Devi

by Nag Mani

  “There is no need for all this, Mr Sharma.” Aditi declined politely. “I have…”

  “Run to Munna and tell him to make the best lassi. Tell him it’s for Madam!”

  The three of them sat in the office and talked while the customers peeped in through the door. Arvind returned twenty minutes later and the manager’s office was closed for ‘lunch-break’. Aditi took out the contents of her jute bag and served her cake to the bank’s staffs. Then, in the closed room, with impatient customers waiting outside, she had lunch with her husband.

  Aditi sat in one corner and watched her husband work till evening. The sun had already set when Mr Sharma came in. “It’s getting late, Sir. Why don’t you call it a day and take Madam home?”

  Manoj was in a dilemma. On one hand, he had a wife waiting to be taken home, while on the other, numerous files of the recently launched government scheme awaited his approval and time was running short. Arvind came to his aid when he arranged for a ‘personal’ auto-rickshaw from a milkman living nearby. Manoj dropped her on the main road near their house. The auto-rickshaw took a U-turn and drove away.

  Aditi needed to use the toilet. She walked briskly to her house. On the way she saw Zeenat sitting on a cot in her front yard. Zeenat waved at her and Aditi smiled back. Sitting with the girl was an old woman who lived with their family – probably her grandmother – and another elderly woman with her back towards Aditi.

  It was only when Aditi saw the luggage on her front veranda that she slowed down. An old briefcase with an army-print cloth cover and two medium size air-bags. She turned around to see the elderly woman walking towards, beaming from ear to ear.

  “My son! My son!” The woman grabbed Aditi’s forearms and studied her from head to toe. “How beautiful you are! Manoj is so fortunate to have you as his wife!”

  Aditi was speechless. She could feel eyes peeping from the windows of Laila’s house.

  “Where is Manoj? He didn’t come home?”

  “No. He…”

  “Oh! Caught up with work, isn’t he? Always a busy man. Never had time for his wife.”

  “But I… you…”

  “Of course you don’t recognise me! You can call me your mother, my son!” She bared her big, stained teeth. “But then, I am your mother, aren’t I?”

  Aditi tried to gather her memories. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t place this woman. Maybe a friend of her mother? Relative? “Are you from Bhagalpur?” she shot a blind arrow.

  “Oh no, my son! Kishanganj. I am from Kishanganj. Lakshmi was my daughter.”

  “Lakshmi?”

  The woman eyed her for some time, eyebrows raised, as some realisation struck her. When she spoke, she did ever so slowly, “Your husband’s first wife…”

  CHAPTER 10

  THE LEGEND OF THE DEVI

  Aditi had cried when the first family came to see her for marriage in 1992. She had been twenty then, and in second year of college. It had happened all of a sudden. She came back from college to find her mother waiting at the door. She was ushered into the house through the back door and told to get dressed. Before she knew what was happening, she was serving snacks and tea to three women and two aged men before her parents.

  “Isn’t she a bit black?” was the comment one of the women made. Back in college, Aditi never bothered about her appearance. Any dress would do as long as it was clean. She usually kept her hair oiled and neatly tied back. She didn’t mind being dark of skin, but it pinched her when someone pointed it out and judged her.

  She served the guests and returned to her room. Her sisters were hopping with excitement, asking her all sorts of questions about her little encounter with the guests. The son of the visiting family was a well to do doctor. Owned a house in Lucknow. Big house, and servants. She was summoned again. An elderly woman with leathery skin, who, Aditi now knew, was the doctor’s sister’s mother-in-law and a school teacher in a village, began to ask her questions.

  What was her name?

  Her father’s name?

  Her educational qualification. (Her marks-sheets had to be produced because the women refused to believe her boards’ marks which, Aditi sensed, were more than that of the doctor himself.)

  Her hobbies.

  Her height.

  How much would she have to pay if she bought two and a half dozen eggs if the cost of one egg was Rs 2.5? When Aditi promptly replied Rs 75, the woman looked at the men for answer. The men whispered among themselves and nodded in agreement.

  If she bought 2 kg onions at Rs 8 per kg, 1 kg potato at Rs 4 per kg and 1 kg cabbage at Rs 10 per kg and handed the vendor a hundred rupee note, how much will he return? Rs 70. This time the men agreed without whispering.

