A Shade Of Brown

Assam, 1953

The woman was trudging towards him, she was a brown blob a while ago, as she inched closer her features became distinct- she had a thin nose, her eyes eerily were empty. Her shaky 

hands rose to his throat. She was muttering the same thing repeatedly, “you monster”- Karl jolted out of his nightmare. The shabby bus had screeched to a halt and the sudden stop had thrown Karl lunging forward in his seat, hitting the iron rods of the seat in front. He cursed out loud in German which invited curious looks from his fellow passengers; German was, after all, a 

very alien language in these parts of India. Karl shot an apologetic look to them. No one could have ever guessed that this poorly dressed man, adjusting his hat to try and look his best was an ex-Nazi soldier who had fought under Hitler in the World War just a few years back.

The world war was never Karl’s choice. He had always been a gentle, peace-loving man. 

the Hitler reign had made him something he was not- a blood curling assassin. He had committed

atrocities that still gave him nightmares. The Nazi party had promised to keep his wife safe in return of his services – Karl had given up his identity and virtues to keep her safe but it all came to nought. After the Nazi defeat, he returned to find a house and wife burnt to ashes by the communists. Karl had reached a dead end there. The only person he could turn to was his aunt who he had not seen since she was married off to tea planter of northeast India. Thus, his journey to the banks of the great Brahmaputra began. 

#

The moment he got off the bus he noticed a brown man with a handlebar moustache holding up a  sign with a very poorly written “Welcome to Assam Mr. Karl Werner”. Karl rushed to meet the man, thanking heavens that his aunt had received his letter prior to his arrival, who held his hand

in a firm handshake saying, “Mr. Karl, I am your driver for today. Please come” leading him to a 

a car which resembled the Morris 10. The driver kept talking in broken English so after learning that the car was called Hindustan 10 and was based on Morris 10 and that his aunt was really excited for his arrival, he zoned out. As he looked out of the window, he realized how he hadn’t paid attention to the scenery until then. Lush green fields rolled on with cattle grazing and people working the fields. It was all very beautiful for Karl, a small golden feeling started cradling in his mind- maybe it was a spot of happiness. He let himself smile at the thought.

The driver’s loud exclamation confirmed that they had entered the tea garden territory, 

Karl had seen pictures of this place when his aunt had sent a card and letter with photos attached on his 27th birthday. The signboard read Monabarie tea estate, with a shudder Karl realized

Mona was the German nickname for Monika, his late wife. did you lead me to this place, Mon?

#

His aunt was waiting for him with open arms. Ingrid Baker had always wanted a family, her 

biggest regret in life was that she could not give children to her dear husband. Having her 

nephew there made her feel really happy- she had baked all kind of delicacies for the night. Her dining table creaked under the weight of batches of Bienenstich, fruit and quark pastries and

wibbles infused with Assam tea. Her face was rosy from the joy and hard work. “Karl Sohn, I

want you to forget your past life and start anew here. You will start with me at the bakery and café from tomorrow, I bake all kinds of German and Indian pastries there, the people who come to visit the tea estate keeps our business going. They named me chef ma’am here because they

love my cooking! I am sure they will find a good nickname for you too..” she gushed. Karl couldn’t stop concentrating on the part where she wanted him to move on. He sighed- if only the nightmares stopped and my conscience cleared up, aunt. 

#

Like you slowly simmer a pot of sugar and water to make golden syrup, happiness simmered in Karl’s heart during the day when he baked in the bakery but at night he was always visited by the lady with brown hair. It was the shade of brown that he always saw first before the lady. Even on his first day at the concentration camp in Auschwitz, it was the shade of brown he saw first when 

he was placed to man the entry gates as his morning job at the camps. He saw the lady struggling to keep her infant child with her as the listing officer went about separating families into gender and age on entering the main gate. The listing officer called the security soldiers to help, Karl felt 

his superior elbowing him saying, “here’s your opportunity champ. Show us what you got”. Karl staggered forward, the mother screamed at him, her continuous struggle had bought her full head of hair come loose, it had a different shade of brown, a beautiful chestnut-honeydew kind of brown. Her struggle had put the listing officer on the edge, sipping his coffee he whispered to 

Karl – tote sie. Kill.

#

“Karl, the manager of the garden loved your breakfast rolls. She highlighted how crumbly yet soft they were. She is sending over her daughter today to learn the recipe from you. Do teach her, 

Sohn. Oh! Learn the recipe of pitha from her- it’s a local festival sweet and I’m sure when made 

by your hands, your uncle will love it.”

“ I’ll try, Auntie.”

“oh and her sister died recently so she has been really depressed and seldom ventures out of the house. Be careful with your words.”

