Fiction: Accident

Ratan Bhattacharjee

Ratan Bhattacharjee

It was early monsoon. The rain had softened the earth and turned the riverbanks into a misty dream. Sabuj was coming back home and suddenly his scooter wheel skidded on the slippery road. He realized that he had fallen on someone whose hand was under the scooter’s muddy wheel. In the faint light of moon covered by cloud, he saw her— she was barefoot, drenched, trying to stand again from the fallen position. But she seemed like a spirit risen from nowhere in the rain. Her eyes were vacant, her salwar was torn and smirched with mud, her lips trembling with words which she was unable to tell. He stepped towards her holding the scooter with one hand. “Are you hurt?” he asked gently. The woman was lisping but nothing was clearly heard. She was seriously wounded and was unable to stand in a stable position.

“How do you suddenly appear from nowhere?” wandered Sabuj. Not a ghost but a real woman of flesh and blood. He looked at her minutely to examine her wretched situation and to measure the gravity of the wound caused by his bicycle. Something flickered in her eyes. “It is my fault” she muttered in a voice that sounded sweet in the dark. Sabuj blinked. “I’m Sabuj. I know you are seriously injured” The woman looked helpless but did not say, ” Hey, you are responsible for the accident.” Sabuj should do something for the first aid. But at home only his old father was there. It was better to take her to the nearby hospital, newly opened in their locality. 

When they reached the hospital, Sabuj saw her hand in the light when she was waiting in front of the reception. She was bleeding but stood in silence as if nothing happened. She did not clearly tell anything or perhaps she didn’t want to. She felt uncomfortable, but before realizing it fully Sabuj saw her suddenly collapsing into his arms, sobbing, clutching his shirt as if it were the last thread of reality she could grasp. Sabuj had only one thing to do at that moment - to admit her into the hospital though admission was a problem. He did not know her name even. Making a diary in Police Station was more complicated. If it was an accident, the police diary would be imperative. 

Luckily the woman not in a condition of blaming him for his rash driving or inexperienced hand was not in the slippery road in the dark. Nor would she have done that when she was in a more or less stable condition near the reception. Now she was almost senseless and had lost her power to speak. Sabuj cooked a bull story that they were going to a place in the scooter. She fell down when the wheels skidded. But still. at this moment one female family member was needed. The receptionist asked curtly, “Is she your relative?” Sabuj knew the importance of a tactful answer at that moment. Without fumbling he said, “Yes, she is our family member.” Sometimes lies need to be told with overconfidence. However, the suspicious look of the receptionist was still there. She wanted ID from Sabuj for admitting the patient and five thousand rupees as advance payment. “If not required, the excess amount will be returned at the time of release,” she said as if she were more bothered about the money than about the woman’s ID. That was however a relief and Sabuj said, “But her ID is not with her.” The lady saw that Sabuj was paying online. “Ok, sir your ID will do for the admission procedure as the patient party.” she said. 

Sabuj was a school teacher in a riverside Santhal Community. At this moment he had been living with his old father in a modest house since his parents had gotten separated. Sabuj did not want to disturb his father at this hour of evening. Seeing this woman in the hospital, his father might make conjectures. Sabuj did not have a happy childhood because his father was not happy with his mother. He wanted his son to marry a good woman. But Sabuj was in no mood to marry. An unhappy marriage is a curse in a man’s life. Few people get in their life a very good woman as a wife. Sabuj had never believed in fate. He was a man of reason, of quiet routines and modest dreams who never wanted any uncertainty in his life. Man proposes but God disposes. At this moment his father must be informed about the woman. That was needed more to justify the stay of the woman in their house. After release the woman must be given a temporary shelter. His father must agree to accommodate the stranger woman in their house till her relatives come to take her. 

Dhurjati Babu, his father, came onto the phone call. He and his father discussed and confirmed with the the hospital that the woman was their relative. The lady receptionist asked her name. “Sumita,” Sabuj who was usually not in a habit of lying told her the fictitious name without any hesitation. “Please admit her without much delay. She is profusely bleeding.” His father brough Sabuj’s identity card to submit it as the patient party for Sumita.