  Finally, she was asked to write an application to the ward commissioner requesting him install a hand-pump in the locality. It was while she was writing this application that everything turned upside down. Her mother thought it was time for another round of tea, and since Aditi was busy, she asked her younger sister, Aakriti, to serve the guests. The women looked up in awe when Aakriti entered the room. They smiled unconsciously as she served them. They looked at each other, nodding, beaming, eyes glittering. They didn’t bother to read Aditi’s application.

  Her parents quarrelled over the marriage proposal that night. It wasn’t for Aditi, it was for her sister. The women had made up their minds the moment Aakriti had entered with cups of tea balanced on a tray. No questions asked. No applications written. It did not matter how much money a vegetable vendor returned if a woman was pretty.

  Her father was worried about the society. Her mother didn’t want to miss the golden opportunity. So what if Aditi missed it, it was still open for her sister. The marriage took place four months later. Her father convinced himself and his beloved society that he did it for Aditi, that it was she who wanted to continue her studies and he was only supporting her. Of course, Aditi didn’t want to be married off so soon, but she didn’t like being put up for sale either, and then be rejected for a better deal.

  In the early 1993, about seven months after the marriage, another proposal came from Indore. This time the suitor was a handsome police officer. Aditi was made to hurriedly pack her clothes and leave with her father for a mutual relative’s house in Patna. They arrived late in the evening. Aditi was resting in her room after dinner when her father was requested to come down to the guest-room. When he returned, the excitement had vanished from his face. The police officer was indeed a good-looking specimen. But it was Smriti, the third sister, his family was interested in. Apparently, they had seen her during Aakriti’s marriage and had decided on the spot that she would be the bride of their trophy son. But assuming her father would simply decline their offer as he had his eldest daughter to take care of, they planned to call him to Patna and first show him what a complete package their son was and then place the offer.

  The plan worked.

  A heated debate followed back at home, at the end of which it was decided that Aditi should continue her studies she was so interested in, and Smriti be married instead, lest the handsome man changed his mind and found someone else for himself. Aakriti attended the wedding with her husband, all dressed in heavy gold and a pregnant belly. Aditi attended to the guests who asked her innumerable questions and eyed her with suspicion.

  Proposals came crashing in after the wedding, but all of them for her youngest sister, Urvashi, the prettiest of them all, now that the world knew that Shyamlal Prasad was open to marrying his younger daughter first. But this time, he had had enough, for he heard whispers every time he stepped out of his house. Aditi felt surveying eyes look her up and down every day in college, girls and teachers alike.

  Years ago, in 1985, when Aditi was still in seventh standard and her younger sisters still adored her, somewhere in the city of Khagaria, Dharmendar, an auto-rickshaw driver happened to be invited to Bhagalpur for a wedding ceremony of someone close. It was there that he learnt that one of his childhood friends was
settled in Naugachia. He took a steamer across the Ganga and set off to find his friend. He didn’t have to search for long, for everyone knew the raj-mistry, or the head mason who had built half the houses in the locality. The two friends sat together and talked through the night. And while the moon was high and bright, Sukhna Prasad, the raj-mistry, told him tales of his woes and plights. How he was blessed with two sons, but alas, none of them lived up to his expectation. The younger son, Ajay, was nothing more than a spoilt brat. He had made friends with boys who did no work and borrowed and stole for living; and the elder one, Manoj, was too obsessed with studies. Although Manoj had passed class XIIth, he had no intention of applying for a job. He wanted to study further. And what good would that be? Sukhna Prasad had no money, he said, or intention, he didn’t say, to afford his son’s college. Manoj wanted to graduate and then work in one of those high offices. He used to lock himself in a room with candles and books come evening – when his friends called him out to play and his mother sent him for errands. His younger brother often tore off his books, and Manoj would spend hours collecting the pieces and gluing them back.

  The following morning Dharmendar saw the boy for himself. Manoj was young, innocent and bright and had passed the XIIth exams with First Class. Dharmendar offered to pay for his education, should he agree to marry his daughter, Lakshmi, once he secured a respectable job. Sukhna Prasad didn’t object. It was nothing but free money for something that was inevitable. Dowry was agreed upon and Dharmendar left beaming from ear to ear.

