Adultery Komolini's Second Spring

[Mintu08]

Chapter 4

By the time they finally settled into their compartment, Komolini felt the accumulated weight of the entire day pressing down upon her. The hurried departure from home, the emotional strain of leaving Kolkata, the endless thoughts about Probal, the station crowds, the luggage, and the oppressive humidity had left her thoroughly exhausted. What frustrated her most was that the air-conditioning still hadn't properly started. The vents above remained disappointingly silent while the compartment held onto the warmth of dozens of recently boarded passengers. Her scalp ached beneath the tightly secured bun she had worn since morning, and every passing minute increased her desire to pull out the pins and release her hair. The temptation was becoming difficult to ignore.

Unfortunately, the presence of the stranger sitting opposite them made her hesitate.

The man had boarded earlier and appeared to be travelling alone. He was physically imposing, broad through the shoulders and heavily built, with a complexion darkened by years spent outdoors. Everything about him felt unfamiliar to Komolini, from his appearance to the language he spoke. For the last several minutes he had been engaged in an animated conversation in Marathi, laughing occasionally and speaking with the easy confidence of someone entirely comfortable wherever he happened to be.

She couldn't understand a word of it. The unfamiliarity of the language only reinforced the realization that she was leaving Bengal behind and travelling toward a world she knew very little about.

While she was still contemplating the increasingly irritating bun, Hiyan began struggling with the larger suitcase. He managed to lift it toward the luggage rack but couldn't quite maneuver it fully into position. The compartment space was awkward, and the bag itself was heavier than it looked. Komolini watched anxiously as he adjusted his grip several times. Her son wasn't particularly large or powerfully built, and she could see the effort beginning to show on his face.
The stranger noticed as well.

Ending his phone call, he rose from his seat and stepped forward.

"Need help?"

The offer was polite enough, but Hiyan immediately declined.

"No, Uncle. I can manage."

The response came quickly, carrying the familiar determination of a young man who preferred solving problems himself.

The stranger only smiled.

"No problem, beta."

Before Hiyan could object further, the man stepped into the narrow space beside him. The compartment suddenly felt much smaller. To properly reach the suitcase, he had to move close enough that Hiyan was forced to shift aside repeatedly to create room. Komolini immediately noticed her son's expression. It wasn't rude. It wasn't fearful. It was simply the mild discomfort of somebody trapped in an awkward situation, trying to remain polite while having very little personal space left.

The stranger, however, appeared entirely unconcerned by the cramped conditions.
With practiced ease he reached upward, adjusted the suitcase, and pushed it deeper onto the rack. As he did so, the warmth inside the coach seemed to amplify everything. A strong earthy scent accompanied him—the unmistakable smell of a long day of travel, heat, physical effort, and crowded stations. Under normal circumstances it might have passed unnoticed. In the still air of the compartment, however, it lingered.

Komolini instinctively wrinkled her nose.

Then, almost immediately, she noticed Hiyan doing exactly the same thing.
The sight should not have amused her.

Instead it irritated her.

Mother and son exchanged the briefest glance before both looked away. Neither commented, but both had clearly noticed the same thing. Meanwhile the stranger remained entirely oblivious, concentrating solely on forcing the suitcase securely into position.

What annoyed Komolini most was not the man himself. He was helping, after all. What irritated her was the situation. The cramped space. The stubbornly inactive air-conditioning. The lingering warmth. The complete lack of room for Hiyan to move freely while the larger man calmly occupied most of the available area without seeming to notice. Everything about the scene made her increasingly aware of her own discomfort.

Within seconds the task was finished.

The suitcase slid fully into place.

The stranger stepped back and returned to his seat as though nothing unusual had happened.

Hiyan thanked him politely before sitting down again.

The compartment settled into silence.

Yet Komolini found herself increasingly conscious of the heat, the tightness of her bun, and the fact that she desperately wanted to release her hair. Several times her fingers drifted toward the pins. Several times she stopped herself. The stranger opposite had already resumed looking at his phone, apparently unconcerned with anyone around him, but somehow his presence continued making her hesitate.
Outside the window, the station lights glowed against the evening sky. Passengers moved along the platform. Vendors called out final sales. Somewhere down the coach a child laughed.

Inside, Komolini sat adjusting the edge of her saree, silently waiting for two things.
The first was for the air-conditioning to finally begin working.

The second was for an opportunity to free her hair without feeling self-conscious about it.

