‘Namaskar. My name is Kumari Lailin Baruah. I am going to sing a song,’ Mei Lin’s daughter said.

Hong sat, using a metal saucepan to play the beats. Yunlin’s husband got ready with his flute. Swaying and clapping to the beat, Lailin started to sing.

‘O Aai, amar kopalote

Ronga sendurere

Tilok aaki diya;

Dawor faali rong melaloi jao.

O Mother, decorate my forehead

With a vermillion dot;

I am going to the fair of happiness Beyond the clouds.’

After Lailin’s song ended, Ajoli Sonowal’s three daughters, Maina, Moni and Tunu, started singing a song from a popular Assamese film. The colour of sorrow was slowly being wiped off the faces of the people. In its place a kind of happiness was visible. One programme followed another. Mei Hang in male attire came to the stage with Ming to do a skit. The courtyard was filled with laughter at their antics.

When the function was over, it was time for their regular evening meeting. The people stood up cheerfully to go to the meeting. The local members of the farm had already reached the hall.

Huge posters of Chairman Mao had been hung on the walls of the meeting hall. A few other symbolic propaganda posters had also been put up alongside. The environment in the hall was ominously sombre. People were afraid to talk. They became anxious at the thought of who would be punished. The evening meetings were such that they rarely let people feel at home.

Holding the Red Book in their hands, people sat in the hall. They were talking among themselves in hushed voices. The local people were sitting around them. If they heard some familiar words, they would misinterpret them and inform the party leaders. The refugees had already been punished in different ways because of such misinterpretation by the locals. People who had come from India kept a distance from the locals. They never made any comments before them.

As soon as the two local leaders of the CPC and the manager of the farm entered, the hall turned silent. After sometime came a few local officials of the newly formed ‘Revolutionary Committee’.

At first there was a roll call. Then the manager of the farm said a few things related to farming and sat down. After him stood a local CPC leader. He picked up a copy of The People’s Daily and started reading the editorial.

Liang Ching Wan was looking at the grave faces of the leaders with unease and surprise. He was not invited to translate like on other days. Today, Chow Chi Yong was translating in his place.

What had happened today? What had gone wrong?

Slowly Liang Ching Wan started to sweat. Something had happened somewhere. Something bad.

Today no one looked at him. The local leaders, who used to talk to him with all importance, did not even smile at him today.

‘Ho Mei Fung.’