It was a story from many years ago. One winter night, Rajib came to our house. I was about to fall asleep. Just then, Rajib arrived. Rajib is my old friend. He lives in Bandel. I asked, "What's the matter? Why are you here at this hour?"

Rajib smiled and said, "I'll tell you. First, tell me what to eat. I'm very hungry."

"What do you want to eat? How about luchi and alu bhaja?"

"No. Luchi will make my stomach heavy. Give me rice."

"Then put the rice on the stove. And make an egg curry."

"Why all this fuss? Just put the egg in the rice. If there's ghee, it will be even better. Warm rice with ghee and a boiled egg will be delicious."

Saying this, he took off his jacket, put on a lungi and a shirt, and lay down on my bed. Then he said, "You travel all over the place. Have you ever been to Patna?"

"No. Why?"

"A strange letter has come. I have to go to Patna tomorrow. Will you come with me, brother? I never go out. In my childhood, I went to Deoghar with my parents once."

I said, "I don't have any plans to go. But these days, it's difficult to get on a train without a reservation."

"You don't need to worry about that. My younger brother-in-law is a booking clerk at the railway. He has arranged two berths on the Punjab Mail. If you come, it will be good. Otherwise, I will have to go alone."

"Why, what's the matter! Why go to Patna suddenly? What kind of letter did you get?"

"See this." He stood up, took a letter from the pocket of his jacket hanging on the hanger, and showed it to me. "It's a letter from the Indian Government Service with a stamp. I took it in my hand, opened it, and read the letter inside. Then, with great joy, I said, "This is from the Radio Office. You applied for a job there, so they have called you for a test. Tomorrow evening, you will take the test. If you can get on the Punjab Mail tonight, you will reach there by morning. Then, after the test at noon, you will take the evening train and reach Howrah by evening. It's just a matter of two or three days."

"Yes, the matter is of two or three days. But why should I go to Patna from Kolkata Center for the test? And besides, I never applied for a job singing radio songs."

"Then just forget about it. Throw away the letter, rest here for two days, read books, watch movies, and do these things."

"I would do that. But look, read this letter." He gave me another letter and sat quietly looking at my face.

The letter read: "Brother Rajib, I am Abhijit. I am writing this letter to you. You may not remember me, but I have not forgotten you. In school, you used to sing songs from the last bench, and I would listen, enchanted. Do you remember the day you sang that song and Chanchal Babu scolded you? Anyway, I have bought an old house here in Darbhanga. I have applied for a job at the Radio Center here in your name. Come. I have friends here. You will get this job easily.

Here, after a few phone calls, I will arrange a transfer for you to the Kolkata Center. I hope you are still single. You fool! If you come, bring Jahar with you. He is just like you. Just wandering around everywhere."

After reading the letter, I was stunned. I said, "What a surprise! I see my name written here too. But I didn't even know you went to the same school. Who is Abhijit? I don't remember anyone by that name."

"I don't remember either. Who is Abhijit? But the letter is written as if he is very familiar with both of us."

"Is someone blackmailing us?"

"What's the gain? We are not going there with money. What will they do by blackmailing us?"

"I say, don't make a fuss and just go see what happens."

"Look, brother, I've stopped singing long ago. I won't be able to sing. But trust me, this invitation has stirred my blood. Let's give it a try. If I pass, who knows? Although Abhijit's story is very mysterious. Yet, let's meet him. Maybe we had a connection sometime."

The next morning, we went for a reservation. We got tickets easily, thanks to his small brother-in-law's favor. We boarded the train and enjoyed the ride, eating hotel-style meat and tandoori roti.

As the train chugged along, I wrapped myself in a blanket to ward off the bitter cold, swaying gently to the rhythm of the train. I drifted in and out of sleep, enjoying the serene night.

The train finally arrived at Patna Junction in the dead of night. We disembarked, shivering in the freezing cold, and made our way across the platform's overbridge to the other side. After depositing our tickets at the gate, we entered the second-class waiting room, only to find it packed with people. There was no space to stand, and everyone was huddled on the floor, wrapped in blankets and shawls.

We walked around aimlessly, unable to find a spot to sit. Eventually, we stepped out of the station and approached a nearby tea stall. The sky was a canvas of stars, and the city of Patna sparkled with lights. As we sipped hot tea made with thick milk, I felt an overwhelming sense of comfort and relief from the cold. It was a moment of pure bliss.

Just as we were enjoying our tea, a bicycle rickshaw pulled up, horn blaring, and stopped in front of us.

The rickshaw puller asked, "wanna go Rajendranagar?" We replied, "No, Dariyapur." He said, "sure."

We finished our tea and paid the price. I said, "Let's go, but not in this darkness. We'll go in the morning."

The rickshaw puller replied, "What will happen if we go now? For just two rupees, I might take you somewhere else and get you killed?"

I clarified, "No, no, that's not what I'm saying. It's just that we're new here, and if we go now, it might be difficult to find the address and recognize the house."

The rickshaw puller assured us, "There won't be any problem for you. Those who come to Abhijit Babu's place will not face any difficulties, I ensure that."

We asked, "How did you know we were going to Abhijit's place?" He replied, "He told me two Bengali boys would come to my house. I was instructed to bring them here without any inconvenience."

We, travelers of the bright Patna city at night, were shivering in the intense cold as we rode in a rickshaw. The rickshaw, blowing its horn continuously, moved rapidly through the streets, changing direction frequently, and heading towards Dariyapur. After traveling a considerable distance, the rickshaw turned off the main road and entered the alleys of a slum area. Until then, we had seen a few people or vehicles on the road, and although the shops were closed, the streetlights had made the roads visible. Now, in this alley, there was only darkness and more darkness. We had no idea where the rickshaw was taking us, as it kept turning from one alley to another. Finally, it stopped in front of a house and started blowing its horn continuously.

