Devi

by Nag Mani

  “They’re fresh, Madam. Healthy, not like cities where they sell dead meat.”

  “Fresh? Could they be any fresher? They are so fresh that they are bringing the whole place down with their wings! You expect Madam to kill them? Don’t you know in cities they are all cut in pieces when you buy them?”

  “No. I mean…” Arvind blurted out, then bit his lips, clearly embarrassed. “No, Madam, you don’t need cut yourself. You see Ali there?” He shouted at the man sitting on the charpoy – at which Razzak added, “My younger brother!” – and raised the chicken in his hand, “For Madam.” Ali rose immediately, as if a soldier called for duty. “Cut neat and clean when Madam tells you! No feather. No blood. Small pieces, Madam? You heard. Small pieces. Okay?” There was a distinct nod after which Arvind turned back to her and smiled, revealing his yellow teeth. He handed over the roosters. The men folded their hands and left. Aditi watched them leave, the chicken wriggling in her hands, still upside down, before closing the door. Ali returned to his charpoy

  The usual jitters of human life faded with daylight. Night fell. Three lanterns flickered in the house – one in the hall, one by the toilet and the brightest one in the bedroom. Aditi had fed the roosters earlier than evening – she felt pity for them, that they might be hungry after their not-so-comfortable journey – but they left the grains untouched and huddled together in each other’s warmth, their eyes blinking stupidly. A diesel generator puffed somewhere far away. Manoj was still in the bank. She waited for the sounds to stop, for the bank to close…

  PHUT… PHUT…PHUT…

  And she dozed off.

  Someone knocked at the door. She opened her eyes with a gasp. “Who’s there?”

  Someone cleared his throat. Manoj had returned. He never answered to her calls, only cleared his throat in acknowledgement. She laid out dinner for him, watched him eat, asked continually if he wanted anything, and finally washed all the utensils for next day’s cycle. By the time she retired to bed, he was already snoring. She watched him for a while, wondering what had he brought her here for. If cooking and cleaning was all that bothered him, he could have hired someone. The bank actually paid him to hire someone. And if he needed her in bed, not that either of them was interested, well again, he could have hired someone. She didn’t mind. She let her thoughts drift away. Six years into the marriage, it wasn’t that she had got used to him, it was just that she had stopped caring.

  She was no longer sleepy. She took out a notebook and flipped its pages. The content made her smile. Hand-written notes. Years of study… dedication. But what use was that. She remembered her school days. Her teachers, how they always told her she would grow up to become a woman of substance, of power. She remembered her exam times. How she studied by candle light at night and helped her brother and sisters study during the day. Her father never wanted her to study. What was the use, he always said. Nevertheless, he sent her to school only because he also wanted to appear as a ‘modern man’. The world had moved forward, he would say. He didn’t differentiate between his son and daughters, he would say. Then he married her off to a man without even asking her once. But that didn’t reflect poor upon his image.

  And here she was, after all her struggles and achievements, serving the whims and fancies of a man in this remote village.

  A sudden crow of the roosters tore across the dead night. Aditi lifted her head. Then there was frantic flapping of wings, then scuffling and scampering. She would have returned to her notebook had she not heard those footsteps. Someone was on the roof. She wasn’t sure that she actually heard it, more of thought-she-heard-it, but the sudden restlessness in the chickens could be a sign of an intruder. She prodded her husband and picked up an iron rod resting in a corner. The hall was dimply lit. She turned the knob of the lantern. The flame rose higher. She tip-toed to the backdoor and opened it, ever so slightly, and peeped.

