The Beginning (5/?)

“You have to tell Pa.”
“Yes” A dolorous sigh. “I have to tell Pa and Cirill. You be with Vicky. Vicky and Denziel are volatile together. I find myself tingling with fear and anticipation whenever they get together chasing some ‘feeling’.” The brothers share an indulgent look which is only broken when Shashi follows it up with, “If you are with them, I need only fear for you.” Benjy scoffs at this but cannot hide his little smirk. He stands up with a hand on his brother’s left shoulder and gives a slight squeeze.

“Stay here with Ryan. We will bring them to you.”

A nod is the only answer. For now. Benjy walks out of the room and as he turns to shut the door behind him, he looks into the room. Shashi is striding towards the little alcove that houses little wooden bookcases. But they house no ordinary books – this innocuous place is where the maps are kept. Benjy nods to himself. Of course. Shashi - the chronic worrier. The only one who would insist that coins had a third side. If only, to avoid being surprised by such a thing ever.

But this train of thought is scary too. As difficult it is to surprise this brother of his, the uncomfortable truth is that someone has managed to surprise him. Not many people know them. Oh, many people know them, are acquaintances and even friends. But there are only a handful of people scattered across the world who actually ‘know’ them and know about them and their family. And many of these are family friends who have stood together for long. He has grown up counting them all as extended families. The siblings have been brought up on legendary stories of friendship and kinship connecting generations amongst these families.

They are all secretive families and any restless elements within them could have done this. Benjy is afraid for the first time.

He walks down the corridor to his room and begins to throw together a bag: not many clothes – a pair of jeans and three shirts, no, make it two shirts. This one still has a trace of tea that he spilt on it a week back. Ma says you must not be caught dead in dirty clothes. An absent laugh. But Ma’s true words go “You must not be caught dead in dirty underwear.” So, by a force of habit induced over 20 years of living with her, Benjy has picked out a week’s supply of underclothes that his mind hardly registered. Which is just as well. For he has packed only two pairs of socks and if he was aware of his actions, he would have shocked himself at the probability of stinking feet.

Mechanically, he counts down the necessities: brush and tongue cleaner (well, you didn’t think that a woman who wanted you to wear clean under clothes would let you walk out the house without a pink tongue), deodorant (he is vain like that – Vicky would have mercilessly teased him now), a sweater vest and scarf and his cell phone charger.

He zips up the bag and walks out the room.