Unveiling the Past: A Lamp's Silent Tale of Truth and Justice

Samaranand was, as usual, engrossed in his hobby of watercolor painting when the doorbell rang. He got up and found his assistant, Babulal, standing at the door with a bag and a broad smile. Samaranand immediately sensed that Babulal had brought something interesting.

“Look what I’ve found, sir!” Babulal exclaimed, pulling a lamp out of the bag.

Samaranand examined it closely. “This looks like a 19th-century kerosene lamp, the kind used in old Kolkata. It's quite an antique,” he remarked, intrigued.

“Yes, sir,” Babulal confirmed. “I got it from a raddiwala, the one who buys rejected material from houses. But there’s something different about this lamp. It feels like it has a story to tell.”

Samaranand agreed. “Let's see if we can get it to work. Babulal, fetch some kerosene oil.”

By evening, they were sitting in the dark on the balcony of Samaranand’s flat, ceremonially lighting the lamp. Initially, nothing happened. The lamp cast a soft, yellow-blue light. But then, the wall of the balcony began to resemble a cinema screen, showing a half-lit street of Kolkata. A man appeared on the screen, looking around furtively as if trying to escape from someone. Suddenly, another man in a hat and overcoat emerged and shot him point-blank. There was no sound; it was like a silent movie.

Samaranand, a natural problem solver, realized that the lamp had come to him for a reason. “This isn’t a coincidence,” he said. “The lamp used you, Babulal, to reach me. It wants this story to be told.”

Babulal nodded. “What should we do next, sir?”

“We need to find out where the raddiwala got this lamp,” Samaranand decided.

The next day, Babulal returned with information. “The lamp belonged to a poor Bihari family in the Tollygunge slum,” he reported.

They headed to the slum and met the house owner, an 80-year-old man named Chotu. “This lamp belonged to my grandfather,” Chotu explained. “He used to work for a rich businessman, lighting the street lamps.”

Samaranand was intrigued. “In the early 20th century, the Calcutta Municipal Corporation required wealthy people to maintain the street lamps in front of their homes,” he said.

Chotu nodded. “Yes, my grandfather worked for a jute baron named Samaddar. He maintained the streetlight in front of Samaddar’s bungalow.”

Samaranand and Babulal went to the street in North Kolkata where Chotu’s great-grandfather had worked. It wasn’t hard to locate the grand house that once belonged to Samaddar, the jute baron. Samaranand decided to dig deeper into Samaddar’s history.

“Babulal, find out everything you can about that era,” he instructed.

Babulal returned with startling news. “Samaddar wasn’t just a businessman. He was also involved in criminal activities,” he revealed.

Samaranand’s mind raced. “Chotu’s great-grandfather must have witnessed Samaddar’s criminal dealings. That’s why he was killed,” he deduced. “The lamp stored this story all these years.”

Samaranand and Babulal returned to Chotu’s home to share their findings. “Your great-grandfather was a brave man,” Samaranand told Chotu. “He saw something he wasn’t supposed to, and Samaddar’s goons eliminated him to keep him silent. But this lamp, it has kept his story alive.”

Chotu was silent, absorbing the revelation. “I never knew,” he said softly. “But it makes sense now. My father used to say that my grandfather was a proud and honest man.”

Samaranand nodded. “The lamp brought this story to us for a reason. It wanted closure. Now, we know the truth, and we can honor your great-grandfather’s memory.”

The next day, they decided to hold a small ceremony. They took the lamp back to the street where Chotu’s great-grandfather used to work. As they lit the lamp, Samaranand spoke. “This light will now serve as a beacon of truth and justice, honoring the memory of a man who stood by his principles.”

The lamp glowed brightly, as if acknowledging the tribute. For Samaranand, Babulal, and Chotu, it was a moment of closure and respect for the past.

As they walked away, Samaranand felt a deep sense of satisfaction. He knew that the lamp’s story had finally been told, and a forgotten chapter of history had been illuminated once more.