 Strangely enough the woman’s bag had nothing except a few ten rupee notes and a few old salwar kameez, a water bottle half finished. No mobile, no address, nothing. She looked gentle and appeared to belong to the low middle class No one came to the hospital, as expected, and after first aid, she felt better. Sabuj and his father asked her where she wanted to go. She did not tell anything but looked vacant, even when she was released. Sabuj did not want to involve police in a hurry. Finally, the stranger woman now called “Sumita” was given shelter in their house for the time being. She did not object to being called by that name. It was mysterious to Sabuj and his father. Is the woman abnormal, is she mad, or has her brain stopped working-- many such questions pestered both the father and the son. She was otherwise fully normal. But she accepted the name and agreed to go to Sabuj’s house, a fully unknown family where there no females.

“The woman might have lost her memory”- Sabuj’s father said with an apprehension in his mind. “Any way it would be discussed later in details,” said Sabuj. “Let her take rest now. Thanks God, her bleeding has stopped.”

His father agreed. “At least the police are not involved till now. Later a doctor may be consulted for other ailments and some way out would surely be possible,” thought Sabuj. His father was impatient. “But how long should we keep a woman in our house without knowing her identity” his father asked Sabuj. Now a days many dreadful incidents were happening in the town. But his father, who believed in values, could not allow her to go in this unstable mind unless her real family came to search for her. He was confirmed that it was a case of memory loss not caused by the scooter accident but for some other reason.

A few days passed and Sumita resumed her normal activities. But she continuously called Sabuj her boyfriend. “You are my bestie, you saved me that night.” Sabuj was embarrassed at this. His father on humanitarian ground told Sabuj not to be harsh with Sumita 

“How can I do such things to her baba?” Sumita did not seem to bother what they said or suggested to her. She behaved normally as a girlfriend of Sabuj. One day she went with Sabuj to market. The other day she planned to go with him to watch a movie. Sabuj did everything for bringing her to normalcy. She might be able to tell all one day. Then she will be sent to her real home. Simultaneously Sabuj tried his best to convince her that he has another girl friend and he was going to be married soon though this was not true. He felt some soft corner being created for her. Sumita laughed loudly. “I am not going to believe all these pranks. You have been my bestie and you will remain so.” Sabuj too wanted that. Sumita might be a good choice for his conjugal life. The town as usual started gossiping. They whispered on the street or market, “Arrey dada, like father like son. His mother left his father and now the son is with a girl for all these months in the house?”.

 But Sabuj didn’t care. He took care of her, bought medicine and tried to keep her happy. The fridge was now now full with ice cream, cold drinks and chocolates. Sumita liked Orange Juice. Only he did not openly agree that he was her lover. They gave her the guest room. Sumita still did not stop taking strange things at times. One day she said, “How long shall I wait Sabuj? You promised me to marry before Christmas.” 

“Me!” Sabuj was surprised. But considering her mental condition he calmly said, “Okay okay, I am planning.” Every morning she would make tea and wait for Sabuj to come to the breakfast table. Every evening she would sit by the window and hum songs that made Sabuj’s heart ache. He tried everything. He showed her his ID card. He took her to the local doctor. He even staged a little drama with his friends that he had a girlfriend studying in Bangalore. But Sumita would only smile and say, “You’re teasing me again, aren’t you? I checked your mobile and found no girl’s number.” Oh, my gosh, thought Sabuj in a jocular mood, you even checked my mobile? Anyway he was not harsh. And slowly, Sabuj stopped resisting. He was habituated to her antics. Weeks turned into months. Sumita became a part of the house. She helped Sabuj at home and also at his society school, an NGO run institution. Sabuj took care of the poor marginalized children after his school hours. Sumita laughed with the children, planted marigolds in the garden. 

Sabuj found himself waiting for her voice in the morning, her laughter in the evening. He stopped correcting her. He stopped denying her. He started dreaming of love.

When the local priest asked his father if they were planning to marry, his father said, “Yes, she loves my son Sabuj. I did not know it earlier. But the girl said it herself.”

Sabuj felt embarrassed. “Baba, I never made any love to her. She claimed it.” The priest hesitated to pressurize for marriage. Priests usually do not go against the family opinion. But the father gradually loved Sumita and imagined her to be the ideal daughter in law. Sabuj might be feeling shy to confess his love. The town rejoiced when the wedding was finally announced. 

The mango tree bloomed early that year. On the day before the ceremony, Sabuj took Sumita for a drive in the old family car. She would choose her Benarasi Saree. The sky was golden, the road winding through fields of mustard and memory. Sumita did not wear salwar - kameez but a sari. Her neck was wrapped in a red shawl, her hair tied in a bun, her eyes sparkling with joy. “I feel like I’ve known you forever,” she said.

