prints on the white paper. On holidays whilst at home, Sumana spent many a solitary afternoons just looking at Akhil’s handwriting.

She never disclosed anything on Akhil to her classmates. They would have never believed that an ordinary peddler-boy could be so talented.

Nandini was her best friend and competitor. Sumana and Nandini shared a healthy competition. She shared every personal secret with Nandini, but Sumana never discussed about Akhilbandhu even with her. What if Nandini refused to acknowledge his immense talents? She can turn into a laughing stock for dating an ordinary vagabond boy. There was also a second fear that prevented her. What if Nandini believed everything and then pushed Sumana to introduce her to Akhil. Nandini was fairer and much better looking than her, and as talented. What if Akhil forgets her after befriending Nandini?  Deep inside Sumana realized that she suffered from a profound sense of insecurity. She was not ready to share Akhil with anybody! His huge knowledge resource should be accessible only to Sumana and no one else.

The train left Icchapore. A few more stations before it reached Shyamnagar, her destination. What if Sumana never got the opportunity to see Akhil before the exams? The very thought sent shivers down her body. She’d have never imagined, even a month back, that she’d become so much dependent on the peddler-boy. She was stuck up big time with one of GSM’s problems. It was a problem on heat transfer. She had to establish the equation on the waste heat recovery system of an atomic reactor. The problem had so many variables that it left Sumana completely baffled. She knew, without Akhil’s help, she’d never be able to crack this conundrum. And as if by design, Akhil had vanished from her life for the past ten days! This was height of irresponsibility – thought Sumana. Maths apart, doesn’t Akhil understand that not meeting him for a few days in succession left Sumana gloomy and irritable?

Is he okay? A fresh feeling mixed with trepidation crossed Sumana’s mind. He often took ill health. He had a chronic stubborn cough which simply refused to let go of him. Yet he would not give up smoking. How can someone be so indifferent with one’s own health? This was the time of season change. Small ailments like cold, cough and fever were commonplace even with persons having sound health. And Akhil’s health was far from being sound. She only hoped Akhil has not fallen seriously ill… would she go to look for Akhil at Chandannagar? He lived in a rented place inside a narrow lane beside Jonaki talkies…she remembered.

The train reached Shyamnagar. It was past Diwali, and the first sign of winter was evident. The nip in the air and the pall of smog increased as the evening progressed.

Akhilbandhu was standing under a lamppost. He was wearing his customary cotton trousers and kurta. Additionally, he had a cheap nylon muffler wrapped around his throat. Also, for a change, he was not carrying the cotton bag in which he carried his wares…

Sumana was flooded with a mixed feeling. A sense of cheer and relief, mixed with ire. She was very happy to see him, but was also equally angry for his irresponsible act. She hurried towards him and asked in a complaining tone,

“Where were you for so long? Go home; I’m not going to talk to you.”

“I was a little too unwell” – said Akhil, suppressing a cough.

“Why, what happened?” – Sumana’s concern was genuine.

“Nothing serious. Influenza, I guess.”

“Your guess? Did you see a doctor?”

Akhil swung his head. No he didn’t.

Suddenly Sumana felt an anger gushing up through her throat. She was angry with herself for not being able to do anything for Akhil.

She looked at Akhil. The pale yellow light from the lamppost, struggling its way through the evening smog cast a pale hue on Akhil’s fair skin. His illness left him pale and frail. His cheekbones were prominent than usual. 

“Let me see” – Sumana felt Akhil’s forehead with the back of her palm – “Oh my God, you are still running a temperature, you shouldn’t have ventured out of your home.”

“I thought just now you were upset because I did not turn up for the past nine-ten days” –Akhil said mischievously.

“How was I supposed to know that you were down with flu, silly.”

“And if you knew, you would have come to my place to nurse me I presume?” – Akhil teased her.

“May be I would. I’m quite familiar with Chandannagar; I could have easily found my way to your place. In any case I needed your help badly. I am all at sea.”

“Why, what happened?”

“My semester exams are round the corner, and I keep forgetting whatever I am studying. I don’t even have the time to die!” – Sumana sounded jittery.

“Ha ha” – Akhil laughed aloud – “First time I’m seeing somebody who ‘studies’ mathematics. You don’t study maths, you think. I told you once; thinking is the key to all mysteries.”

“Oh come on, not again Mr. Thinker. Please don’t give me your patented sermon – I think, therefore I am” – she mocked Akhil – “Come, let’s sit somewhere.”

“No” – said Akhil – “It’s quite late now. I will have to get back. I came just to see you. Now that it’s done, allow me to depart.” Akhil’s voice had an air of finality.

“That’s unfair. We haven’t even talked today.” – She said with a slight tremor in her voice that betrayed her emotions.

“I thought you were complaining about how hard up you were on time. So go home, and think of your mathematical problems.”

“GSM gave a new problem on heat transfer. I’m completely lost. Won’t you help me with the problem Akhil?”

At that instant, there was an announcement on the next Naihati local that was about to arrive on that platform. Akhil said,

“There’s the announcement. I must take this train.”

“Will you really not help me with the problem, Akhil? – Sumana felt the choking lump developing in her throat.

“You will not need any further help, Lisa. Trust me.”

“Lisa? Who’s Lisa?”

