Eugene told me, ‘We returned from the Deoli camp. We were very young then. Our father was the owner of a big restaurant in Shillong. We were only given the rail fare to Guwahati. We reached Guwahati somehow. My parents and others begged in the Guwahati railway station to collect the fare for Shillong. On reaching Shillong, we found that our restaurant and all other properties had been auctioned. We took shelter in a garage. No one gave any work to our father. People ignored us. No one helped us. How our father arranged for the food, I don’t know. We suffered a lot.’

Eugene told me how a Christian priest had come to meet them one morning like an angel. He gave them a pack of food and 1,000 rupees and said, ‘Don’t lose faith in God. Everything will be alright. Start again with this money. Don’t worry. God will help you. I will arrange for the children’s education.’

And the struggle to survive began. They won. In the midst of this struggle, they converted to Christianity. Eugene told me, ‘We have become rich again. We have become big businessmen. But our hearts are shattered. All our family members have gone abroad. I am here now but I may go, too.’

Like Eugene, the rest of the internees returned from Deoli and from other jails. Many houses were auctioned. It was another phase of suffering.

While writing this book and collecting information, one question always troubled me. Where was Pulok Baruah? Where was Akong’s wife Phulmoni? Where was Tung Chin’s wife Xonpahi?

No one was able to tell me anything about them. Most of the people who knew them had died. All the European managers had left by then. The Doom Dooma Planter’s Club was still there, but Addison and the other managers weren’t. Addison had married Peggy just after the war had ended. He left Doom Dooma when their first child was born. He’d died a few days ago. I read his obituary on the Internet. He lived with the same enthusiasm and happiness till his last days. He left without knowing the fate of his favourite football players, who had been living in an obscure corner of the same world.

Even if he wanted to know, he wouldn’t have been able to. The names of ace football players from that period were lost in the darkness of oblivion. The families of Akong and Tung Chin were also lost. Alan and her family were lost, too.

Kaushalaya was there. Mei Lin’s friend Kaushalaya Baruah, who had retired as the principal of the GBC School, told me about those days. She also did not have any contact with any of her friends. After much thought, I wrote an article in a local newspaper about the Chinese society. A few days after that Alan contacted me. She looked at me in surprise and asked, ‘Where did you meet Mei Lin?’