The suitcase finally settled securely into the luggage rack with a dull thud. The stranger kept one hand upon it for a moment longer, testing its stability before stepping back. As he did so, he wiped a trace of perspiration from his forehead with the back of his wrist. The movement briefly revealed a fading tilak above his brows, partially smudged by the heat and the long day. The detail caught Komolini's attention unexpectedly. Until then he had existed in her mind primarily as a collection of impressions—a broad, unfamiliar Marathi passenger whose language she couldn't understand and whose presence seemed to dominate the small compartment more than anyone else's.

The man turned toward Hiyan with an easy smile.

"Done."

Before her son could respond properly, the stranger gave him a firm, friendly pat across the upper back.

The reaction was immediate.

A small gasp escaped Komolini before she could stop it.

Hiyan visibly lurched forward.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

The force of the pat made him instinctively reach for the edge of the seat beside him for balance before regaining his footing.

The entire moment lasted barely a second.

Yet to a mother it felt considerably longer.

Komolini's eyes widened.

The stranger, meanwhile, appeared completely unaware that he had done anything unusual. To him the gesture had probably been nothing more than a harmless expression of encouragement.

"Strong suitcase," he said with a chuckle.

Hiyan smiled politely..."Yes."

The exchange ended there.

The stranger returned to his berth as though nothing noteworthy had occurred.
Komolini, however, found herself staring after him for a moment longer than necessary.

Only then did her gaze drift downward toward his hands. The observation occurred naturally.

Almost involuntarily...

The fingers wrapped around his phone looked remarkably thick. The skin appeared roughened and textured, carrying the unmistakable signs of physical labor. A ring rested upon one finger, catching the compartment light whenever he moved. Suddenly the reason for Hiyan's reaction became perfectly obvious.

Those hands looked powerful.

Not in an aggressive way.

Simply in the way of someone accustomed to lifting things without much effort.
The realization brought a curious mixture of relief and annoyance.

Relief because Hiyan hadn't simply lost his balance on his own.

Annoyance because the stranger had delivered that friendly pat with enough enthusiasm to make her son grab a seat for support.

The compartment remained stubbornly warm.

That fact increasingly dominated her thoughts.

The air-conditioning still hadn't begun functioning properly. The vents above remained silent while the accumulated body heat of passengers lingered in the enclosed space. Komolini became painfully aware of the thick blue saree she had chosen for the journey.

"Thank god Komo you didn't choose a lighter one!" 

One of the thinner fabrics would have become uncomfortable very quickly in this heat. But then she also blushes at the thought of how her lighter blouse would have made her white bra strap visible to this Marathi stranger an felt a strange thrill wondering if her son noticed the small red hue on her cheeks, but he was busy with his silly game. It relieved her but....

Hiyan's slightly disturbed expression....

Was something bothering him? 

Komolini wondered and continued watching her son for several seconds after that awful suitcase incident. Something about the brief exchange lingered stubbornly in her mind. The stranger had already returned to his seat and resumed scrolling through his phone as though nothing of significance had happened. Yet Hiyan's reaction remained unusually vivid in her memory. The way he had shifted forward after the firm pat on his back. The way his hand had immediately found the edge of the seat for support. The way his expression had tightened for a fraction of a second before returning to normal. A mother's instincts rarely ignored such details.

"Hiyan, what happened?"

The question came softly, carrying more concern than curiosity.

Hiyan didn't immediately look up from his phone. His thumbs continued moving across the screen while brightly colored images flashed beneath his fingers. When he finally answered, his voice sounded casual enough.

"Nothing, Maa."

The response should have reassured her.

Instead it achieved the opposite.

The answer arrived too quickly, too neatly, and without the slightest attempt at explanation. Komolini studied him carefully. The game occupied his eyes, but not his thoughts. She could tell. Over the years she had learned to distinguish genuine distraction from deliberate avoidance. At the moment, he seemed determined to remain focused on the screen. More noticeably, he avoided looking toward the opposite berth entirely.

The stranger remained seated there, comfortably browsing through messages. Every now and then a faint smile crossed his face before disappearing again. To any observer, he appeared perfectly ordinary. Yet Hiyan's gaze never drifted in that direction. Not once.

The compartment settled into an odd silence where everyone appeared occupied with separate activities while simultaneously remaining aware of everyone else's presence. The train still stood at the platform, waiting for departure. Passengers continued arranging bags and speaking quietly. Somewhere farther down the coach a family discussed dinner. The ordinary sounds of travel filled the air.
Inside Hiyan's mind, however, the discomfort remained.

The incident around the suitcase had lasted less than a minute, yet it left behind an unpleasant residue he struggled to define. Nothing inappropriate had happened. Nothing openly hostile. The stranger had helped. The suitcase was secured. The matter should have ended there.

Yet the experience hadn't felt entirely casual either.

The lack of space had bothered him.

The stranger's size had bothered him.