“You. From today, you are my Lisa. Don’t you like the name?”

“Don’t you mollycoddle me with sweet no nothings. You cannot go now. You will have to help me … ”  - Sumana felt tears welling up her eyes – “Okay, no more maths. I don’t need your help, I promise. But please stay back for some more time… You…you don’t understand … when would you understand …?” She started sobbing.

“Lisa, listen. Don’t cry, please don’t cry” – Akhil gently placed his hand over her head –“You don’t have to worry. You will do very well in your exam, I assure you. Besides, don’t give too much importance to these exams. Look ahead. Think ahead. You will have to be a Mathematician par excellence. Your aim should be to be the Mathematician of this century…”

The Naihati local stormed into the platform. Most people got down here, leaving only a few passengers for Kakinada and Naihati. The compartments were almost empty.

Akhil drew her closer, and gave her a soft hug. “Lisa, I really have to depart…”  There was an air of finality in his voice. Sumana’s vision was hazy with tears. Through her hazy vision she saw the train start.

Suddenly Akhil let go of her, and leapt into the moving train.

Sumana wanted to shout – stop Akhil, stop – don’t leave your Lisa behind – take Lisa with you Akhil, I beg of you – but all she could manage was some incomprehensible mumblings through her trembling lips…

Through the dim reflected light, she saw Akhil lean out of the compartment door, the strong nippy wind whipping back his locks and his muffler. And then, he disappeared into the smoggy darkness…

She took a few steps behind the moving train, which by then had left the platform, raised her hand and whispered – “Take care, my love…”

And then she broke down. She doubled up on the deserted platform and wept like a baby. Why, why couldn’t she tell Akhil for so long, what she just whispered in that nippy evening…?

---

Chapter 4

 

In the examination hall, Sumana sat like a statue, oblivious of the muffled hustle-bustle around her. Question papers would be distributed in five minutes. Pensive students were busy rummaging through the pages of their text and note books in a last minute effort to catch up with their preparations. This only made the atmosphere more suffocating. Sumana never had believed in last minute revisions, which, she thought only added to her woe. She rather preferred to sit still and concentrate.

Sumana was nervous, very nervous. She was sure that she’d fare badly. Many problems, including the one on heat transfer, remained unsolved. She simply was unable to concentrate on her studies the way she would have liked to. Despite that, Sumana managed to do well in the first three papers. But today, GSM’s paper, was going to be the toughest hurdle. This deals with forming differential equations on various practical processes in the world. She, like everybody else in her class, found this paper extraordinarily tough.

Oh Akhil, why did you have to leave me like that…?  - She cried within herself.

That evening Akhil’s departure was so sudden and unexpected. It left her weak and mentally lacerated. At times she was seriously concerned about him, his health. That wintry evening, she did not like the pallor of his countenance. Was he okay…?

At times she felt very angry and neglected. They had a telephone at home and she’d shared the number with Akhil. Yet, not once did he bother to call her up and talk. Sometimes she felt Akhil was really not bothered with her exams. It really didn’t matter to him whether she passed or failed. Whenever such thoughts crossed her mind a deep sense of rejection weighed her down. The more she tried to keep Akhil out of her mind, the more she got entwined in his thoughts. After that evening, there was not a night when she slept soundly. Her loneliness persecuted her in bed. She woke up in middle of nights hoping Akhil would be there by her side by some magic. She wanted to hold him, love him, get loved by him …

Sometimes she wished she’d never met Akhilbandhu. Her mental state - which needed to be healthy and honed for solving tricky problems - was in tatters. Yet she was here, ready to go through the motions.

She saw the invigilator distribute question papers. Sumana waited pensively; holding her Parker ballpoint pen between lips which was fast numbing because of the pressure. The wait was unbearable – almost akin to standing in gallows and waiting for the hangman to pull the lever. She accepted the question paper in her outstretched hand. At that instant, her Parker ballpoint pen slipped out of her numbed lips and dropped on the floor, only to be inadvertently crushed under the invigilator’s shoes rendering it unusable…

The invigilator was profusely apologetic, but the damage was done. Sumana felt miserable. This surely was a bad omen. A harbinger of misfortune! The Parker pen was lucky for her. She’d been using that for her exams over the years.

She reached for the Wilson jotter, which she’d clipped in her blouse as a backup. No sooner she tried to write her roll number on the answer paper, than she realized that the jotter ink had gone dry, probably because it had not been used for a long time. She jerked it several times to restore the fluidity in the ink – but to no avail. It just won’t work…

Sumana was disgusted with herself. On her table in a glass tumbler, she had at least a dozen pens. She should have carried a few…

She opened her purse and decided to look for one last time before borrowing a pen from someone. In an instant she felt the stubby body of a pen! In utter neglect, it rested in one corner of her purse. She fished it out. It was the same black fountain pen that Akhil had gifted her once. She’d all but forgotten about it. Today, almost miraculously, it was there when she needed it most… She wanted to buy a few pens from Akhil, more to help him than anything else. But Akhil refused to sell anything. He just gifted her with this vintage model instead. “Use it when you feel like” – he had said…

If ever she needed to use the vintage writing instrument, it was now. She screwed open the stubby cab, and wrote her name and roll number on the top sheet of the answer paper. The deep black ink flowed smoothly, imprinting her details. She could feel Akhil through that pen.

