A Heart Full of Hope: The Magic of Second Chances ǀ A motivational story about new beginnings

By Shibaji Bose

Moyna is a promising young girl, full of life. Her destiny takes an unexpected turn when she gets tricked and trafficked to the dark dungeons of the red-light area in Kolkata.
Life gives her a second chance when she is rescued from the murky lanes. Moyna finds herself a shelter and a family, trying to make the most of what life has given her. As she chases her dream of becoming an entrepreneur, she meets Aryan - a dashing young man, who makes her believe in herself and fills up the void in her heart.
Will she be able to call the adoptive family her own?
Will this second chance be the new beginning she has been waiting for?
Starting off on her new journey as Ahana, she decides to stop at nothing!
A HEART FULL OF HOPE is a story of realising dreams, fulfilling promises, resilience and mending hearts. Because in the end, it doesn’t matter who was right, but what is left in a relationship!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Srishti Publishers
• Release date: Feb 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9789390441761

Book preview

In the end, it doesn’t matter who was right,

but what is left in a relationship!

the magic of

second chances

Shibaji Bose

Srishti Publishers & Distributors

A unit of AJR Publishing LLP

212A, Peacock Lane

Shahpur Jat, New Delhi – 110 049

[e-mail]

First published by

Srishti Publishers & Distributors in 2023

Copyright © Shibaji Bose, 2023

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

This is a work of fiction. The characters, places, organisations and events described in this book are either a work of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to people, living or dead, places, events, communities or organisations is purely coincidental.

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the Publishers.

Printed and bound in India

Dedicated to

Aparna & Anweshan.

A note from the author

After the immense love that you all showered on my previous work, Till We Meet Again, I have revisited my writing style, based upon the reviews and the feedback. The idea was to focus on the readability, instead of using ornate words. The readers’ reviews highlighted remarkable improvement in the ease of reading. I have thus made it a point to consciously keep the storytelling simpler. I acknowledge all my readers, reviewers, friends and acquaintances who have encouraged me to come up with the sequel.

I am thankful to my publisher Mr Arup Bose, who has shown confidence in my writing style and contemporary fiction as a genre. And lastly, the astute professionals in the editing team, suitably led by Ms Stuti Gupta, for continuously raising the bar.

1

The ray of hope

The Alipore Police court premises wore an electrifying look. Nothing unusual, considering the rare occasions when it looked deserted. The court is nestled within the District Magistrate’s colonial office and stands as the tallest among the other government buildings. The lawyers in their distinct black coats, while sipping tea , keep a hawk’s eye on their prized catch. It offers an unparallelled proposition to the organised chaos. The Police court indeed is unique in its character. The photocopying stations, eateries and the stationery shops made the area lively; as long as the courts conducted business.

A blue van was struggling to make its way through the busy path. While the privileged few negotiated the thoroughfares in their beacon-adorned cars, the crowd scrambled for cover to make passage for the van.

Usually, when the police vans entered the court premises, it hardly drew any attention. But on that day, it was the curiosity around the occupants inside the van. The onlookers included the convicts getting dragged by the policemen. The prospect of a titillation was evident when the door of the van opened. Some twenty odd women emerged out of it. Most of them were young women, barely out of their teens, with their faces covered either with their dupatta or the pallu. Some among them were brazen history sheeters. The rest of the women were visibly shaken. One could easily separate the veterans from the victims of trafficking.

A young girl, about sixteen or seventeen years of age, clearly looked out of place. She had not even hidden her face from the curious crowd. One considerate look at her would reveal the poetry in motion. She had no clue of what was happening around. Caught in the commotion were the women, surrounded by the lady constables. They were the subject of attention for the lecherous crowd jostling for a better view.

The girl was in a state of daze and fear. Her trembling lips looked like the two opposite banks of a raging river. The eyes were welling with tears. The svelte figure walking with measured poise and a careful gait made her stand out. All those women were taken into custody by the police in a late-night raid from one of the many infamous alleys of the dreadful Sonagachi. They were about to be produced in the court, to be tried under the Immoral Traffic (Prevention) Act. The veterans knew that they will land at one of the government’s correctional homes. It was sadly, a paid vacation for them. They were ill-fated to be ending up at the same place, which they considered their home. The victims, however, were unsure of their fate.

