Devi

by Nag Mani

  After dismissing the figure that had moved in the bedroom the previous day for a mere trick of shadows, she had taken one daring step into the house, and had at once felt suffocated. She was welcomed by a dark, humid hall. She hadn’t taken another step forward until Manoj had opened the door to the backyard and allowed light and fresh air to fill the space. There was a cot in one of the corners heaped with what seemed to be dirty clothes. Manoj had left his motorcycle in the hall before leaving for Purnia. She first went to check the bedroom through the door to her immediate left. An old iron cupboard, with a dusty mirror on one of its doors, sat in front of the entrance. In a triangular niche on the wall to her right were framed photos of gods and goddesses perpetually giving their blessing to anyone who would look. On her left was a table with more clothes and a heap of files and magazines. A double bed with crumbled bed-sheet and two pillows occupied the centre of the room. There were the two windows, both on the far side – one opening out in the veranda while the other provided a square view of the cornfield.

  A kitchen and a small bathroom with nothing but a bucket and a mug occupied the small rectangular extension of the hall next to the bedroom. The kitchen itself was a narrow dingy room extending into the backyard. She stood at the entrance, her heart pounding. Cheap utensils lay scattered on the floor, dirty and stained with extensive use and careless washing. The yellow walls were dirty and bare. Across the room was a window that opened into the backyard. Before the window was the kitchen-counter with a kerosene stove and a few plates.

  She then went to the backyard and, though she knew her fate before coming here, her heart sank in when she actually saw them – the shabby toilet on the left corner across the yard and the hand-pump next to it, both built on raised cemented platforms. Carrying buckets of water from the hand-pump to the bathroom inside every time she needed a bath was one thing, but she had no intention of using that toilet with its moss-covered bricks, tin shed and wooden framed tin door. The backyard itself was all dry, bare mud with a young guava tree rising from behind the hand-pump. High walls enclosed it on three sides. A narrow veranda ran along the length of the house till the kitchen. Two crooked rows of bricks had been laid out between the veranda steps and the hand-pump platform, indicating that the backyard flooded in rain.

  It was the outhouse that interested her. As Manoj had said, there it was, in the right corner, away from the activities of the house, its door and window tight shut. An old lock hung on its door. She had planned to break it open and look around. But that was not the time.

  The first night had been just turning and twisting, her body making itself comfortable in the new environment. A rusting fan hung from the ceiling, still and useless, smiling down at her misery. The bank did give ceiling fans to its employees, but she couldn’t blame it for not providing electricity. She had brought along a hand-held fan made of palm leaf. It had provided relief till her hands tired, and she was then left to the mercy of the night. Manoj was snoring peacefully beside her. She lay on the bed, a kerosene lamp burning low on the desk and another in the hall outside. The village was asleep. Dogs barked randomly over the perpetual sounds of humming insects and buzzing mosquitoes. Tiny water droplets fell outside somewhere, maybe it had started to drizzle, the sound tuned to arouse drowsiness; yet her eyes were wide open. She tried counting backwards, counting her breaths, doing everything to keep her mind from the discomfort. The clock went tick-tock… tick-tock… tick-tock…

  Her eyes had been closed when she heard the clinks of bangles. Rustle of clothes. Tinkering of anklets. Maybe a whisper. She thought that it was dawn and that village women were up and busy with their daily routine. She cursed herself for not being able to catch a proper sleep, for she had loads of work in store for the day.

  Then someone began to hum.

  She couldn’t understand the words but the tune inflicted in her deep emotions. Flashes of her childhood. Her favourite frock. Her collection of mud toys, a lion with yellow body and orange mane and a chipped ear. Her perfect world when she was young and happy.

  She felt a presence standing beside the bed, looking down at her, and opened her eyes immediately.

  No one.

  Her eyes darted to the clock.

  2:40.

  It wasn’t morning yet! She tried to listen for the sounds of the bangles when her eyes fell on the door. It was slightly ajar. She could see faint light seeping in from the hall.

  A shadow moved across the door on the other side.