Sumana glanced through the question paper, and was devastated. It was loaded with the problems that she couldn’t solve, including the problem on waste heat recovery system of an atomic reactor… It was like a nightmare coming true…It was as if GSM secretly conspired to fail her …

Sumana felt like a cornered rat. But even a rat, when cornered, fights back – thought Sumana. She must fight back. Think … think … isn’t that what Akhil preached, often. I think, therefore I am … his patented dialogue…there are no problems in the world which does not have a solution …

Sumana gripped the pen firmly, and wrote the first line on her paper …

Let Q be the net heat transferred from the reactor system … and almost immediately got sucked into the problem. The surroundings along with all its contents, other examinees, invigilator, GSM – everything went into oblivion. Only she was there with her equations and the fountain pen…

… d-square phi dy equals cos xi bar to the power e …she has to consider the radiation losses also …

… sigma of d-cube xi dy-cube … convection transmission … equivalent to the expression of a Fourier Series ….

Fourier … Euler … Laplace … Newton … Descartes … Akhilbandhu …

The thick black ink from her fountain pen flowed into the answer book in forms of words, numbers, symbols and formulae with superlative fluidity. Sumana kept writing like a person possessed, cocooned in a virtual world …

After two and a half hours, Sumana came back to the real, because she had nothing more to write! There were six problems, of which they had a choice to attempt four. To her utter disbelief, Sumana noticed she’d completed all six. And this she did not with an objective of passing or securing high marks. Not once while writing the paper thoughts of grades and marks crossed her mind. Her soul objective was to find solutions to worldly problems, and nothing else.

Sumana looked around. The hall was half empty. Most students left the exam hall without completing their papers. There was an element of unrest amongst students for according to most, the paper was extremely tough. Two rows ahead of her Nandini sat with covering her face with her palms. On her left, Abhijit sat with a forlorn look stretching his long legs in the aisle. On her right, Dhurjati was softly drumming his fingers on the table.

Was the paper that tough? Why, Sumana never thought so! She still had the time to complete two more problems in the allotted three hours. She felt she was on a new high in confidence. She felt as if at this instant, she could easily solve any problem in mathematics…

Still dazed with her feat, she took the train from Sealdah. Her mind was heavy with a soft haze, which was both pleasurable and painful. She felt she was on a different level, much beyond the reach on the mundane surroundings. A little beggar girl, holding her blind Mom’s hand was begging for alms. Without thinking twice, she unzipped the side chain of her purse and handed over a ten-rupee note. The beggar-girl’s joy knew no bounds. The bhelpuri hawker –whom Sumana patronized regularly – tried to entice her with the aroma of freshly made bhelpuri, but she did not have the appetite. Even though she did excellently in her paper, she was not able to let go herself and enjoy the moment with gay abandon.

Back home, Sumana placed her purse on the table and noticed that the zipper on the side pocket of the purse was open. She had last used this to pay alms to the beggar-girl. She was worried – for this is where she’d kept her vintage writing instrument which, only a couple of hours back, she used to rule over GSM’s paper. She searched inside the side pocket – once, twice, thrice … Nope. The fountain pen was missing!

With a heavy heart she realized that she’d lost the fountain pen – Akhilbandhu’s gift – forever …

Twice within a month, she had to fight a deep sense of grief…

---

 

Chapter 5

 

It’s been three weeks since the semester exams was over. However, for Sumana there was little respite. In their system, classes for the next semester commenced immediately after. But, as always, at the start of semester the pressures were less.

Sumana realized that she’d made a quantum leap in academics ever since the last semester was over. She managed to leave Nandini and all other classmates behind by a sizeable margin. There had been a remarkable change in her confidence level, which reflected in her body language. This she achieved by making good use of Akhil’s mantra – to implement the art of thinking in an organized manner. Nandini, Abhijit, Dhurjati, Moonmoon – all her classmates had noticed the change. The results of last exams were not yet out, but there were rumors that Sumana scored cent percent. If true, it indeed was a remarkable feat. Hitherto, no one in the history of their University could manage this! Why, even her teachers now treat her with respect. Her opinions in class were weighed more seriously and carefully than ever before.

There were many research scholars under GSM doing their Ph.Ds. In one of his research projects there was a difference of opinion on the solutions. Even GSM was at a loss. Sumana was summoned to opine her views. For two days, the group headed by GSM ransacked their brains for the right solution. Needless to say that ultimately it was Sumana who came up with the right solution… In a very short time she managed to curve a niche for herself.

Think…think… you think Lisa, therefore you are… Whenever she got stuck, all she did was to think clearly, and Akhil inevitably would be there to assist her. Even in his absence Akhil was very much with her. And with his help, she could easily figure out the finest thread leading to the solutions of the toughest of problems. Soon she reached a level where she was just toying with the problems. And she was always hungry for more.

Yet, Sumana was not at peace. She missed Akhil big time. After her last meeting on that smoggy evening at Shyamnagar railway station, she never saw him. And that made her restless. At times she was miffed with Akhil, for not bothering to at least call her up. This left her touchy and sad. Was he deliberately distancing himself from Sumana? If, indeed, he did then why was it necessary for him to come in her life? Doesn’t Akhil understand that, without him, she was incomplete?