  Lakshmi’s name was withdrawn from her school. She stayed back at home and helped her mother with all the chores. She lost touch with her school-friends and everything a teenager holds dear. She spent her days learning whatever her mother deemed would please her husband-to-be.

  Three years passed. In March, 1989, a letter arrived stating that Manoj had been offered the post of probationary officer in State Bank of India.

  Sukhna Prasad threw tantrums initially. The dowry that had been agreed upon was for a jobless man. Now that his son was an officer, the rate ought to be more, something that suited his status. Dharmendar argued that not only had he found the diamond that would have been lost in filth otherwise, but also shaped and polished it. Sukhna Prasad said that the diamond was his, no matter what Dharmendar did. He was not going to give away his jewel for the price of a lump of stone.

  Elders intervened. Eventually, it was decided that promise must be kept. And Manoj was married to Lakshmi in 1990.

  She had waited for the moment for over three years, to finally meet her husband, to see the look on his face when he met the woman who had to sacrifice so much for his success. When he put a garland around her neck, all she saw was disappointment.

  Lakshmi fell off a staircase and died that winter.

  When her mother, Bhagvati Devi, met Aditi in Ufrail, Aditi almost refused to believe that she was the second wife. But then, she remembered the threats Ajay used to give, that she would meet the same consequences as that of the first one. She didn’t bother with formalities with the unexpected guest, just locked herself in her room and cried. This was a betrayal that had shaken her to her core. She stared at the fan churning noisily, while Bhagvati Devi sat quietly on the cot in the hall. Manoj had lied. He and his family had lied all along. They had cheated her father… Ah! Her father! How she wanted to hate him for not investigating Manoj’s history before handing off his daughter to him. But then, why would he? As it was she was not receiving any marriage proposal when the father of a man, that too a branch manager, came to their colony asking for their address. It was almost a miracle. Her father was only too happy to get rid of her. Her father! He was the reason she couldn’t conceive. He was the reason that her marriage was a failure. Yet, she couldn’t come to hating him.

  When Manoj knocked at the door that night, a maddening rage swelled from within her. She did not bother to open it, and when Bhagvati did, she stood at the bedroom door, just to watch his expression when he saw the visitor. He was surprised, to put in plainly. Pleasantries were exchanged. Then, without saying much, he came to the bedroom and began to change, as if nothing had happened.

  Aditi exploded. She didn’t bother about Bhagvati, or her dead daughter. She called him a cheat, a fraud. Let alone the neighbours, she wanted the whole world to know what he had done. She was screaming on top of her lungs. Her voice began to crack. But she didn’t care. She threw things at him. But he continued to undress as if everything was as calm as always. Bhagvati remained seated on the cot, her eyes fixed on the floor. What enraged Aditi even more was that Manoj did not even bother to give an explanation. Like always, he kept quiet and let things take their own course, let her handle it as she willed, because there was nothing she could do now, other than accept it and live with it. She abused him, his family and when she said that her father would have never married her to a family of thugs that he finally said, “Your father knew.” Then, as she stared at him with wild eyes, he wrapped a towel around his waist and began undoing his trousers underneath. “And it was he who told me to keep quiet. You would know, eventually…” She was too baffled to speak. She did not utter a word even when he crossed her to go to the backyard for a bath. Of all the lies he had told, she knew this wasn’t one. Her father knew.

  She didn’t cook dinner that night. She sat on the steps to the backyard and stared at the blackness above. Now could she blame her father for everything? He knew. He knew and it was he who had kept her in the dark. And she was blind, blind towards the many signs that were carelessly thrown at her before she moved to Purnia – weird questions their neighbours sometimes asked, innocent little gossips that she overheard. She was so blind that Ajay even dared to openly threaten and mock her. But was it her fault that she trusted her father blindly?

  Yes. It was. For even if someone had the best of intentions in their hearts, what they perceive to be right, may not always be so.

  The moon rose high in the sky, and when she showed no intention of leaving the steps, Bhagvati went to the kitchen and prepared a meal with whatever she could gather. After serving Manoj in the bedroom, she sat beside Aditi with a plate in her hands. Aditi ignored her requests to come indoors and have her food. She just sat there, out in the open, while torn blankets of clouds swept over the moon and the stars, while the chickens scampered in their coop. Bhagvati sat beside her, equally quiet and still, watching the sky. Aditi went to bed when she felt she might topple over due to exhaustion. She did not have her dinner, and neither did Bhagvati.