  Someone was in the hall! There had been definitely movements; but they were so subtle, they could be ignored as a trick of shadows, or a game of breeze.

  It was only when she heard the mows of cows while they were being milked and the general din of early morning that she had finally fallen asleep.

  Standing in the kitchen now, she examined the burnt rice clung inside the cooker. She filled it with water and kept it aside. She looked at the mess in the hall. All the boxes and bags needed to be unpacked and their contents systematically placed. But before that, the house needed thorough cleaning. She untied and kept the rose stems in a shallow drain that flowed down from the hand-pump platform to a clogged opening in the boundary wall. She decided to begin with cleaning the backyard. After a quick breakfast, she had just picked up a broom and tucked her aanchal into her waist when she heard a knock on the door.

  It was a woman, slightly older than Aditi but shorter and healthier, her hair long and shiny. “Namaste Madam!” She smiled from ear to ear. She was fair, but her skin was blemished and coarse. Three girls stood in a line behind her, in order of their descending heights, hands behind their backs, eyes shining with curiosity.

  “Namaste!” Aditi replied, her voice unsure.

  “I am Laila. I heard you came here with Sir yesterday. Very good, Madam, very good! Your father is from Bhagalpur? I too have a relative there. He works in the state roadways. My sister’s husband’s cousin… But he doesn’t like his job. These young men. They are never happy. Want to just sit and eat. He wants to buy a taxi… like my husband…”

  Aditi nodded, her hands still on the door.

  “Did you have any trouble coming here? Monsoon is coming. Better be this side of the river than that. That bridge won’t hold. I heard Guddu crossed the bridge on his tempo to get you to this side… You see, Madam, we villagers might not know how to hold a pen like you do, but we know how to treat our guests. We know our culture. You father was a doctor?”

  “No. Worked in a clinic…”

  “Ah! A compounder! These compounders, Madam! They are as good as doctors. What does a doctor know? All books and pens and ego! Rubbish! It’s the compounders who do the real work, the doctors’ work. You should become a doctor, Madam. Thick money, I will tell you. These nurses here, they earn like men.” Her eyes went to the door. Aditi was still holding it, unintentionally blocking her way in. She immediately dropped her hands. “My husband works in the bank,” Laila seemed to have sensed the question Aditi was trying hard not to ask. “Razzak, Madam, Razzak. I live right there…” She pointed to her right. Aditi bent forward to look at the weird three-storey building where the mud path branched away from the main brick-road. Some of the colourful windows were open now, and tiny faces peeped through them.

  “Oh, Razzak,” Aditi let out a nervous laugh, “my husband talks a lot about him. That is your house, good, good… He didn’t tell me…”

  “Oh, Madam, Sir is a busy man. And a good man. See, what all he has done for us. Our taxi business was all done for when my husband started working in the bank. Sir suggested that we buy our own vehicles on loan and then hire drivers to work for us. He even passed our loan. And look at us now! He is always telling us about new government schemes. He is a very good man, Madam. But always busy. I hardly see him in here. Always in the bank. But you are not alone Madam. I am right here. If you need anything just shout out for me, or call my girls. Yes, my girls… here,” she stepped aside. “This is Zeenat.” She pointed at the tallest girls. She
was around fourteen, tall for her age, frail and, like her mother, extremely fair. “Zeba.” The next girl was slightly shorter and younger. She was pretty with big sparkling eyes and a beautiful smile. “And Zoya.” The youngest girl was around nine. She too had the eyes of her elder sisters and, unlike others, had inherited the high cheekbones of her mother. She had her lips pressed tightly, her cheeks puffed, trying not to laugh at something only she found funny.

  “Hello, Zoya,” Aditi bent down to greet her. And as she did, Zoya turned around and burst into laughter. Zeenat nudged her, her hands still behind her back, looking straight at her mother, clearly showing that she played no part in whatever was happening.

  “Zoya!” Laila glared at her. “Silly girl. Stupid girl. Oh Madam, ignore her.”

  “She is a sweet little girl! Oh, come in, come in. I have been holding you at the door all along.”