At times she was concerned about his health and wellbeing. Was he okay? What did he mean that evening when he said he wanted to depart? Like so many times before, he never took leave for the day, he wanted to depart…

What prevented Sumana to look for Akhil? Why didn’t she try to find out whether or not Akhil is fine? Wasn’t she being selfish? Akhil lived all alone in some dilapidated place in Chandannagar. Sumana knew that in times of illness, there was absolutely nobody to even give him a glass of water. Akhil appeared pale and sick last when she met him. All these days she’d been blaming Akhil for not keeping touch, why didn’t it occur to Sumana that Akhil could be mortally sick?

Kanchu-mashi, Sumana’s maternal aunt, lived in Chinsurah – a small town across river Hooghly, adjacent to Chandannagore. She visited her place many a times to spend short vacations. Chandannagar was only a few kilometers away – easily traversable by a trishaw. Kanchu-mashi lived with her husband and their only son Chintu. Sumana quite liked his cousin. It had less to do with his love for mathematics – Chintu, too was a brilliant scholar who was pursuing B. Stats in the Indian Statistical Institute – and more for his funny nature and chubby stature. Chintu was one of those rare breeds who would nonchalantly crack joke on himself, and enjoy a hearty laugh. By virtue of doing his schooling in Chandannagar, he knew the place like the back of his hands. Who else, but Chintu, could be the best guide for Sumana in her pursuit for Akhil?

Next Friday was a holiday due to the Id. Sumana decided to utilize the extended weekend to visit Kanchu-mashi. On Thursday evening itself Sumana landed at Kanchu-mashi’s Phulpukur road residence in Chinsurah.

That evening after dinner Sumana confided the reason of her visit to Chintu.

“I have a work in Chandannagar – would you like to accompany me Chintu?” – She asked.

“Work? In Chandannagar?” – Chintu boomed. He had this habit of overdramatizing things, without caring for the decibel level while doing so.

“Shhh … you don’t have to grunt like a bull, you idiot.”

“What’s it about Mona-di? I hope it’s not something to do with love-shove?” – Chintu said in a conspiring voice and an inquisitive glint in his eyes.

“Well, it may well be. But you will have to promise me that your will not leak any of this stuff to anyone. Can I trust you?” – Sumana whispered and winked.

Chintu closed the door of his room. Of late he’d started smoking. He lit a cigarette, took a deep drag and said,

“Oh my God, this is great news. Mona-di in love! Just tell me who’s this guy in Chandannagar and I’ll nab him to your custody.”

“Oh shut up Chintu, will you? This is why I don’t want to tell you anything. Stupid. I’m sure, the way you are reacting very soon the whole neighbourhood will come to know about this. It’s nothing that serious.”

“Arrey – this is one news I’m dying to share with everyone. How lovely!”

“Lovely, my foot. Look Chintu, you better keep a check on your blabbers, else I’ll leak that incidence.”

“Which incidence, which incidence?” – There was an element of concern in Chintu’s query.

“You’d gone for the noon-show at the Talkie Show House with a female, remember, which was showing some soft porn Malayalam movie dubbed in Hindi?”

“Oh, that? How silly. That’s not half sensational as this one, Mona-di. Anyway, rest assure, you can safely confide in me. Tell me how I may help you.”

“I have to track a guy in Chandannagar, and you, Chintu, will help me do that.”

“Ok, done. Who’s the guy?”

“One Akhilbandhu Das” – Sumana could barely complete when Chintu broke into an uncontrollable laughter.

“Akhil – what?” – Chintu said, struggling hard to control his laughter – “Say again. Akhilbandhu Das! Mona-di, don’t tell me you fell for this Akhil Das or whatever. Oh no.”

“Listen to the whole story, dammit. Just stop being judgmental,” – Sumana admonished him.

“Okie okie – carry on.”

“The bloke – I mean Akhilbandhu – hawks pens in local trains, mainly in the Sealdah and sometimes in the Howrah-Bandel sector. One rupee per pen, ten rupees for a dozen. Want to hear more?” – There was something in Sumana’s tone which induced Chintu to shed his playfulness and be serious.

“Hang on, hang on Mona-di. Don’t tell me you are serious with this peddler-guy?” – Chintu said, earnestly.

“I had never been more serious in my life. And let me tell you Chintu, I too am a student of Mathematics. Well, I may not be as brilliant as you, but I’m not all that bad either and you know that. I have come in touch with a few great teachers and pundits in Mathematics, but let me tell you, this guy is a genius. His knowledge transcends beyond mathematics into the realms of philosophy. His genius make all other mathematical pundits I had come across appear like school-going rookies. He is also an enigma. About two months back, this person has suddenly vanished into thin air. I need to hunt him out and you, Chintu, will have to be with me in this mission.” – Sumana stopped.

 

Chapter 6

 

Chandannagar was established as a French colony in 1673.

The French obtained permission from Ibrahim Khan, the Nawab of Bengal, to establish a trading post on the right bank of the Hooghly River. Bengal was then a province of the Mughal Empire. It became a permanent French settlement in 1688, and in 1730 Joseph François Dupleix was appointed governor of the city. Under his administration more than two thousand brick houses were erected in the town and a considerable maritime trade was carried on. For a while, Chandannagar was the main center for European commerce in Bengal.