The way he had stepped so naturally into the cramped area had bothered him.
The ease with which he occupied the available space had somehow made Hiyan feel smaller than he liked.

Then came the firm hand on his back.

Then the smell of heat and travel lingering in the warm compartment and all of this made him recollect an awful memory which happened some days ago after college was over. 

Komolini eventually looked away from him, though the concern remained. She knew her son well enough to recognize when something occupied his thoughts. The problem was that she couldn't determine what it was. Perhaps he was thinking about Probal. Perhaps he was worried about the journey.

Perhaps he regretted leaving his college assignment unfinished. Or perhaps the explanation was something far simpler.

But the answer wasn't too simple as Komolini barely had an idea to what her son has undergone that awful day as Hiyan absent mindedly played his game but remembered each moment.......

Flashback - around a month ago post Probal's arrest in Pune 

After college hours, Hiyan was blindfolded by a senior ragging gang who were notorious for such stuff but with selected members. The boy's hands were handcuffed by a thick rope and he kept pleading....

"Bastards! Where the hell do you think you are taking me???" 

The gang just kept quiet which just implied silent cruelty. The next thing Hiyan noticed was a closed corridor like room and he was facing a group of bullies within his college itself. 

"On your knees like a frog!"

Hiyan refused...."what the fuck..."

The bigger guy came to him and slapped him hard....

Hiyan still refused. 

The small refusals and threats continued until one took out a short knife and pointed it at Hiyan's groin area and told him to comply or else getting it chopped off. The terrefied boy asked....."why are you doing this???" as he was scared to death and assumed a frog like position out his fright alone. 

"Hop! Common...hop for us!" 

Hiyan remained in his frog-like pose and hopped around the campus while his bully seniors clapped and laughed. One of them even clanged a steel plate loudly, drawing more attention to the humiliating spectacle.

"A prisoner's son should behave like one," the senior sneered before shoving the plate into his hands. On it lay a few dry rotis and some sliced onions.
The other almost spat "Saala gandu! Today we will make you one if you don't obey us!" 

One tosses a plate which only had sukhi rotis with onions. The sight was pure cruel mockery to Hiyan who had an off pose which was highly potentially emasculating and now the awful food offered to him. 

"Here. Eat." His senior mocked him with a twist of his eyebrows. 

Still squatting, the boy stared at the plate in disbelief. For a moment he could not move. The mocking faces around him blurred as tears gathered in his eyes. His throat tightened painfully. He had endured the hopping, the taunts, and the laughter, but this felt different. It felt as though they were trying to strip away whatever little dignity he had left.

"I won't!!!!! And my father is innocent!!" Hiyan spat out only to be slapped by another senior who caught his turf of hair and warned him....
"Last warning khoka Babu! Eat this or else your chikna ass is in danger today!" 

His fingers trembled around the steel plate. He lowered his head, desperately trying to hide the tears that now rolled down his cheeks, but the seniors noticed anyway and burst into fresh laughter. The sound echoed across the campus while the boy remained frozen in his squat, humiliated beyond words.

The enclosed room tucked away in an isolated corner of the college felt less like a classroom and more like a prison cell. The windows were shut, the air heavy with silence broken only by the occasional snicker from the gathered seniors.
The most senior among them stepped forward. Without a word, he pulled off his belt and let it hang loosely from his hand. Then he brought it down sharply against the wooden chair beside him.

Whack.

The sudden crack echoed through the room.

The boy, still trapped in his painful squat, flinched violently. His grip tightened around the steel plate resting on his knees. He lowered his eyes, unable to look at anyone.

Another sharp strike landed against the chair.

Whack.

The senior leaned back and stared at him.

"Eat."

The boy's throat went dry. Tears still clung to his lashes as he looked down at the dry rotis and onions. Every muscle in his body ached from maintaining the humiliating posture, yet fear kept him frozen in place.

Around him, the other seniors watched in silence, waiting.

The belt struck the chair a third time.

"Didn't you hear me?" the senior said coldly. "Eat."

His hands trembled. Feeling dozens of eyes fixed upon him, the boy slowly reached toward the plate. The room seemed to shrink around him as he forced himself to obey, not because he wanted to, but because at that moment he could not see any way to resist. The laughter had faded, replaced by an oppressive silence that felt even worse. Every movement he made seemed to confirm the power they held over him, and the realization left him feeling smaller and more helpless than ever.

But out of all the remaining bits of rebellion inside him, Hiyan tossed off the plate aside and this made the biggest bully lead in the troop loose his cool and he made Hiyan thrash against the ground flat on his stomach until his trouser and belt had been stripped off and pulled down to his knees. The other bullies enjoyed the show and some even encouraged the act...