  Silver moonlight illuminated the courtyard. The chickens were scampering in the shadow of the guava tree – flapping their wings, running in random directions, only to be rudely pulled back by the strings tied to their legs. She looked around. The moss-covered walls rose on three sides in front of her, carving out the little space she was in from the never-ending expanse of glittering stars. The silence of the night was absolute, its freshness a relief from the suffocation inside. There was no sign of anyone else. She opened the door completely and stepped onto the veranda, casting a shadow in front of her. She studied the area for some time. Judging by the frantic behaviour of the chickens, there could be a cat hiding somewhere. She tightened her grip on the rod and took one round of the courtyard, just to be doubly sure that her chickens were safe. And when she returned to the veranda, her eyes fell on her shadow.

  It hadn’t moved!

  She stared at it. The oval shape of her head, her shoulders, wondering about the abnormality of the angle they were cast at.

  She stared at it a bit too long – for it began to recede, flowing back into the straight shadow of the roof edge.

  Panic struck, she turned around to look for the intruder. But her eyes fell on something midway.

  It was the outhouse. Its window was open.

  They lingered there for a fraction of a second, and when she did look up, she saw the top of someone’s head recede.

  “Who’s there?” she shouted. Her voice came out feeble and scared. She raised the rod and stepped back. “Who’s there?” she cried again, this time determined to sound bold. All she saw were the billions of stars stare back at her. She ran through the hall, lifting the hem of her night-dress with one hand. She could not let that person get away. He could be a thief, a robber, or even a goddamn rapist. Out of years of experience, she knew she could not rely on her husband for her safety.

  She barged open the door. A dog, the same cream coloured dog, that had been sleeping on the veranda, leapt on his fours, his tail between his legs. Aditi ran out into the open and looked up, backing away towards the field to get a wider view. No one. She checked the sides of the house. The dark line of the mango trees stood silently about fifty metres away. The area in between was all grass and small bushes. Even if the intruder had jumped down, he could not have run fast enough to hide in the trees. Nor were there any movements or signs of intrusion in the cornfield. And damn it, the dog would have definitely barked had someone jumped down the roof.

  He had just disappeared!

  Panting and shaken, she returned to the veranda. The dog sniffed at her, keeping his distance. And when she locked the door, he returned to his spot beside the front wheels of the motorcycle. Her husband was waiting in the hall. He had witnessed the whole incident but had not dared to come out. “What happened?” he asked, quite un-boldly.

  Aditi knew it was time for him to become the man. Now that the intruder had fled, he would go out to investigate. “Someone was trying to get inside from the roof,” she said as she sat on the bed. She wanted to tell him that he was still hiding somewhere, just to see if he would still go out. But she was too tired for these petty games. She closed he eyes and concentrated on her breathing.

  Inhale. Exhale. 109.

  Inhale. Exhale. 108.

  Inhale. Exhale. 107.

  On 60 she heard a match-stick being struck and a tiny fire roared to life.

  Inhale. Exhale. 59.

  Inhale. Exhale. 58.

  Inhale. Exhale. 57.

  Inhale… Along with it came the fragrance of sandal incense-sticks. She opened her eyes. Her husband sat hunched on the floor. He had lit up an oil-lamp in front of the gods and goddesses they worshipped, his lips silently moving in a prayer.

  Aditi closed her eyes again. She decided to give that dog a chapatti the first thing the next morning, make him stay on the veranda from then onwards.

  Inhale. Exhale… Where was she?

  Oh, damn it!

  Inhale. Exhale. 109.

  Inhale. Exhale. 108.

  Inhale. Exhale. 107.

  CHAPTER 5

  THE MA
N IN THE DARK

  One humid night in Ufrail, Aditi was lying on her bed by the window, her back wet with sweat. She could hear the dog scratching furiously on the veranda. Manoj was talking with Arvind outside. All bank jargons.

  The first ten days in the village were far less distressing than she had anticipated. She had initially asked Laila to arrange for a milkman, but it turned out that almost every household in the village had a cow or a buffalo or a goat. The very hut across the road had an underfed red cow and a furry calf. The lady of the house, a tanned woman with big eyes and bigger teeth, all yellow and stained, caught up with her once. “Namaste Memsahib!” Her little son, naked, protruding belly and dirty, watched from the door, thick, greenish slime flowing out of his nose and over his lips. “You want milk. My Gomti gives milk. How much milk you want?” Aditi told the woman that she would consult with her husband. “Tell me when I send you milk,” said the woman. “I Ranbir. My husband, Hari Mahto. Fisherman.”