Many buildings and churches still bear the testimonies of the French presence during the sixteenth and the seventeenth centuries – which were now considered to be heritage properties,

Institut de Chandernagor or Chandannagore Museum and Institute, was one of the oldest and finest museums of the entire region. It boasted of a beautiful collection of French antiques like cannons used in Anglo-French war, wooden furniture of 18th century, which were difficult to find anywhere else in the world. The institute still taught French through regular classes.

Then there was the Sacred Heart Church of Chandannagar (l'Eglise du SacréCœur), which was located near Chandannagar strand, one of the best tourist spots alongside the banks of river Hooghly. The church was built on 1691 and designed by French Architect Jacques Duchatz. The church stood for over two centuries to mark the beauty of the architecture during the French period — a good place to visit for the historians and tourists alike.

The road from the church led first to the Kanailal Memorial School, then to the Jonaki Talkies. Chintu stopped his scooter right in front of the narrow lane adjacent to Jonaki Talkies. Sumana was pleased to find that so far Akhil’s description had been pretty accurate.

Chintu fished out a cigarette from a packet which had flattened from the pressure inside his trouser pocket, lit it and said,

“This has to be the lane. From the number of buildings on either side of the lane, finding Akhil’s place is not going to be easy. Postal address would have helped.”

Sumana couldn’t have agreed more. She should’ve kept Akhil’s postal address. She wiped the beads of perspiration from her forehead with her saaree and said,

“Park your scooter here, and let’s walk inside. If necessary we have to knock at every door.” – She was determined she was not going to return without Akhilbandhu’s whereabouts.

There were many ancient buildings on either side of the lane, which got narrower as it progressed. Most buildings had a pale yellow paint on them, which was peeling off due to dampness. These were fifteenth and sixteenth century buildings built by the French during their colonization. By now they were mostly dilapidated, and would do well with some repairs and renovations. Most buildings had huge wooden doors which were painted green, with solid iron latches and bangle like rings for padlocking from outside. Few had calling bells, so they had to bang the iron rings against the timber to draw attention of the occupants. Occupants of the first two buildings couldn’t throw any light on Akhilbandhu. However, they were lucky at the third door which they’d knocked.

The occupant was a very old man, wearing only a lungi. He heard them carefully and said,

“Yes, yes, you are referring to that tall and fair chap with long hairs who sold pens, right? Well, haven’t seen him for a while. I think he lived in the building at the dead end of this lane. I suggest you go there and try your luck.”

The lane indeed tapered off into a dead end, where there was another sixteenth century decrepit building, which appeared to be the oldest amongst all…

They knocked at the door, once, twice, thrice…

After what seemed like an eternity, a very old woman, almost as ancient as the building, opened the door and squinted at them.

“Buri-Ma, we have come to meet Akhilbandhu Das. He sold pens in local trains. We were told he lives here. Is he in?” – Sumana asked.

The old lady looked at them for a while with suspicious eyes, and then said,

“Are you talking of Sahib?”

“Sahib? Which Sahib?”

“The tall, fair Sahib who lived here, not too long ago. He was a good tenant, always paid his rent on time. He used to peddle pens, and once indoors was always engrossed with his studies. I’d never seen him doing anything except reading or writing.”

Sumana was puzzled. Were Akhilbandhu and the Sahib the same person? Her description of the Sahib did bear a striking resemblance to Akhilbandhu. She asked,

“Yes, Sahib. Where’s he now? Can we see him?”

“Girl, are you off your rocker? Sahib died a month ago, may God bless his soul” – the old lady said as she folded her palms and touched her forehead offering a pranam to the Almighty.

Even though Sumana wasn’t sure whether the Sahib who the old woman was referring to and Akhilbandhu was one and the same person, the information hit her hard. She felt a bit dizzy from the impact of the news. She heard the old lady say,

“He used to cough a lot. He suffered from a very bad lung ailment. Sometimes, he coughed all night long. And then, one day he started spewing out blood and died…”

Sumana was still not ready to accept that Sahib was Akhil, and Akhil was dead! She held Chintu by his shoulder for support, for she was feeling wobbly at her knees. It was true that Akhil was fair, fairer than any average Bengali guy. His hair and goatee was also not completely black, it was rather brownish. Why, even his eyes were not completely black. She clearly remembered, Akhil’s eye colour was deep brown. Physically, Akhil can easily pass off as a European Sahib. But he spoke flawless Bengali. How can a Sahib speak so chaste Bengali? Lisa… who was Lisa? Why did Akhil choose to name her Lisa…?

“Buri-Ma, can we … can we have a look into the room where your Sahib lived?” - Sumana felt the pounding of her heart.

“Hang on. Why do you think I would allow that? How do I know that you have not come with any evil intention?” – The old lady eyed them suspiciously.

“Arre, Dadi-Ma, do we look as thugs? Besides, it doesn’t seem as if you have huge treasures tucked inside, does it? Come on. Five minutes, that’s all it would take us to look around his room, we promise.” – Chintu tried his best to convince the elderly woman.

It worked.

The old lady nodded her head and said,

“Fair enough. No more than five minutes, okay? Come on in.”