  “Ya Allah! Have mercy on us! Look at this place! Madam, where do you keep the broom? I have brought my girls here. They will have it all sorted out.”

  “What? No… no…”

  “Oh, there it is – in the backyard,” pointed out Zeenat.

  “Then what are you waiting for, girl, for Madam to teach you how to sweep?”

  Before Aditi could understand what was happening, let alone protest, Zeenat was out in the backyard, sweeping away all the dust and leaves and twigs and hurling the bricks to a side.

  “No, let it be!” Aditi ran behind her the moment she got hold of the situation.

  Laila marched around the hall, giving orders. “Oh Madam. These girls will take care of it. Now you don’t want to work overload and fall sick. I tell you these bus journeys. You are tired for days and days and that’s why I avoid them. I have heard train journeys are no better. You want tea, Madam? You drink tea?” And without waiting for a reply, “You girl,” she ordered Zeba, “go to the kitchen at make our Madam a cup of tea.”

  “No! There is no need,” Aditi protested. “Why don’t you…”

  “Ah Madam,” Laila held her arm and led her into the bedroom. “Sit Madam, and let the girls do the work.”

  “But there is no milk here…”

  “ZOYA,” Laila shouted and the young girl with lovely cheekbones appeared instantly, “run to your house and fetch a bowl of milk.” It was only when Zoya had gone that she asked, “You do have tea, Madam?”

  “It must be in one of those boxes.”

  Zeba didn’t wait for an order to open them and go through the contents.

  “But the utensils are all dirty. How will she…” And Aditi knew she would make a terrible negotiator, for one nod from Laila and Zeba went to the kitchen, carried all the utensils out to the hand-pump and began scrubbing them clean.

  Tea was served about twenty minutes later, and by that time Aditi was beaming with gratitude. The initial shock of four persons almost barging into her house had begun to wean and she went about the house helping the girls place the items from the boxes. When Laila made a remark that there were too many dirty clothes in the house, not to mention the dirty bed-sheet that needed rigorous cleaning, Aditi knew she couldn’t let them help her anymore. They had done enough for one day. So she told them that she had no detergent.

  “Go run now, Zoya,” Laila ordered her youngest daughter, “run to your uncle and tell him to bring some detergent from the market. And don’t you forget to tell him it’s for Madam,” she yelled after her. “Lest he brings the cheap brand we use!”

  By mid-afternoon, the house was all arranged and cleaned and the women watched the girls do the laundry from the veranda in the backyard. Aditi had never felt so happy before, to be treated with so much care and respect. She was telling Laila about her house back in Purnia when Laila noticed the rose stems in the drain. “What are those Madam?”

  “Those? Those are rose plants I brought from Purnia. I never got time to plant them…”

  “Red roses?” Laila asked, cutting her out rudely.

  “Yes. Red roses. I will send you a few plants…”

  “Ah! Madam! Madam! You see, we don’t plant roses out here.” Before Aditi could understand what she was talking about, Laila had already crossed the backyard and snapped a stem into two. The girls stopped their scrubbing and looked up.

  “Stop!” Aditi shouted. “What are you doing?”

  “Don’t worry, Madam,” Laila smiled at her, still breaking the remaining stems. “Why do you want to keep these wild plants in your home? Not good, I tell you.” Aditi watched in shock as Laila broke every stem, one by one, smiling at her all along, as if she was just plucking weed out of her yard. Aditi could do nothing but watch, muted by the obligation for her help. She eyed the broken stems on the ground, mud still clinging to their bottom ends, and pondered if they would still survive if she planted them back the moment Laila left. The village woman seemed to have read her mind, for she collected the broken stems and threw them over the boundary wall.

  “There you go, Madam,” Laila said calmly to a bewildered Aditi, “what’s in these red roses? Why don’t you plant some chameli in your yard? I will send you some plants. Very good fragrance, I tell you. Sweet fragrance. And there is this Raat-Ki-Rani. There was one in your house some time ago and we could smell it right in our own rooms! There is nothing better than Raat-Ki-Rani! But they had to cut it because it attracted snakes and what all. Now you don’t want snakes sunbathing in your campus. One bite and you are dead! But Madam, let me tell you, if a snake bites you here, I know an old remedy – bite it back! I have seen it happen! It transfers the venom back and the snake dies instead. And look at this yard, now that I have come to it. All mud and dust and all of it will blow into your house. Oh, Zeba! Run to your aunty and ask her for a good lot of dung!”

