We all are very grey.

****

Even though Khatra was green and beautiful, it wasn't particularly welcoming at night. It required guts for a man to be out at night after whatever was happening in Khatra. The village was famished and would swallow any being.

Everything was plunged into darkness. The pale yellow moon emanated a weak, tired glow from behind the grey clouds. The blood-curdling call of vixens could be heard from deep within the forest. They were eager for mating, but the scream of desire was answered by the bark of dogs, which could never stand the foxes. These two animals never went along well. Much like good and evil, much like the poor and the rich, much like the accepted and the forbidden.

Raktim had wanted to avoid this meeting. He didn't like the zamindar family. He wasn't fond of their lavish lifestyle and their family drama. Alas, as a doctor, it was his duty to answer the call of patients, especially powerful patients. And definitely when he owed them a thing or two for being alive.

Raktim pulled the bell outside and waited. Ram opened the door. "Raktim Babu?"

Raktim was dressed in the pale sky-blue tunic from before and a snowy dhoti. He carried a black doctor's bag in his hands. "I heard your Boro Babu is sick. I was asked to come and check on him."

"He is always sick. You know it wasn't the case before." Ram bit on his lower lip and flinched when he realised to whom he just uttered those words. "I am sorry, Raktim Babu. I didn't mean to offend you."

Raktim waved his hands dismissively. He opened his shoes and came inside.  "I don't scrub the words on my skin. They have ceased to hurt me. Yet you cannot help your Boro Babu. He must suffer for the loss his body has gone through."

Ram took him to Kalikacharan's room situated on the ground floor. The door was left ajar. Ram knocked on it. "Raktim Babu has come."

Mrinjay was inside too. He gestured to Ram to bring the doctor in. After Raktim came inside, Mrinjay closed the door. "Take a seat." He pushed forward a chair towards Raktim.

Raktim kept his bag on the floor and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He would always turn into something different in the presence of Kalikacharan. Something that wasn't himself. His veins turned tense, the green strands filled with blood visible on his fair skin. He couldn't lean against the chair and sit comfortably. Strangeness hung in the air and weighed on him.

"How has life been?" Mrinjay asked.

Raktim jerked out of his bubble. He put up a careworn smile. "It's going well."

"On the other hand, we are going through a rough patch. I lost a dear one to death. And it is so very shocking."

"It is. But I dare not think who did this. I am scared of facing that very entity."

Mrinjay's mirthless laugh made goosebumps rise on Raktim's arms. "You are a doctor. You witness death more than us and yet you are afraid of it?"

"Being a doctor doesn't change anything about me. I am still afraid to know who could kill Abhinoy Babu."

Mrinjay looked at his lap, shadows dancing in his eyes that veiled the truth. "You can sometimes come and watch the devadasis dance. It will bring some colour to your life."

Raktim fidgeted in his position. Mrinjay's eyes peered into his soul like a hawk surveying its prey, watching if it still breathed or not. "I am a very simple man. I don't need colours in my life. I am happy with the black and white." Though, it's rarely just black and white.

Breaking the uneasy silence came a flock of crows. The crows sat on a little tree outside the window. Their incessant cawing made Raktim nervous. He shuffled his feet. "Could you please close the window?"

Mrinjay looked stunned at the sudden arrival of crows. He shifted his position from a point of crossed legs, which oozed confidence and authority, to a stance where his deadweight of a body wished to stand up. He heaved a sigh. "I think they can remain here. Odd birds."

Raktim stared at the crows. Those messengers of the other world had fixated their attention on him. He exhaled and took out his stethoscope. "What complications are you having?" he asked Kalikacharan.

Kalikacharan rubbed his potbelly. "Stomach ache and a lot of gas."

"Alright."

Raktim knew it was a common problem, so he need not worry about more lethal things. He had been seeing death too much to endure another one. And on top of that, he was worried about the passing of power, about the ladder of hierarchy, that would trumpet the title of the next zamindar after Kalikacharan's death.

He heard the heartbeat of Kalikacharan. It was slow, like the chiming music of a courtesan's anklets, so very faint but reverberating. All seemed normal with the ageing man. He put his hand over Kalikacharan's stomach and felt the tightness around certain areas. After some more assessment, he concluded the diagnosis. "I am prescribing some medicines. Please take them on time. I am writing it down here, when to consume and in what quantity. Also, you need to change you diet."

Kalikacharan scoffed. "Rubbish."

"It's only for your good, Boro Babu."

Kalikacharan stared daggers at the man from under his spectacles. Raktim averted his gaze and continued jotting down on the prescription.

"I will not be able to adjust so much!" Kalikacharan shouted. "I already suffer a lot. Can't you give me anything that should alleviate this pain? Can't you do something so that my taste buds grow stronger?"

