There was a heavy pounding on the door.
Bang! Bang!
— "Sir! Open the door!"
Pradipta's voice.
Along with several other agitated voices.
Amoresh tried with all his strength to rise.
Couldn't.
The chair's armrests seemed to hold his hands like invisible chains.
— "Ranju! Open the door!"
Ranju moved toward the door.
But the moment his hand touched the handle, he stopped.
His eyes had fallen on the chair.
In the carvings on its back, the faces were gone now.
In their place, one after another, names had emerged.
Amrit Singh.
Sulata Ray.
A few more names...
None of which Ranju recognized.
He studied each letter as if trying to memorize them.
A faint tremor passed through the wood, as though the letters themselves were breathing.
He stepped back.
— "Sir... what are these?"
Amoresh stared.
— "I don't know!"
The chair began slowly turning.
Creeeak...
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then the chair went still.
The file on the table in front of Amoresh opened on its own.
The pages began flipping rapidly.
Flutter-flutter-flutter...
It stopped at last on a page.
No official document on it.
Just one question—
Why was this file held back?
Amoresh turned his face away.
The chair said,
"Answer."
Amoresh said, his voice trembling,
— "I... don't know."
Crack!
The chair's armrest struck the desk.
"Lies."
Amoresh closed his eyes.
— "I wanted money."
The room fell silent.
Then the chair said,
"How much?"
Amoresh, silent.
Sweat rolled down his forehead. His fingers dug into the edge of the desk.
"How much?"
— "Fifty thousand."
Ranju flinched.
— "Sir!"
Amoresh now looked at Ranju.
The chair spoke again,
"And the envelope?"
Amoresh's lips trembled.
— "Ranju brought it."
Ranju stepped back.
— "Sir, what are you saying?"
The chair now turned toward Ranju.
Ranju's face went dry.
— "No... let me go!"
The chair did nothing.
It only let the envelope on the desk slide slowly to the floor.
The envelope opened on its own.
Money spilled out and scattered across the floor.
The bundle of notes hit the floor with a dull thud, a few bills fluttering to rest near Ranju's shoes.
Right at that moment—
The door burst open.
Pradipta, Sulata, Amrit, and several others entered the room.
Everyone froze.
In the middle of the room, Amoresh sat in the chair.
Ranju stood trembling against the wall.
Money scattered on the floor.
And on the table, the open file.
Pradipta said, astonished,
— "Sir... what's happened here?"
No one answered.
Sulata walked slowly into the room.
Her eyes fell on the chair.
For a moment, she felt—
the chair seemed to be looking at her.
Sulata stood still.
The chair suddenly became completely ordinary again.
No red glow.
No sound.
No unseen force.
Just an old chair.
Amoresh slowly rose to his feet.
This time the chair didn't hold him back.
He stood and looked around.
Then at the money scattered on the floor.
Journalists began taking photographs.
One asked,
— "Sir, whose money is this?"
Amoresh opened his mouth.
But no sound came out.
Ranju suddenly shouted,
— "That's not sir's money!"
Everyone turned to look at him.
Ranju fell silent.
Then, more quietly, said,
— "It's..."
He couldn't finish the sentence.
Because right at that moment a faint sound came from the chair's armrest—
Crack.
Everyone looked at the chair.
On the wood, slowly, a new sentence began to appear.
First one letter.
Then another.
Then the full sentence—
One reckoning closed.
The reporters' cameras froze for a moment.
No one spoke. Only the sound of a ceiling fan drifted in from the corridor outside.
Pradipta was stunned.
Tapan Ray, who had been standing outside the door all this while, slowly stepped into the room.
Looking at the chair, his face went pale.
He said, very quietly—
— "This is only the first reckoning."
Pradipta looked at him.
— "What did you say?"
Tapan did not answer.
He only stared at the chair.
The chair fell silent.
But on the wood, a second sentence began to appear.
The next reckoning — belongs to the one who lied.