‘Al-Wali is testing your capabilities as a resource. What route are you planning to take?’ Somaiya was in a white T-shirt and brown shorts. He held a mobile phone to his right ear and appeared to be busy conversing with someone.

‘I have booked a train ticket to Calcutta. From there I’ll go to Guwahati, and then work out how to reach Dhaka.’

‘Head to Agartala from Guwahati. Look for Abbas Ahmed at Agartala’s Narsingarh cattle market. He is a cross-border trader and has contacts on both sides of the border,’ said Somaiya, who was sitting next to him on the bench.

‘Yes,’ said Atharv in an undertone as he stood up and left.

Somaiya later updated Shekhar about Atharv’s trip to Nepal via Dhaka.

Meanwhile, Atharv was on his way. From Calcutta, he took a train to Guwahati and then another to Agartala.

On reaching Agartala, he booked a room at the Delight Hotel, which was adjacent to the city’s famous cattle market at Narsingarh. The first thing Atharv noticed on entering the market was the overpowering stench of dung. All types of domesticated animals, including buffaloes, goats and bulls, were being traded there amid loud conversations, shouts and other indistinguishable noises.

Abbas was easy to locate. He was the secretary of the cattle traders’ association, Atharv learned after asking around for him.

‘Bhaijaan, my name is Mukhtar Ahmed, and I am from Kishanganj. I am a student at Dhaka University and am returning after vacation. Unfortunately, my passport got stolen, and I can’t call my teachers for help as they would skin me for my lapse,’ Atharv explained his problem to Abbas.

Abbas looked at him for a few seconds, then asked Atharv to write his name and residential address in Hindi on a piece of paper. Atharv scribbled down his fake details in Hindi.

Reading it, Abbas said, ‘Fine, I was just checking to see if you were a Pakistani or a Bangladeshi fraud attempting to exploit my generosity. How much can you give?’

Somaiya had prepared Atharv for this question.

‘I am a student, sir. I can’t give you more than a thousand rupees,’ Atharv said.

‘Do you plan to beg for alms in Dhaka as well?’ Abbas asked. He clearly disapproved of Atharv’s offer.

‘That’s all I have, sir,’ Atharv said.

Abbas shook his head but relented. ‘Be at the railway station’s entrance at 4 a.m. I will come and get you from there. Carry just one bag, nothing else. Don’t carry any weapons, matches or explosives,’ he instructed Atharv, and taking the Rs 1,000 in advance, he disappeared.

Atharv was waiting at the appointed spot at 4 a.m., but there was no sign of Abbas. A boy, probably aged ten or twelve, who was looking at him intently from a little distance away, finally came up to him.

‘Go to the back gate and wait there,’ the boy said and ran out of the station.