  Aditi watched quietly as Zeba began to plaster the backyard with a freshly prepared amalgam of cow-dung and mud, reinforced with husk. She tried to let go of the rose incident, assuming it to be something related to the beliefs of these uneducated village people. After all, Laila had helped her only so much. What would have taken at least a week to do by herself was done in a couple of hours. She tried to smile to show that she hadn’t taken offence with Laila, and she also continued to smile when Zeba finished with the plaster and washed her hands and feet. The backyard looked all neat and clean and wet, except the corner in which stood the locked room. Zeba had avoided going anywhere close to the room. Laila noticed it but did not say a word. Aditi noticed it too, but kept smiling.

  Aditi cooked herself a modest lunch of chapattis and kheer after her neighbours had left, and was lying sweating on the bed, trying to catch a nap, when she heard a TRING-TRING outside. She chose to ignore it the first time. Then she heard it again, TRING-TRING, followed by a knock. She opened the door to find a big, swarthy man standing on her veranda. He had thick, curly hair and moustache and a round face that was beaming at her with the greatest excitement in the world.

  “Namaste Madam!” He folded his hands, greeted her and bit his lips.

  “Namaste…” Aditi replied uncertainly.

  “Myself Arvind,” he said in a booming voice. “I work with Sir in the SBI bank of India.”

  “Sir is not here. He will be in the bank right now.” Aditi cut him. Manoj had warned her about Arvind and she had no intention of getting into a conversation with him when she was all alone in the house.

  Arvind let out a laugh, which got caught in his throat. “I know Madam. Hectic day it is, that’s why he couldn’t come home for lunch…”

  Someone said something and the two of them turned to look towards Laila’s house. A man was sitting on a cot, talking to another short, thin man, all dressed in white, making his way towards them. Arvind waived at the approaching man, “Hello Razzak!”

  It was only when Arvind moved that Aditi saw two roosters, all colourful feathers and shiny tails, tied upside down from the handle of a cycle. They hung quiet and still, but their eyes were wide and alert. The view was filled with the thin frame of Razzak and his fair, wrinkled skin.
He too folded his hands and greeted her. “Welcome to our village, Madam,” he said, his voice weak and airy like his body. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  “Sir talks a lot about you too.”

  Razzak blushed. He, like his wife, was shorter than Aditi, his hair dense and black. Other than a thin, neatly trimmed moustache, his face was clean shaven. “He has been caught up with some work. He is a hardworking man. See, he is working even during the lunch break. But I was like, no, I have to meet Madam! I hope my wife helped you settle this place. She lives right there,” like Laila, he too pointed at his weirdly constructed house, “you can call her whenever you need any help. Just call for Zeenat.”

  “Yes, Laila told me…”

  “Laila? They call her Zeenat here. In villages we…”

  “…call a woman by her eldest child’s name, I know. But I will call her Laila, now that I know her real name. She has been of great help, and thanks to her and your beautiful daughters, I can now invite you in for a cup of tea!”

  “Oh no Madam!” Arvind said in his booming voice, “Take no trouble! I came here to give you gift.”

  “Gift?”

  Arvind untied the roosters and carried them back, still hanging upside down, frantically flapping their wings. “Here Madam. Welcome to our village,” he repeated Razzak’s words.

  Aditi eyed at the chicken, all restless and flapping their wings. She had seen how they were cut and skinned. It was messy and required quite some effort. Those little birds put up a hell lot of struggle, because all weaklings can do is struggle. But even if she did manage to do it, she didn’t have the strength for the laborious preparation, which included running to the market to buy the required ingredients. Razzak seemed to have sensed her dilemma. “What Arvind? You did not cut them?”