The interior of the ramshackle building was deceptively big and complicated. It led to a big courtyard with rooms on all sides. Then there was a staircase which climbed up to a mezzanine terrace and a room that was padlocked.

The lady handed over big iron key and pointed to the room on the mezzanine.

“I have got problematic knees. You will have to help yourself. But please do not take anything out of that room.”

“You rest assure, Dadi-Ma. We shall cause no harm to any of Sahib’s belongings.” – Chintu promised.

The heavy wooden door opened with a laboriously creaky sound. Inside it was dank and stale. Chintu quickly opened the big wooden window that had with thick vertical iron rods as the grill. Daylight flooded the room.

The room was sparsely furnished. It had a cheap wooden bed which had a termite attack on one of its legs. By the side of the bad there was a small table. On the table lay a thick leather-bound exercise book with golden corners. Such notebooks were not common in the local market – Sumana was sure it wouldn’t be available even in Calcutta. Beside the note book there was an inkpot and an old-fashioned pen holder that accommodated two pens. Sumana picked up a pen; it was quite long, heavy with long and thick nib. It was one of those old models which did not have any ink-filling mechanism. It had to be dipped in the inkpot intermittently while writing. The ink-pot as well as the ink-stains on the nib was dry, indicating that they were not used for a long period.

Sumana opened the exercise book with some circumspection and was stupefied!

The handwriting, slanted neat black prints on the yellowish paper, was unquestionably Akhil’s!

Except a few blank pages towards the end, the entire book was filled with notes, mathematical formulae and symbols. Sometimes it had geometrical and astronomical figures …

The language, however, was alien to Sumana. It appeared to be French. She remembered, once Akhil told her that he was conversant with the language. He also had a bias for anything that had to do with France … its food, wine, culture, Mathematicians… everything…

In the very first page of the note book Sumana failed to find any dates by which she could establish the dates of these notes. The first page was devoid of any script, except three words:

COGITO, ERGO SUM …

Sumana’s head was spinning widely. She sat down on the bed. Her distress did not avoid Chintu’s eyes.

“What happened, Mona-di? Are you alright?”

Sumana pointed at those neatly printed letters on the notebook, and gasped,

“Look at those letters. Do you know what it means?”

“Nope” – shrugged Chintu – “Appears Latin to me”

“Yes, it’s indeed Latin. It means, ‘I think, therefore I am’. It was Akhil’s philosophy of life. He often preached that to me. Chintu … Chintu … what’s happening to me?”

“Mona-di, no doubt your beau was one hell of a mysterious character, if you still consider him to be your beau that is. Have you noticed that bookshelf?”

Sumana spun around and saw a bookshelf made of black ebony with ornate carvings mounted on the wall opposite to the bed. It had glass panes in the front and was translucent with fungal growths on it.

She tip-toed to the book-shelf and opened the doors carefully.

It had three shelves. The top shelf contained just four books, and quite a number of leather-bound exercise books similar to the one on the bedside table. The bottom two shelves were packed with hard bound books.

Sumana pulled out a few books. The first one was ‘The Art of Conjecturing” authored by Swiss Mathematician Jakob Bernoulli! The next one was authored by Abraham De Moivre – “Doctrine of Chances.” Didn’t Akhil mention these books to Sumana during their discussions?

Like a person possessed, Sumana opened the books one after the other. They were really old. The pages were fragile and some pages were eaten away by the termites. By some magic Sumana was teleported to form nineteenth century West Bengal to the medieval Europe … Liebnitz … Euler … Newton … Gottfried … Pascal … De Moivre … Laplace … L’Hopital … Lagrange … Fourier … Fibonacci … all coming alive … just as Akhil had described…

The five minutes promised to Buri-Ma had clearly elapsed. But they couldn’t care less, for what they were viewing in front of them was a priceless treasure house of the golden era of Mathematics…

After glimpsing through the books in the bottom three shelves, Sumana reached for the three bound volumes kept in the top tier.

All three books, apart from being very old, had two things in common.

One – they were all written in French, two – all were authored by the same person.

Monsieur Rene Descartes!

The first book – ‘Essais Philosophiques’[3] – was published in 1637. Even without any knowledge in French, Sumana chiefly, through the figures, could make out that the work contained four parts; as essay on geometry, another one on optics, a third on meteors and – ‘Discours de la method’[4], which described his philosophical speculations. The second book was – ‘Meditationes de Prima Philosophia’[5] – published in 1642 and – ‘Principia Philosophie’[6]  published in 1644.

The cousins were deeply engrossed in collecting every bit of information they could gather with their limited knowledge in French. While Sumana was rummaging the first two books, Chintu was reached for the third volume – ‘Principia Philosophie.’

Chintu turned the first two pages, and his vision got transfixed on a figure in the third page.

“Oh my God” – He exclaimed almost spontaneously – “This is incredible! Remarkable resemblance! For God’s sake, I wouldn’t have believed this had I not seen with my own eyes!”

“Resemblance? With whom?” - asked Sumana as she took a peek to what Chintu was viewing…

It was the page on which a book is dedicated to a particular person or persons. Here, it also contained the sketch – or rather a portrait of a woman. It was Sumana herself! Fighting a heavy bout of dizziness, she flopped on the dusty floor and said –

“Why, didn’t you notice? I am referring to the resemblance between the character in this sketch and you, Miss Sumana Chatterjee.” – Chintu said.