  Aditi later found out from Manoj that she had no choice but to accept the offer. Since Ranbir was their neighbour, it would only offend her, and the community, if they approached someone else for milk. A different Ranbir, a boy of around fifteen, began to deliver milk in a can from then onwards.

  Aditi often went to the bank in the afternoons, just to pass her time and to get to know her new surroundings. She had to walk all the way, following the wide curve around the forest. Inside the bank’s building there was a small hall where all the transactions took place. Mr Sharma, the clerk who was just a year away from retirement, took all his time reading forms and putting his signature. He was thin and short and even though the shirts he wore were old and worn out, they were crisp and well ironed. A young cashier sat behind a dirty counter. There was no space for a queue, so he would collect all the passbooks and forms and call out names one by one. Villagers of all colour, size and age sat on wooden benches along the length of the hall and waited for their turn. A small impatient crowd hung perpetually about the counter, struggling to catch a glimpse of their form in the pile and relaying the names the cashier called out to others. Another young man roamed lazily around the bank passing files and registers from one desk to another, as well as stained glasses of tea and water. He was the sweeper, but spent most of his time searching for and taking bribes from those who needed some out-of-routine work done, like requesting for a new passbook or a demand draft.

  Arvind was an important person outside the bank. Since he worked closely with the branch manager, villagers would swarm him asking for loans, or to get their accounts opened or get something done that couldn’t be handled by the sweeper. He would arrange their papers, find someone to fill out their forms, take them to the manager’s office and make requests on their behalf. He then escorted them around the bank getting all the formalities done and when the work was complete, he would finally take them to the gumti by the market, reminding them again and again that their work would have been impossible had he not pleaded with the manager and had the manager not been kind enough. His customers would hand him his fees, buy him a paan and leave.

  Razzak came to the bank hardly once or twice, always accompanied with at least half a dozen men. Even if he was in a hurry, he always stopped to greet Aditi and have a small conversation. He would go to the manager’s office and sometimes stayed for hours, helping Manoj with requisite documents and forms. She never saw the guard, though she knew, he was somewhere around.

  Manoj had a small room to himself in the far corner of the hall. He sat behind a large wooden desk piled with files and papers. His chair was erect and stiff. For reasons unknown, a large, dirty political map of India covered the left wall. On his right was a window which he always kept shut lest the villagers bothered him from outside. Behind him, hung high on the wall, was a wooden board with the names of the managers who had served in the branch. His name was right at the bottom –

  v. Shri Pankaj Nath Kumar Shambhu| 1998 ~ 2000|

  vi. Shri Manoj Prasad| 2000 ~|

  An auto-rickshaw or two were always parked outside the bank, brought by customers from neighbouring villages. The gumti owner sent her diligently prepared sweet paan whenever she visited. He never charged her, but she knew very well that he collected his dues on monthly basis. Mr Sharma had made Arvind bring jalebi and samosa from the best sweet shop in the village the first time she had visited, and Arvind continued to do it on a regular basis. He didn’t mind borrowing someone’s cycle and pedalling all the way to the shop in scorching heat. She had a feeling that Manoj would tell her to stop accepting things. Once a while was fine, but not every time she visited. He would have to eventually pay for them. But it turned out that he was least bothered. All of them were indeed free. It so happened that he had given his staff far more than paan and samosa during his stay in the village and they were only returning their courtesy. They called him the best manager ever.