We asked, "Is this the house?"

"Yes, this is it. This is Mr. Abhijit's house," the rickshaw puller replied.

We then started knocking on the door, calling out, "Abhijit! Abhijit!" After a couple of knocks, we heard a response from inside.

"Yes, just a minute."

We waited for the door to open. Suddenly, we realized that the rickshaw was no longer there. Where had it gone? And we hadn't even paid the fare! As we looked around, we saw the rickshaw disappearing around the bend of the alley.

Abhijit opened the door, wearing a monkey cap and a blanket around his body. We didn't recognize him.

Abhijit offered us coffee, which was surprisingly prepared for us. He said, "Don't be amazed. I knew you wouldn't remember my face. But I'm glad you came. I have to leave for Danapur soon."

Rajib asked, "What about the application? My signature won't match." Abhijit replied, "Don't worry, just tell them I sent you. They won't ask any questions."

As we finished our coffee, the sun began to rise. Abhijit stood up, "I have to go. I'll lock the door. You can lock the main gate when you leave. I'll be back in the evening."

We took the keys from Abhijit.

"Take a day to settle in. I'm leaving because I'm helpless," Abhijit said as he locked the door.

We spent some time exploring Patna, visiting various places, and finally arrived at the Patna radio station at 2 pm for the voice test.

As we entered the office room and submitted the papers, the in-charge person glanced at us and then, smiling, said, "Who sent you here, Mr. Abhijit?"

We were astonished! How did he know? I replied, "Yes, Mr. Abhijit sent us. However, we received a letter from you, and that's why we're here. Are you Mr. Jhaji?"

"Yes. Tell me, what can I do for you?"

He asked.

"What else can we do? My friend Rajib will be singing from Patna radio station. Please test his voice and let him go."

"Where do you live in? Calcutta?"

"Not exactly in Calcutta, I live in Howrah, and my friend here lives in Bandel."

Mr. Jhaji said, "But can I trust the letter you brought to test your friend's voice?"

"Why not? This is a letter given by you only."

"I accept that, but there is no mention of Mr. Rajib's name here. I see another name."

"What do you mean?" We both leaned over to see the letter and clearly saw my name written on it. I said, 'What's going on? Why is my name here? I don't even sing. And I didn't apply for this either.'"

"He didn't apply either. Mr. Abhijit applied on his behalf."

"Whoever did it, when we received this letter, Rajib's name was written on it."

"Are you suggesting that I did some trickery here?"

"No, no, that's not what we're saying," I said. "Okay, may I see the envelope?"

Mr. Jhaji handed us the envelope, and upon seeing my name and address on it, we were amazed. "How surprising! If a letter arrived at this address, I would receive it. Why would Rajib, sitting in Bandel, get it?" Even in this cold, we broke into a sweat.

Mr. Jhaji said sternly, "I will hand you both over to the police for trying to cheat the government."

We fearfully said, "Mr. Jhaji, please. Believe us; we are not cheaters. Actually, we've been fooled. Someone has set us up to get into trouble."

Laughing, Mr. Jhaji said, "I'm finding your situation quite amusing. Yet, I'm feeling sympathetic towards you. Alright, Mr. Rajib, you do one thing - make a backdated application, and then I'll see if I can do something for you after testing your voice."

Rajib did that.

Mr. Jhaji took him inside the studio and, after about half an hour, when he returned, Rajib looked quite cheerful.

Mr. Jhaji said, "Did you write Mr. Abhijit's address on the application form?"

Rajib replied, "Yes."

"You did well. You see, coming from West Bengal and giving an audition or getting a program in Patna doesn't usually work out. But your case is different. Write your Bandel address on the back of the form. If you pass or get a program, I'll send you a letter. It seems like it might work out. I'll try my best for you, but I'm not the final authority. In the meantime, go back home and continue practicing your music. If you pass, you'll have to come sing very soon."

We asked, "If we get a program, how many days will it take?"

"About a month," he replied.

As we were about to leave, Mr. Jhaji said, "Where are you headed now?"

"Nowhere, we'll go to Abhijit's place."

Mr. Jhaji said, "You seem to be under some sort of spell. Didn't it ever occur to you that you don't have a friend by this name?"

Our faces darkened like the new moon. How did Mr. Jhaji know this? Indeed, we didn't have a friend by that name. We stammered, "What's going on, tell us?"

"Before that, tell me when you arrived and in which car?"

"In the Punjab Mail, early in the morning."

"Did you visit his house?"

"Yes, we did."

"You're lucky you went in the morning. If you had gone at night and stayed overnight, you would have gone mad."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there is no one named Abhijit living there. There used to be, though. He was a close friend of mine. About seven or eight years ago, after buying that house, he was killed by a group of people. The house he bought was actually owned by Mafia. He didn't check the papers properly before buying, and then another shareholder came and killed him. Since then, we've been troubled by people from different areas, often being tricked by such letters and being called here."

"And as a sign of his supernatural power, it's been observed that every time a candidate submits their paper, either another name and address appear on the paper, or the paper becomes completely blank. We're fed up with this, brother. Abhijit was actually a very good boy. He used to sing and play music, and he also painted. Anyway, make sure you don't even think about spending the night at that house. Go straight to the station and return home."

We didn't waste any time and headed to the station. We reserved two sleeper berths in the 6 Down Patna coach by paying extra and escaped that very night. Mr. Jhaji, however, kept his word. A few days later, he sent a polite, official letter informing Rajib that he had not passed the voice test at the Patna radio station.

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