"Bang up the gandu!!" 

"Make the chikna squeal and moan!" 

"Bloody criminal ka aulaad!!" 

Crude comments followed up as Hiyan realised the horror of what was about to happen. The sound of the zip being pulled down from his bully's trouser was quite audible and then he felt a grope of his fair soft was with the evil crude murmur..."ah chikney!" 

And then the awful moment or let's say

The awful shove! 

"Sssssss urffhhhhhhhhhhhhhh*

Hiyan groaned as the bully shoved his strangely aroused cock into his unprepared hole and he did it for quite sometime with grunts and groans following up inside the corridor. The awfulness of the act was proved by the deep penetrations and his groans alone which were nothing but weak protests as the bully forced further and enjoyed the homo moment to the fullest. 

"Prisoner ka launda shut the fuck up and aaaah.......uh aaaahhh chikney!!!" 

The moment was highly emasculating for Hiyan but he couldn't move and just kept his face thrashed against the ground as within a few more grunts the bully emptied himself and with a final sigh pulled his zip up again and Hiyan just kept his body still on the ground. 

The boy wept quietly after the seniors finally left.

The room fell silent, leaving behind only the faint hum of a ceiling fan and the sting of humiliation that lingered in the air. Exhausted, he slowly collapsed onto the cold tiled floor, unable to hold himself upright any longer.

Every muscle in his legs throbbed from the prolonged squatting. His lower back ached, and his bruised, aching bottom burned with every slight movement. Tears slipped freely down his face as he stared blankly at the ceiling.

Beside him lay the untouched steel plate.

The dry rotis had gone cold. The sliced onions sat where they had been placed, a cruel reminder of the ordeal he had just endured. He had refused to eat when ordered, clinging to the last fragment of dignity he felt he possessed, and for that defiance he had paid a heavy price.

Now there was no laughter, no taunts, no commands.

Only silence.

The kind of silence that arrives after a storm, when the damage has already been done.

Curling slightly onto his side, the boy pressed a trembling hand against his eyes. His body hurt, but the pain in his heart felt worse. The insults about his father, the mocking cheers, the degrading punishments—all of it replayed relentlessly in his mind. But one thing remained firm in his beliefs...

"My father is innocent!....yes he can't do wrong!!" 

Back in the present, he kept murmuring until his shoulder was touched by Komolini who looked concerned....

"Hiyan what's wrong?" 

"Nothing maa..." Hiyan murmured and got back to his game. 


.......

Pune - Sholapur Highway 

Rupu glanced at her phone for what must have been the fifth time during the ride. The screen remained stubbornly unchanged. No missed calls. No new messages. Her cousin and his son were still somewhere on the highway, making their way toward Pune. Earlier in the morning, she had considered waiting for them. It would have been easier. Safer, perhaps. She could have spent the day alone and postponed the meeting with her client until tomorrow.

Yet the more she thought about it, the more restless she became.

The case had already occupied far too much space in her mind. For days she had been reading statements, reviewing documents, speaking to court staff, and answering calls. The client sat behind bars while she sat behind a desk. The least she could do was meet him herself instead of delaying again. That was the practical reason she gave herself.

There were other reasons too.

Curiosity was one of them.

The Uber moved steadily through Pune traffic while Rupu stared out of the window. She had spent years in courtrooms, government offices, security officer stations, and legal chambers. She had seen enough of the legal system to know that the prison was where all the neat paperwork ended and reality began. It was where accusations became confinement. Where people waited. Where families worried. Where guilt and innocence often mattered less than patience and procedure.

She wondered what her client would look like after weeks inside.

She wondered what the prison itself would feel like. She feared any brutal scenario could again turn her on.

The thought sent a strange flutter through her stomach.

To distract herself, she looked down at her hands resting on the file in her lap. Her pink-painted nails immediately caught her attention. They looked cheerful and polished. Perfectly ordinary on most days.

Today they seemed absurdly noticeable.

She turned her hand slightly and frowned.

Perhaps she should have removed the polish.

Perhaps she should have chosen a different saree.

The light pink saree had appeared elegant when she stood before her bedroom mirror that morning. Soft. Graceful. Tasteful. Now, on the way to a prison, it felt almost embarrassingly feminine.

Her eyes drifted toward the small mirror fixed behind the driver's sun visor.
Without thinking, she checked her reflection.

The maroon gloss on her lips remained intact.

Not bright.

Not dramatic.

Just enough to add colour.

Still, she immediately closed the mirror and looked away.

"I need to focus on my client....Rupu.....get a hold of yourself!" 

The car gradually headed towards the Sholapur District Prison.