Cover your face, you bitch. Or, have you already started soliciting business? One of the lady constables yelled. She had singled out that young woman.

"Khasa maal!" (A real sight for the sore eyes.)

"Ki jinish, puro rosogolla!" (A mouthful of a tasty treat, as sweet as rosogolla.)

The murmurs were gaining ground as she realised that it was directed at her. She covered her face at last as they were led inside the court.

Suchitra Devi is a renowned social worker. She has earned a lot of respect for her commitment to the cause of rescuing and rehabilitating the victims of women trafficking. Her selfless crusade against the deplorable practice that exists as a flourishing trade, has earned her admirers and enemies alike. She had learned from her sources, that a large number of women were being held captive against their wishes. They were at one of the many brothels in Sonagachi. These women were lured with the promise of employment; to be trafficked from faraway places in the Northeastern states, the Dooars and Nepal. The women were about to be sold to the highest bidders and then forced into prostitution.

Suchitra Devi’s husband, Arun Kumar is a senior bureaucrat serving as the Chairman of the West Bengal Human Rights Commission. Upon learning about the captive women, Suchitra wasted no time in gathering her resources. It included the timely intervention by the police under the directive of the State’s Human Rights Commission. The police conducted a late-night raid and rescued the helpless women. Some among those rescued were repeat offenders. The rest of them were uninitiated and clueless about their being taken into custody. One of them was Moyna!

The court directed the rescued adults to be taken to a correctional home. Moyna was sent along with the other girls to a protective shelter run by the State Government. The women being sent to the correctional home were mocking the court’s directive. To them, the rehabilitation process was nothing but a farce. They would eventually end up in one of those infamous alleys in Sonagachi.

Moyna was relieved to find herself free from the clutches of those horrible alleys. She was stunned by the revelation in the court. Moyna was refusing to believe that she would have ended being a victim of the thriving flesh trade. She would be required to deck herself up every evening. That she would be standing in those alleys to solicit the savages to ravage her body and soul. She was in a state of shock and disbelief. Unmoved by the court’s directive, she followed the women who had huddled into smaller groups. They were to be sent across to different shelters. Moyna regained her senses when she heard one of the accompanying lady constables taking a dig at her.

Soresh peti, chokha jowbon. Shelter ey aagun jaliye debe! (Look at her midriff. It is as inviting as the belly of a juicy fish. She will raise the hell at the shelter and set it on fire!) Those were the remarks coming from a woman for another woman!

Do you think, she will warm the bed for a VIP tonight? asked the other constable.

Spare her of any further nasty remarks. Her sensuous body will earn our share of the booty as well. The lady constable summed up the prevailing state of affairs with some of the shelters. It was taking place under the disguise of protecting the helpless.

Moyna was feeling threatened. She had no further courage left in her to face the reality. The other young woman seated beside her took Moyna’s palm in her hands. They were trying to find comfort in each other.

I am Shefali. I had come to the city in search of work. Little did I know that I will land into this mess. Moyna comforted her, but remained mute through the rest of their travel. It was the silent testimony to the fact that she had taken a blind plunge in the darkness of a promise. The promise for better days ahead of her. Both of them were in the same boat.

The van in which they were travelling had wooden seats covered by plastic sheets. The seat was fixed to the van’s floor by wobbly screws, loose enough to come off anytime. The travel from the city to the outskirts, where they were being taken, was a rough ride. It occurred to Moyna that she had the option to either remain seated and endure the ride or stand up to save herself from falling down. The four-hour ride ultimately came to an end as they entered the shelter known as Ashar Alo – The Ray of Hope!

The walls surrounding the shelter meant to protect the inmates from intrusion, looked precariously low. It was rather the most convenient open-air space for men to relieve themselves, who were unmindful of the stench that emanated. The iron gates had lost the lustre of its last paint. It was such an unwelcoming sight.