"I will try, definitely." Raktim wrote the name of a herbal mix. "Please avoid eating red meat and spicy, oily food. For some days at least."

"I will convince Baba, don't worry," Mrinjay said.

Raktim tore the prescription and handed it over to Mrinjay. Then he got up and headed towards the door. A shadow passed by it, and he stopped.

"Wait a minute, Raktim Babu." Mrinjay opened his father's almirah and took out some notes, oblivious to what just Raktim observed. He counted the money and handed the cash to the doctor.

Raktim clutched his bag like his life depended on it. The handle's impression got imprinted on his palm. "I don't require the money."

"We don't take service for free," Kalikacharan said. "We aren't ungrateful."

"You shouldn't deny us, Raktim Babu,"  Mrinjay said.

"No. Pardon me, but I cannot." Raktim opened the door and left. He wasn't looking where he was headed. Unfortunately or fortunately, he had come to memorise the twists and turns of this mansion to even escape this maze with closed eyes. But this time, he bumped into someone. He looked up to see Maya standing there with a crisscross of wrinkles on her forehead. "Why did you not take the money?" she asked.

"I am not answerable to you."

"I demand an answer."

Raktim turned red. "How much did you hear? Eavesdropping isn't good manners."

"It's an old habit of mine that comes in handy during investigations." Raktim huffed and crossed Maya. She followed him to the door. "I would be happy if you are honest. It will help me know if you are a possible victim."

"Don't become a prey yourself," Raktim snapped. He put on his shoes and left the mansion.

"Well, not going to trust anyone so easily." Maya whistled a tune and went upstairs. On the way she came across the room of Mrinjay and Mrinmoyee. As she had seen, Mrinjay was down with his father. She heard Mrinmoyee sing a romantic song to herself.

"আমার পরাণ যাহা চায়, তুমি তাই তুমি তাই গো...‌ তুমি সুখ যদি নাহি পাও যাও সুখের সন্ধানে যাও।‌ "

(You are the one whom my heart desires... If you do not find bliss, do go in search of it!)

She had such a dulcet voice that Maya stood near the door frame and listened to her quietly. The song was hauntingly beautiful, a piece by the great poet Rabindranath Tagore himself. When Mrinmoyee finally stopped, Maya spoke, "May I come in?"

Mrinmoyee turned her head with an affable smile. "Sure!" She shifted to make some space for Maya to sit on the bed. "I don't get to talk to people and go out often, but I love to chatter."

Maya sat facing her. "Yes, being pregnant you must have to follow a lot of rules."

Mrinmoyee looked fondly at her round belly and caressed it. "Little one shall come any day. And Baba, I mean Kalikacharan Babu, doesn't like it when women roam outside the house. He is a bit orthodox."

"I can understand it very well." Maya said, remembering Kalikacharan's vague reply when she had asked about the smudged portrait. "It is shocking that he chose me, a female detective, to go through the case."

"That's your victory, Maya. You convinced a man who doesn't believe in the superiority of women to seek help from one."

Maya chuckled. "I think I am powerful." She watched the changing colours of Mrinmoyee's face. There was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "By the way, you sing pretty well."

"I have been taught it. My mother is very talented. She is a music teacher."

"Perhaps you were singing for Mrinjay." Maya winked.

Mrinmoyee giggled. "And you were listening because you recalled someone?"

Maya shrugged. "I don't have a man in my life. It's a drought, sort of." She chortled. "I guess I am not of marriageable quality."

"Come on!" Mrinmoyee playfully hit Maya's arm. "You will surely find someone. Maybe he is around you only. Just see my case– me and Mrinjay grew up together, but I never knew we would get married!"

"Were you two friends?"

"No we are cousins–"

Mrinmoyee put her hand over her mouth. "I-I am so sorry. This was not meant to be told."

Maya raised a brow. Cousins? I see. Not impossible but very rare, very peculiar. "Then I will act as if I didn't hear."

Mrinmoyee puckered like a baby. "The villagers don't know this. Even our marriage was a hush-hush event."

This information was enough to convince Maya that the family was extraordinary, and in a way that was to become interestingly disconcerting.  "I conclude that this was done to avoid gossip."

"Yes." Mrinmoyee wrung the end of her aanchal. "You got it right. Please don't tell the men of this family that you know about it."

"Alright, I won't." Maya pressed Mrinmoyee's palms in assurance. "Allow me to take leave."

As Maya came outside, she noticed Mrinjay coming from the other side. They exchanged a smile and Maya headed for her room.

"I have a rough sketch of all the characters till now."

Mrinmoyee, the sweet doe. Mrinjay, the classic zamindar. Kalikacharan, the strict patriarch. Raktim, the helpless doctor. Ram and Khirodh– the people with bizarre marks.

The future would tell if they really fit into these cavities.