“oh… alright.”

Jahniya Gogoi was every bit the depressed creature Ingrid had described her as. Her sister had burned to her death right in front of her eyes, since that day Jahniya had lost the fiery passion that had lit up her almond-shaped eyes. She wasn’t particularly mourning the death but instead was guilty that it wasn’t her in place of her sister. Her guilt did not let her be in the real world. It kept her in a world made up of black and white thoughts of death and darkness. 

On first look, Karl sympathized with the girl. The whole day he could get one chuckle out of her when he pronounced her name funny. The only time she showed interest was when he taught her how to make German biscuits infused with Assam tea. He made a tiny note in the recipe book his aunt had gifted him.

#

“That is amazing! Did you invent the recipe?” Jahniya giggled

“it’s just information from Mrs. Saikia and my aunt and it came together to make these Indo-German delights. Rice powder in a German chocolate tart is pure genius. Perfekt.”

“they are perfect. Thank you so much! You made my day yet again!”

The past month had been beautiful for the pair. Jahniya had got attached to the German and he had tried his best to keep her bubbly and happy, in simpler words, alive. He had worked hard to 

collect and innovate with every recipe he could find, working with local produce and utensils. 

This is turn had given a new face to the bakery and his aunt couldn’t be happier due to the crowds it had been attracting lately. 

“you should take care of your health, Karl. You have deep eyebags and you seem to trudge 

around in work every day.” Jahniya traced her thumb across Karl’s eyebags. She had grown to care for the man. He gave her butterflies in the stomach sometimes.

“hmm.”

#

Ingrid had been worried about her nephew lately – he would not sleep at all and would roam the living hall instead. One night when she came to get some water at twelve, she saw her nephew cowering in the shadows, muttering about a brown-haired women. She naturally assumed that her nephew was missing his wife and put him to sleep without second thoughts. 

Karl did not show up for work for many days, Ingrid excused his absence as poor health. 

Jahniya was surely worried but she had a show to run and carried on the café work beautifully. 

The locals called her junior chef now and she usually found herself laughing and enjoying in their company. She would always send a loaf of a freshly baked loaf of Bauernbrot infused with cardamom and oolong tea- it was her way of saying get well soon.

#

It was the time of Bohag Bihu, the local Assamese festival, everyone were out in the tea factory of the estate where a huge lunch was organized by the planter’s association. Everyone gorged on a scrumptious lunch while the dessert stall’s star was Karl’s rice powder chocolate tarts. Jahniya 

along with Ingrid took the praise and promised to pass it along to Karl, who couldn’t make it to 

the fest due to a little seasonal flu. Jahniya decided to visit Karl since she hadn’t seen her Freund

for ages. She giggled at how he would pronounce her name once he saw her in his thick German accent. 

Jahniya knocked for the fourth time. He did not answer. “Karl? Freund? I bought you some chocolate tarts!”. Receiving no answer, she tried gently pushing the door. 

With a loud clank, the utensil dropped from Jahniya’s hand, spilling the chocolate tart all over the floor. Her hands hung limply by her side as she let out a howl of agony. 

The image of the limp form of Karl hanging from the ceiling fan, so lifeless, as if it were a cloth doll that a mother puts up on the ceiling to entertain her children, would never escape Jahniya’s mind as she grew up to marry a handsome suitor and mother three children. It was the last thing she thought of even when she was on her deathbed- always wishing she reached a minute early. 

#

Berlin, 1967

‘Dear Jahniya (be sure that I pronounced it wrong), 

I never confided in you about my life before Assam so I thought now is my opportunity. My last opportunity. Jahniya, I was a Nazi soldier. It wasn’t my choice but I had to do it to keep my wife 

safe. I had a hard time doing the job, I was posted in concentrations camps where they told me to 

kill people. Innocent people. I could never do so and always got kicked around by my superiors. They had had enough and one day I had to kill a mother and a child. The way the mother struggled for her child, the way her beautiful brown hair surrounded her raged filled eyes, 

waning revenge, it would always haunt me. My life had become all about hallucinations and 

insomnia, Freundin. It was a beautiful shade of brown, sad yet with a life of it’s own. I am glad I

could make you happy, it was the only good thing I could do with my life. 

I am a monster and I will say goodbye, now. I succumb to the shade of brown.

Be the child my aunt never got, I am grateful to her.

Love,

Karl.'



Jahniya folded up the letter and bought it close to her mouth and whispered, “you weren’t a 

monster.” Her husband had dug out a hole where the landlord said Karl last resided in Berlin, she 

kissed the letter and put it in the hole along with a shoot of tea leaves and a brown 

Chrysanthemum. 

END