Once inside the shelter, a barren courtyard greeted them as the van came to a halt. Moyna was sensible enough to gather what not to expect from the shelter during her stay. Once an imposing mansion, it was now a relic in neglect converted into a shelter for the destitute.

As they entered the office on the ground floor, a pack of stray dogs sniffed, circled and licked the women. It was a mark of their approval. The Protection Officer arrived at her office and yelled at no one in particular, to shoo the mongrels away. She was a portly woman in her early fifties. She gave a stern look at the fresh batch of inmates while occupying her chair. She cleared her throat, sipped water from a bottle and then barked at the women.

You will have to earn your food and living as long as you’re here. She barked her first orders.

Shefali had turned pale. Moyna gathered whatever remained of her courage to speak out. What do we have to do to earn our food and living?

Obey my orders! As long as you are in line and do not stray, you will be at peace. You will be given job-oriented training, which will never come to your use. However, you would be better off warming the beds for strangers. The Protection Officer was so uncharitable with her words. She gave them the marching orders as they were led to the common areas by two women on duty.

The Protection Officer was heard stomping out of the office with the pack of her faithful dogs following at her heels. Moyna and Shefali were led towards the common room by another woman. Compared to the Protection Officer, she appeared to be mild-mannered.

There is a common bath. Go and wash yourselves. You will be given a fresh set of clothes and utilities. Put on the clothes before heading towards the dining room. Dinner is served at 8.00 p.m. every evening. After dinner, you all will head straight to the dormitory. You will have to get up every morning by 6.00 a.m. That is when you will be handed over the weekly routine for your vocational training. The mild-mannered lady issued her set of instructions.

Is there anyone we can talk to, if we face any problem? What do we address you as? Moyna asked her.

"I am Kamala. You can call me Kamala di. If you want no harm coming your way, just follow orders. Or, you can try talking to God, though I am not sure if you will be heard." Kamala maintained her composure.

I am getting scared. Everything seems to be so eerie over here. Shefali was weeping.

No point in crying. Let us see what is in store for us. Moyna consoled her as they left for the dormitory.

When they arrived at the dining room, Moyna found some 80-90 women across different age groups. They were holding onto their enamel wares, waiting for the food to be served. As the food trolleys rolled in, the women began to queue up. The loud and rude ones rushed ahead of the queue while the others quietly waited for their turn.

All of you maintain order. PO (Protection Officer) madam is coming to address you all before you can have your food. She has an important announcement to make. Moyna picked up how the Protection Officer was addressed by all. Kamala alerted the assembly of women as PO madam stepped inside, wearing her self-glory.

The government has formed an enquiry committee, which is visiting us tomorrow. There have been some issues with a few inmates at some other shelter. The enquiry committee will be meeting some of you. I have my connections with people at the right places. If I find anyone amongst you talking rubbish or giving false impressions about our shelter, you have had it. The committee will be here only for a day. You will be here as long as I want you to be. So, bear in mind the consequences if anyone tries to play any tricks. PO madam sounded anxious while trying to put on a brave front.

The government has many more important tasks than taking care of fallen women like you. I expect you all to put on your best behaviour and talk no evil of the shelter or the staff. PO madam was about to leave when Moyna raised her hand to ask a question. Everyone in the dining hall turned their attention to her.

Will there be any lady in the enquiry committee? The question was possibly on everyone’s mind.

There will be a well-known social worker. She knows me. Her name is Suchitra Devi. PO madam tried to impress upon the assembly her alleged proximity to Suchitra Devi. She was almost certain that no inmate would dare disobey her orders as she walked off, leaving behind the women to themselves.

Moyna forced herself to eat before going to sleep on the soiled mattress. All that she had wished for, was someone to listen to her plea. Moyna’s prayers had been answered. She had been heard!

Suchitra Devi took a lot of pride in her academic accomplish-ments. She hailed from a family of scholars. In her family, academic pursuits were of utmost importance. However, her father’s failing health had brought an abrupt end to her academics. She was married off while pursuing her post-doctoral research in Social Sciences.

Her husband, the young bureaucrat Arun Kumar, was trying to make a mark for himself. He was extremely encouraging and open to the idea of his wife furthering her research and studies. But the nature of his job