THE UNTOLD DEMON OF A THOUSEND YEAR.
Darkness surrounded me on all sides, growing thicker and more intense by the moment.
It felt as if the veins in my body were being consumed by some cosmic force. My breath was constricted. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, but it felt like someone was firmly pressing against my throat.
Through the darkness, a familiar voice began to emerge. Over and over, it called, almost coaxing me:
“Nirjhor, you’ve come quite close… just two more steps. I’m reaching out, come to me.”
Suddenly, my eyes opened.
“The phone is ringing.”
“But it’s so early in the morning…”
“Hello, who is this?”
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“Hey, why are you calling so early?”
“Sir, if we don’t hurry, they’ll leave immediately once ready.”
“I understand, but leave for where?”
“Sir, just go straight to Mohakhali, get an Ena Bus ticket, and head to Mymensingh,” Billu said with urgency.
“Alright, fine. But where are you? And what am I supposed to do when I reach Mymensingh?”
Billu replied, “Sir, stop all this nonsense. Come first, then I’ll explain everything. Also, send 3000 Taka to my bKash number, my pockets are empty.”
Okay, I’m leaving. And please, straighten out your tone.
“After all, I am your boss!”
“Okay, brother, see you soon. You leave quickly.”
I glanced at the clock. It was 7:30. Time to get out of bed.
As I went to the washroom, I remembered I had to make a call.
“Hello, Masud.”
“Yes, Sir. What’s up? Should I come to your house with the taxi?” Masud said before I could finish.
“Alright, come quickly. There’s very little time.”
I hung up and, opening the washroom door, caught my reflection in the mirror. I paused, thoughts gnawing at me:
“Who am I?
Am I crazy?
What am I chasing?
Does what I’m chasing even exist?”
While pondering, my phone rang again. Billu’s name flashed on the screen. I ignored it, knowing if I answered, he’d get upset that I hadn’t left yet.
I quickly dressed and fastened my bag. Downstairs, Masud’s taxi horn blared.
“Sir, I’m here. Hurry down.”
I locked the room and came down.
“Where to, Sir?”
“Straight to Mohakhali, as fast as possible.”
“Alright, Sir.”
The taxi started. Masud has been my personal driver for a month. In December, I take a break from mainstream work, although ‘break’ is not entirely correct.
Suddenly Masud asked, “Sir, with so many options, why did you choose this cramped place?”
I said, “You know I’m a crime reporter. Enemies aren’t scarce. I have to change houses every month. This time, I took a place near Pakistan Field in Old Dhaka. Let’s see how long I can stay.”
Masud chuckled, “Sir, the area’s name is extreme.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Sir, why Mohakhali so early? Any important work?”
“Yes, some urgent work outside Dhaka.” I thought to myself, it’s the most crucial task of my life—something I’ve been obsessing over for a long time.
“Sir, we’ve arrived.”
“Alright, Masud. I’ve sent a number to your phone. Send 3000 Taka to that number via bKash immediately. Keep your phone open—I’ll call once I reach Dhaka.”
I bought a ticket from the counter for Bus No. 13. The bus would arrive in five minutes. I grabbed a bottle of water and some food. Watching the bustling crowd, I felt the same chaotic rush as everyone else. Sometimes I wondered—am I alive, or am I in the afterlife?
Lost in these thoughts, the bus arrived. I boarded and settled into a good seat. Immediately, Billu called.
“Sir, are you on the bus?”
“Yes, just got on. Did you get the money?”
“Yes, Sir. I’m at a hotel near Maskanda Bus Stand. Give me a call when you arrive.”
“Alright,” I said, hanging up. A few moments later, the bus started. My head felt heavy—life seemed like a continuous rush. Without Billu, this task would have been much harder.
It was 2013, during the Shahbagh movement demanding capital punishment for war criminals. That’s when I first met Billu, a top-tier leader in the movement. Later, due to internal shifts, he left everything behind. A talented, bold boy—though with a sharp tongue.
Additionally, due to his online writings, he faced attacks from conservative factions. Morally, he distanced himself from the movement, placing himself in danger. He confided everything to me. I was searching for a reliable assistant for a particular task, and I quickly made him mine.
He’s been with me for 4–5 years. Yet, the task I entrusted him with remains unresolved, though he keeps trying.
The phone rang again—it had to be Billu. Only Billu and a few colleagues would call.
“Sir, how far are you?” Billu asked.
“I’ve just passed Trishal.”
“Alright, Sir, I’m at the bus stand.”
Sleepiness crept in. Suddenly, the bus contractor pushed me, “Hey, don’t get off here! You might get hurt if you sleep inside the bus.”
Billu was waiting as I got down. “Sir, I’ve arranged the vehicle right ahead. Let’s go.”
“Where did you stay, Billu?”
“At a fancy hotel. One ticket, two photos,” he said enigmatically.
I couldn’t understand him at first. Billu hopped into an auto and said, “Mama, Gaznina Para, Nazma Boarding.” The driver chuckled quietly at the address. I understood the reason for his smile fifteen minutes later.
✨ THE UNTOLD DEMON OF A THOUSAND YEARS ✨
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