Ritwik Sen Part 1 The Hooghly looked different at night, heavier somehow, as if the current carried with it the weight of centuries, of sailors who had come with strange tongues and strange flags, of traders whose goods had been swallowed in monsoon storms, of nameless villagers who had slipped into its depth and never returned. Anirban leaned over the rusted railings at Bagbazar ghat and lit a cigarette, trying to convince himself that he wasn’t wasting his time. He had been chasing the story for three months—rumours of a ferry that crossed the river at midnight even though the…