  The following days were routine for Manoj. He woke up in the mornings, took his bath, lit incense-sticks and recited prayers. Although he did not find breakfast waiting for him, he walked to his bank only to return at nights. Aditi hardly left her bedroom. She didn’t bother talking or even acknowledging the presence of the visitor and left Bhagvati to her cot. She no longer had the will to cook food even for herself.

  Bhagvati did her best to be useful. To begin with, she let Aditi vent out her anger on herself. She took care of the kitchen and the cleaning. Though Aditi was not speaking to her, or with anybody for that matter, she made sure the chickens were fed and the bedroom swept and mopped. She attended to the small square plots which Aditi had dug up along the boundary wall of the backyard and sowed with seeds of tomato, radish and coriander to keep herself busy. The seeds had already sprouted and tiny plants were growing their way out of the soil.

  When the three girls came for tuition the next day, Aditi turned them away. It so happened that Laila and her family had gone out to visit someone assuming that Aditi would be taking responsibility of the girls for the rest of the day. Again, it was Bhagvati who kept them engaged for hours by telling them stories of jinns and demons.

  Sometimes Aditi thought she was being too harsh on Bhagvati. Bhagvati was in no way responsible for what had happened. Yet, she couldn’t summon the strength or the will, or maybe she didn’t want to, to talk to her and give her the respect she ought to. Aditi did admit many a time
that with Bhagvati around, things were a lot better. One of the biggest reliefs was that from Arvind who came to her house every day to replace the battery. Ever since Laila had told her about his illness and his shady history of women, Aditi had grown cautious of him.

  He often came to her house bearing gifts – the roosters to start with, sometimes sweets and once a bag filled with live, crawling prawns (very fresh!). What she initially perceived to be courtesy towards her husband, now seemed to be shrewd, calculated moves to come closer to her. As Laila had said, he did seem ill and haggard. But Aditi also noticed that he always came after her husband had left for office. Most of the times the battery wasn’t even fully discharged. But he didn’t mind carrying it to and fro.

  On the third day since her retreat to her bedroom, she was glad that Bhagvati went to receive the door when she heard the familiar ‘TRING-TRING’ outside. Since it was the second time that morning, Aditi knew he hadn’t come for the battery. This time he had brought two big, alive and gasping fish (super fresh!), to welcome the mother-in-law of the manager. Aditi guessed he thought Bhagvati was her mother, and there was no reason for him to think otherwise. And no sooner had he left, Laila barged into her house and talkative as she was, began chatting her up while Bhagvati left the fish in a bucket of water and prepared tea and snacks for them. Aditi was sick, that was what Laila had assumed, that was what Aditi had told her daughters, and that was exactly what Aditi appeared like. She had grown pale. Her eyes had shrunk and receded into their hollows.

  “Look at you, Madam! Did you see a ghost? If only I had returned earlier. I was away, Madam. In Forbisganj. My uncle lives there, you see. His son is not well. These little kids I tell you, always up to some mischief. They never listen. One time…”

  Laila talked her into leaving her room and taking a bath. While she did so, the other two women sat together to chat as Bhagvati ground mustard seeds on a stone slab for the fish. In the evening, after Laila had had a good gossip with Bhagvati – “That man, I tell you,” she told Bhagvati at the door when she was leaving, “I have never seen anyone work so tirelessly. But what good are these government schemes? Are they? I am just going on and on. But what can I do, there is so much to say and listen. Oh! You will come to my house, won’t you? We will talk over tea.” – and left, Aditi found Bhagvati in the backyard rubbing her hands in ash, the two fish gasping feebly on the ground next to a large plate and a hansua – a sharp, curved blade fixed on a wooden board. Aditi sat on the steps and watched as Bhagvati clapped her hands, emanating small clouds of ash, picked up the nearest fish and began cutting off the fins. Its gills moved up and down. Its eyes bulged. All the poor fish could do was open and close its mouth as its body was rubbed against the blade and its scales peeled. It was only when its head was cut off that it was released from its suffering. The grey cat watched from the top of the boundary wall.