  While she was in the bank, she would help people with their forms and applications. Manoj sometimes even gave her bank’s internal work to do. Once she was given about eighty account opening applications that had been lying pending for over two months. He gave her his user id and password, taught her how to navigate through the menus on the screen and after that, all she had to do was type in the data, review it and authorise the account. She opened all eighty accounts in less than four hours. The bank was in a buzz! People couldn’t stop talking about the city lady who did what was till then perceived to be at least a month’s work within hours; something no man could have ever done, leave alone a woman!

  Two days later Manoj received a call from the zonal office in Purnia. It was just a casual conversation at the end of which his senior told him that he knew Aditi often visited the bank. After that Manoj never gave her bank’s internal work. She helped villagers with their forms, answered their queries and surprised them by not charging.

  Vegetable vendors sat along the brick road with their goods sprawled out in front of them. They would themselves pick out the best from their stock whenever Aditi approached them. Once, one of them carried a heavy bag of vegetables to the bank for her, and after that even carrying her vegetables became a custom. All she had to do was tell them what she needed, or tell Arvind, and everything was delivered to her in the bank.

  It was during one of these visits that she saw a small group of men carrying a dead body on their shoulders. A train of children ran along, carrying small poles with red cloth tied to one end, and pinning them into the soil as the progression marched forward. “Who is he?” she asked Arvind.

  “No one Madam! He sold fish there.” He pointed vaguely towards the market.

  She had often seen the man in the market. He and his wife, both wrinkled and grey-haired, his rusted iron brush with which he peeled off the scales of fish, alive, before cutting them…

  Aditi brought herself out of her thoughts. What was the purpose of her life, she asked the stars glittering cheerfully in the night sky. Manoj and Arvind were still talking outside. The night was moonless, the air still. She shifted restlessly, and her thoughts drifted again to her three younger sisters – Aakriti, Smriti and Urvashi – all married in well-to-do families, all happy with their caring husbands and beautiful kids. She was never the beautiful one – that was the bane of her life. Her mother didn’t love her as much as she did the others; she was a burden, like a bad item that must somehow be sold off. But nothing helped. Her sisters were the most popular girls in their school. They never allowed her to be with them and said it openly, that they felt embarrassed when she was around.

  Then came her brother, Uday, and he proved that not being beautiful wasn’t a bane after all.

  The true curse was that of being a girl.

  Her mother adored him, and her sisters loved him. They could bring havoc to fulfil his every wish. He was the star of the house. Her parents had always wanted a son, but were cursed to be given a daughter again and again. Until he finally arrived and brought a glow on their faces. Uday, they had named him. The su
n had finally opened its eyes. Aditi lived along by the side. Only two persons in the world ever cared for her. One was her father. Though his decisions were largely influenced by her mother and the society, he did all he could to bring a smile on her face. She was his favourite, his princess. The other was the man she dreamt of spending her life with, away from her family and all the beautiful people.

  “Night of Amavasya… not good time to die for old man, just yesterday…” she heard Arvind say. “And it’s hot. Why don’t you get battera? Now that Madam is here.”

  “Ah! Yes,” Manoj started in a high tone, then dropped his voice low, something he did when he wanted not to speak about something. “It takes time to settle. The rain is about to come. And she has almost sorted out everything. You can yourself see the change.” He and his beating around the bush.

  “Yes, I have never seen it this clean. That’s what woman’s presence does. You should get battera though.” Arvind seemed determined to stick to the subject. “Madam lives here day and night. No fan. No light. How will she cook? There are even good radios in Nepali market. Something to give her company. I can arrange battera and inverter. Second hand.”

  “Yes. It’s the weather here. In my time, the houses were not this small. The roof was higher, far more comfortable to live under. I remember my mother, she used to cook by the fire and not need a fan even in the middle of summer. You see, proper ventilation plays a vital role.”

  “Ah, yes Sir, it does! Houses earlier were naturally ventilated. So, this battera, Sir, I know this man. He is giving good offer. Battera and inverter. Complete. I know him personally, that is why you won’t find cheaper set. Good man he is…”

  “What is his name?”