“Who is the character in the portrait?” – Sumana was now gasping for breath.

Chintu inspected the sketch minutely for a full minute or two and then commented,

“It’s written in French, but it’s not difficult to make out that this book was dedicated by Monsieur Rene Descartes to this Lady - the Princess of Bohemia –Madamme Elizabeth Stuart. Mona-di, were you the Princess of Bohemia in any of your previous lives? Oh my God, this is outrageous!”

“Madamme Elizabeth Stuart … Lisa … Lisa … Akhil called me by that name …” – mumbled Sumana. The hoarseness of her voice surprised Chintu.

 

Later in the evening they sat in Chintu’s library and rummaged through in the Encyclopedia Britannica for whatever information they could get on Rene Descartes. With bated breaths they virtually devoured everything that was written on the great Mathematician and Philosopher. There weren’t very great details, but whatever was there were enough to knock the living daylights out of them…

In the brief biography, it described Descartes’ year of birth, his education, his theories and postulations and his philosophies. It also accounted for his books with brief description of their contents. All his books were written in the latter part of his life, after he migrated to the Netherlands in 1628. Princess Elizabeth Stuart of Bohemia also lived in the Netherlands during that time, where she came across the genius philosopher. Their meeting blossomed into deep friendship, but did not culminate in a relationship. Descartes fondly addressed her as ‘Lisa’. In 1949 Descartes was invited to the court of Queen Christina of Sweden in Stockholm to teach her philosophy. But Descartes could not sustain the rigors of the northern winter and developed serious lung ailment. In 1950 Rene Descartes died of suspected pneumonia.

The pages contained an artist’s impression of Rene Descartes’. It bore striking resemblance to Akhilbandhu Das.

However, Sumana, was no longer surprised … Akhilbandhu also suffered from serious lung ailment. And if the old-ladies story was to be believed, he also died of lung disease …

The concluding paragraphs of Encyclopedia Britannica described Descartes’ philosophy and his famous line – Cogito, Ergo Sum  …

After completing reading, Chintu lit a cigarette.

Sumana covered her face with both her palms, and wept like never before …

---

 

Epilogue

 

Nineteen Ninety Seven; Mrs. Sumana Ghoshal, DSc.

‘I think, therefore I am’ – Sumana still vividly remembered Akhilbandhu’s philosophy. The philosophy that changed her life, completely. In fact she remembered all what Akhil had said to her. It’s said that time is the greatest healer – time makes one forget everything. But even twenty five years was not long enough for Sumana to forget Akhil. Everything about him was as clear as if it had happened a day before...

Akhilbandhu had been her inspiration. Could Sumana have risen to this level, but for that fateful evening, when an ordinary peddler boy in Naihati local had volunteered to help her solve the problem she was struggling with?

Mrs. Sumana Ghoshal’s eyes welled up with pent-up emotion, as she looked at the black thick-set fountain pen with a golden clip. It’s the same writing instrument that she’d lost twenty five years ago in Naihati local. It’s the same fountain pen that had changed her course of life, forever...

She had lost this once. She cannot afford to lose it again ... ever...

This belonged to her and her alone. She can never share this with anyone...

Carefully she tucked the pen into her blouse, inside the safe haven of her bosom ...

Sudarshana, her daughter, returned well past evening. From her first floor room she saw her daughter enter the drawing room trotting gleefully. She tossed her canvas bag carelessly on the sofa and skipped her way to her room. Sudarshana’s body language had a care-a-damn attitude that angered Sumana. At her age, she wasn’t so audacious. Sudarshana never bothered to explain anything on her whereabouts to her. Such was her audacity that if she decided to go somewhere or do something, she just informed Sumana, she never asked for her permission.

Sumana decided she shall not tolerate this any longer. From now on she’d better ask for her permission at every step. As long as Sudarshana lived with her, she had to follow some disciplines. For a start, she has to tell her what she did all day on the pretext of studying at her friend’s place.

Blind with rage, Sumana entered her daughter’s room. Sudarshana was changing. Seeing her Mom, she immediately gauged her mood, but she chose to play casually. She asked in a matter-of-fact tone,

“What’s the matter Mom? How was your day? From your face it appears not everything went well today. Any problems at the US embassy?”

Sumana ignored her and asked in a steely voice,

“Where were you the whole day?

“Didn’t I inform you in the morning? I was at my friend’s place, solving problems.” – She said casually and blew a bubble of her half chewed bubble gum.

“What kind of friend, may I ask? A girl or a boy?”

“Excuse me, what exactly do you mean by that Mom? And how does that matter?” – said Sudarshana sharply. She was clearly upset.

“It matters. A girl of your age will loiter around for whole day like a street vagabond, and you expect me to ignore everything and keep mum. It’s not on. Look young lady, as long as you are living in this home, you will have to follow certain ground rules. You have to disclose what you do the whole day. And you have to take prior permissions for all your daily agenda from now on.” – The acridness her tone even surprised Sumana for she’d never shouted at her daughter like that before.

Sudarsana, too, was taken aback but only momentarily. She shot back,

“Mom, now you are intruding in my private matters. Remember, it’s my life.”

