“She’s a carrier,” said one.

“That’s just a rumour.” said another.

“No, it’s true,” said a third.

“How the hell can you be so sure about it?” asked I, furious with fear.

“Do you know her?” asked this last, “I’m sorry to have mentioned it.”

“Yes, yes,” I was brusque. “but how do you know?”

“The whole town says so.”

My face was red with discomfiture but I’d already downed enough whiskeys to account for that! “You look worried,” said one. “Maybe you ought to have your blood checked?”

“Nah!” dismissed another. “It’s like the lottery — only you’ve got to be really unlucky.” And they all laughed.

But I couldn’t let it go. “How come I never heard about it?” I demanded to know.

“ You’re too busy chasing chicks.” said one smiling. “Anyway I’m sure they’ll find a cure for it.”

I lied to them that though I’d known her, I’d taken precautions — y’know, used a whatyoumaycallit. But deep inside my heart, I felt like my blood drain.

From that moment I was obsessed with the idea that I’d got it — that lethal three-letter virulent strain.

Shadows shouldn’t dog you in the absence of light, but my dreams were full of dark fears. I began to drink more heavily and even took a toke or two.

I thought of my parents, my wife, my children — the shame of it! How could I tell them? What if they came to know? I dared not take a blood test dreading the doctor’s grave diagnosis.

I thought first of taking out the source of my torment. I then contemplated enrolling in a monastery, better still a hermitage, but it felt like too little, too late. Maybe I could volunteer for a suicide squad of victims like myself who could be used for a good cause like driving out the militants from my country. If I was to die, why not for Tsa-wa-süm?

I felt myself lose weight — a sure sign of the full blown disease. This drove me to a blood test in Jaigaon. The technician told me to return in an hour. Half a dozen bottles of beer helped me wait.

When I returned to the clinic, who should be there than the curse of mankind herself! “I’m really sorry to have put you through this ordeal,” she says.

I was in no mood for chit chat. My life was on the line, thanks to her.

“Get out of my way, you strumpet,” I said, giving her a good whack.

“I don’t know if I deserve that,” she said without crying out. “I’ve been through this before. You see, I was among the first to hear the rumour and I had myself checked long ago.”

“So what! Have you come here to gloat over your victims?”

“You don’t understand ...” she said.

“What is there to understand but that I am face to face with my soon-to-be killer!”

She waved a certificate in my face and said with a smile, “But you’re not HIV positive. Just like me.”

I looked at the paper she handed me and saw that she was right. I made a vow there and then: no more philandering! I kissed the certificate. I thought of kissing her too but that would break my promise!