Sabuj smiled. “Maybe you have.” 

“Then why were you not accepting your promises of love that you made?”

Sabuj had objected many times to this earlier. But at this joyful moment he could not raise objection for spoiling Sumita’s mood. Unmindful driving causes accidents and this exactly happened. One lorry suddenly came very close to their family car and the toto that followed hit it on the back. Somehow Sabuj bypassed the lorry but it pushed another toto and the accident occurred. Sumita was not wearing the seat belt, was hurt, and she lost all sense.. Sabuj was bruised, bleeding. Sumita lay unconscious, her head resting against the dashboard, her red shawl soaked in blood. The toto escaped at high speed after knocking the car.

At the hospital,Sumita regained her sense after treatment in the Emergency. Sabuj ‘s father came hurriedly. The Doctors were ready to release her. But everything suddenly changed. She looked at Sabuj and whispered, “Who are you all? Why I am here? Where is Rahul? Call him. He cannot leave me like that.”

Sabuj froze. He was fully confused. “Who is Rahul?”

“My friend Rahul told me to escape from my house with him. He promised to marry me. I know his number. Call him now.”

Sabuj felt exasperate. He was at his wit’s end. “That day you had an accident and we saved you, you never said Rahul was your boyfriend. The Doctor looked at Sabuj and his father with suspicion. Sabuj stepped back. The doctor called the number. 

One Rahul really answered on the first ring. “You are in hospital in Kolkata? I am in Patna. But I am coming as soon as possible.”

Rahul arrived that night - after rushing from Patna. He explained how he lost Radha in the Esplanade area. Sumita actually Radha. He went to the police station, but no one gave him any importance. As he was a lover and not a relative, he could not do much for the inquiry. Radha was in a hostel and in her family she had none but her old mother. Her father had died long ago. Radha fell in love with Rahul and they had come to Kolkata for a short tour. However Radha had lost her memory and forgotten all that. “Rahul’s voice was cracked. Sadness and joy both confused him about how to react properly. Everyone thought him irresponsible but he tried every day to get a trace of Radha. He came even near Sabuj’s locality. But nobody could tell about Radha. He was gaunt, hollow-eyed, clutching a photograph of Radha like a lifeline. “I’ve searched every city, every hospital, every morgue,

He said, “She vanished long eight months ago.”

Radha came down from the hospital bed. “Rahul, Rahul, you came!” They embraced. They wept. Sabuj watched from the doorway, his heart unravelling. He muttered in silence something which he himself did not hear. 

The wedding was cancelled. The marigolds wilted. Radha came to hold Sabuj’s hand one last time. “I owe you everything. You saved me, you gave me shelter in this unknown city. I am not Sumita any more. I am Radha. I love Rahul too much,” she said. “I must go with him. I will remember the last drive with you Sabuj.”

Sabuj felt his cheeks getting wet. Tears trickled down in silence. He tried to control it. He wanted

 to say, “It was an accident that brought us closer. It is another accident that separated us again.” 

But he could not gather words for speaking. Sabuj nodded. She paused. “You were never Rahul. 

But you were… something more. Finally Rahul and Radha left. Maybe they would spend their 

happiest day again. Maybe they would marry now. Maybe Radha would not have problems any

 more. Their happiness created a wave of joy in Sabuj’s deeper mind. 

He returned to his quiet house. The mango tree bloomed again, but he had no mind to 

notice it now. Sumita had shown him the mango shoots. Sumita was no more. She was now

Radha. She had vanished vanished like the cloud of the Autumn sky. 

Towards the weekend, a letter arrived from his Sumita. “Dear Sabuj, I remember everything 

now. But I also remember the days I didn’t. You gave me a life when I had none. You gave 

me love without asking for it. Rahul is my Fact. You are my Truth. Yours, Sumita.” Sabuj 

folded the letter, placed it in his drawer, and smiled. Then he walked to the garden. 

His Sumita was not missing. She would be there for ever waiting for him.

Bio: International Tagore Awardee writer Dr. Ratan Bhattacharjee is a former Affiliate Faculty Virginia Commonwealth University & Retd. Associate Professor and Head Post Graduate Dept of English, Dum Dum Motijheel College and President Kolkata Indian American Society & Poet cum Columnist. 

Email. profratanbhattacharjee@gmail.com

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Setu, November 2025