Sumana realized that she’d perhaps gone a bit overboard. Getting too bossy might make her revolt. So she softened her tone and said,

“Intrusion in your private matters has never been our intention. I am more liberal that most moms and you know that. It’s a question of your safety Mamon. You know how unsafe Delhi is these days. And as long as you are with us, your safety is our concern. Rest assure, we won’t poke into your matters after you marriage.”

Then after a pause, she continued,

“Besides, you have your career. As parents it’s also our duty to oversee that you are not on a wrong track. Don’t you understand, spending so much time outdoors with sub-standard friends can be seriously counter-productive? It is a big waste of time.”

“Excuse, me – what made you think my friends are sub-standard? How can you pass such a crass remark on my friends whom you don’t even know?”

“Okay, let me guess. You spent your day with your friend – your boy-friend, right?”

“So what?” – Sudarshana shot back haughtily.

“Your boyfriend is tall, fair complexioned, has unkempt brownish hair, brown eyes, wears a kurta over trousers, carries a canvas bag in which he keeps pens for peddling in streets, right?”

Sudarshana was dumbfounded! She never thought her Mom was privy to so much details of her boyfriend whom she’d had befriended only recently…did she appoint a private detective to stalk her?

“How on earth do you know so much, Mom? Are you spying on me or something? You didn’t have to, for I would have introduced him to you very shortly.”

Sumana took a deep breath and said in a definitive voice,

“I don’t want you to mix with that chap.”

“But, why? Mom, you don’t know him. Please do not judge him by his looks or profession. He’s a genius Mom. I haven’t come across a person who knows more on almost every aspects of mathematics than him. Why, sometimes I feel he’s even better than you, Mom.”

“Look Mamon, I am much older than you and therefore know the goods and evils of this world more than you. I very well know the people of this class. On pretext of teaching maths, all he will try to do is to get intimate with you. For all you know he may be after your properties. I’m very sure his real intention is to seduce you, force you to marry him and become a claimant to all your properties.”

“Mom – how dare you –”

“Don’t shout Mamon” – said Sumana in a steely voice – “You have a social status. Your Papa is a renowned diplomat. Your Mom is a Professor and a well-known personality in the world of mathematics. How can you have a relationship with a loafer without any pedigree? What would people say? We live in a society, Mamon, and therefore bound by certain social norms, don’t you understand?”

“No, I do not understand. I don’t need to understand. Who gave you the bloody right to speak ill of a person whom you do not even know? You cannot impose your dictatorial doctrines on me. I am an independent individual, and I have the bloody right to decide what I like, whom I like, I do not need your opinion on that.” – shouted Sudarshana, her nostrils flared up and eyes watery with humiliation.

Sumana waited for a while, and then said authoritatively,

“In that case, Miss Sudarshana Ghoshal, you will not put a foot outside this house from today.”

“How dare you – no, never … you cannot keep me in confinement like a hostage …”

“Oh yes, I can. I will instruct the driver to escort you to your college and back. I will ensure the Gorkha doesn’t allow you to live the premises on your own. Shyamali, here, will take care of your daily needs. Your cell phone can be deactivated, the landline can be tapped… Oh yes, Mamon, I will go any length to protect you from all evils…”

Sumana herself was surprised by the steeliness of her own voice. There was something in it that stunned Sudarshana to a state of speechlessness.

Mom meant it … she meant every word of what she just said … thought Sudarshana.

“Oh Mom … you can’t do this to me, please don’t do this to me …” – she wailed piteously by covering her face …

 

A week after …

It was past midnight when Mrs. Sumana Ghoshal, PhD, sunk herself in the plush upholstered fully reclined first class seat in the huge Lufthansa 747 that took-off from Delhi to Chicago via Frankfurt. She closed her eyes. Soft meditational music was percolating through her earphones. She was neither sleeping nor concentrating on any particular notes. Her mind was preoccupied with thoughts. Strangely, she wasn’t thinking about the ensuing conference. Her mind was full of thoughts on Akhilbandhu…

Has Akhil, or some other person strikingly similar to Akhil, invaded her daughter’s life, like he had done to her twenty five years ago?

True to her words, she did not allow her daughter to step out of the house unescorted. The ruthlessness of her steadfast decision, at times even surprised her husband Sukhomoy. His attempts to pacify Sumana went in vain.

How would … how would they know what Akhil meant for her …his influence on shaping her career – which was yet to attain the pinnacle … ?

She can never share Akhil with anybody … no not even with her daughter whom she loved so dearly… She had to be strict in her dealing with Sudarshana – she had no choice. If necessary, she would even go to the extreme to get her married to some boy in quick time …

Sumana had been, and will always be the biggest well-wisher of her daughter. She can’t even imagine causing any harm to her career …

However, she cannot allow anybody else to find the solution to the twenty-third and the last of Hilbert’s problems as long as she is alive…

She fondly felt for the fountain pen, now lodged safely in her bosoms and tried to sleep …

 

 

Mumbai, 1998.

 

---

[1] Watchman

[2] Maternal uncle

[3]Philosophical Essays.

[4]Discourse on Method.

[5]Meditations on First Philosophy.

[6]The Principles of Philosophy.