Inside the room, every sound suddenly seemed to stop.
Even after the police had taken away Amoresh Saha and Ranju Singha, no one could bring themselves to leave.
Everyone's eyes were now on one person—
Tapan Ray.
Tapan stood still.
Eyes lowered.
Beads of sweat on his forehead.
Pradipta walked slowly toward him.
— "Tapan-da... why did the chair say your name?"
Tapan gave no answer.
Pradipta asked again,
— "You always spoke to us about honesty. So what old reckoning do you carry?"
Tapan slowly raised his eyes.
In them was a weariness that isn't built in a single day.
He said,
— "Some truths get buried with time, Pradipta. But a truth buried under the earth also makes a sound one day."
Pradipta stood silent.
Tapan looked at the chair.
— "Today, I'm hearing that sound."
The police took Amoresh and Ranju away.
The office slowly emptied out.
Nine at night.
Only one tube light burning in the third-floor corridor.
Pradipta sat alone on a bench.
Tapan's words kept turning in his mind.
Suddenly, footsteps from the stairs.
Tap... tap... tap...
Tapan Ray was coming back.
In his hand, an old, yellowed file.
Pradipta stood up.
— "Tapan-da?"
Tapan said,
— "There's something I have to tell you today."
— "What is it?"
— "Something it took me twenty-five years to say."
The two of them walked into the room.
The chair stood still behind the desk.
Tapan placed the file on the table.
After a moment of silence, he said,
— "Twenty-five years ago, I was a junior clerk in this office."
Pradipta stared.
— "Back then, this chair was occupied by another officer."
Tapan opened the file.
— "An old farmer's pension file was deliberately held back."
— "Why?"
Tapan lowered his head.
— "For money."
The room fell silent.
— "You did nothing?"
Tapan closed his eyes.
— "No."
— "Why?"
— "I was afraid of losing my job."
He paused a moment.
— "And... I took some of the money myself."
Pradipta was stunned.
Tapan said,
— "I wasn't the main culprit. But I knew wrong was being done. And still, I stayed quiet."
His voice broke.
— "That old man kept coming to the office again and again. His file was lost right before his eyes. In the end, he broke down."
Pradipta said slowly,
— "And then?"
Tapan gave no answer.
He only stared out the window.
— "The next day, word came... that he was no longer alive."
Pradipta's face turned grave.
Tapan closed the file.
— "That night, for the first time, this chair moved."
Suddenly—
Crack!
The chair's right armrest shifted slightly.
Pradipta looked up, startled.
Tapan closed his eyes.
— "I knew... someday this would happen again."
Letters slowly appeared on the wood of the chair—
You saw it.
Tapan lowered his head.
Another line appeared—
You knew it too.
Tears rolled down Tapan's cheeks.
The chair said,
"And still, you stayed silent."
Tapan said through his tears,
— "Yes."
The voice grew heavier—
"What is your crime?"
Tapan stayed silent for a while.
Then said,
— "I thought myself a good man simply because I did no wrong myself."
The chair, silent.
Tapan said, on his own,
— "But I never stopped the wrong."
After a while, a single word appeared on the chair's wood—
Confession.
Tapan slowly sank to his knees.
— "I am guilty."
Pradipta was about to say something.
The chair stopped him.
"The courage to speak the truth is itself the first punishment."
Tapan lifted his head.
The chair said,
"I will not punish you."
An odd silence in the room.
"Your punishment will be this — the truth you hid, you will now tell everyone."
Tapan wiped his eyes and said,
— "I agree."
"The documents will be made public."
— "They will."
"You will confess your own crime."
— "I will."
"And the names of those whose wrongdoing kept you silent — you will speak those too."
Tapan stayed silent for a while.
This, it seemed, was the hardest part for him.
At last he said,
— "Yes."
The chair's reddish glow slowly faded away.
Tapan stood up.
He handed the file to Pradipta and said,
— "Everything is in here."
Pradipta took the file in his hands.
— "You know, once this is out, your reputation won't survive?"
Tapan smiled faintly.
— "If reputation stands on a lie, then it isn't reputation at all."
He walked toward the door.
Suddenly he stopped and turned back.
— "Pradipta..."
— "Yes?"
— "Don't be afraid of the chair."
Pradipta looked at the chair.
Tapan said,
— "It doesn't punish people."
He paused, then added,
— "It makes people stand face to face with themselves."
Tapan left.
Pradipta stood alone in the room again.
He walked slowly toward the chair.
Placed his hand on the wood.
Cold.
Perfectly ordinary.
Pradipta smiled faintly and said,
— "So it's you who passes judgment?"
No answer.
He turned to leave.
Just then—
Crack...
The chair's armrest moved slightly.
Pradipta stopped.
Slowly, a sentence appeared on the wood.
I do not judge.
Pradipta stared.
Another line appeared—
I only give the truth a place to sit.
A shiver ran through Pradipta's body.
He stood looking at the chair.
Then walked out of the room.
As if a camera were slowly pulling back.
Alone in the dark room, the old chair stood.
A few seconds of silence.
Then another faint mark appeared on the chair's wood.
A name.
Next...