Devi

by Nag Mani

  “Now don’t say that! Your daughter…”

  “I went to him, you know!” Bhagvati cut her off, her voice trembling now. “When the investigation was over, I begged him to marry Payal. It’s not like she is not beautiful. She is. Our family was broken into pieces. Her future lay dark before me. And there is that politician who stands for elections every time and god knows whatever he does to win. He had his eyes on her. It was one chance to put the pieces back together. My only mistake was that I had doubted Manoj. But I begged him to forgive me for going to the police, you know. His father pushed me out in the street and I knelt before him. Ask the villagers if you don’t believe me. But his father wouldn’t budge.”

  Aditi felt a lump in her throat. She could visualise the scene. A woman begging forgiveness while the villagers crowded around and watched. Aditi could almost feel her plight – but it wasn’t hers to feel. She might think that she could feel it, but the truth was that she could only imagine how it felt.

  “When they wouldn’t listen to me, I sent my relatives. Manoj said he couldn’t just marry when his wife had died only so recently. He seemed right then. He promised to come to us when he was ready. But then he was only pushing us back, for we waited for years for him to come. We wrote to him. Most of the times he didn’t reply, and sometimes when he did, he said he needed more time. We didn’t look for anyone else for our daughter. And there could have been no one better than him. So we waited, waited for him to come to us. But the only thing that came from his house was the news of his wedding.”

  Aditi stroked her arms gently. “You were willing to marry Payal in the same house in which Lakshmi died?”

  “I thought he was family. I thought he was my boy. We had looked after him as if he was our own son.”

  “And he isn’t helping you even now?”

  “He is. Now. But it will take time. One of his loans will expire in a week and then he will apply for another.”

  “That is one week. Why are you packing your bags today?”

  “But haven’t I been a headache here? I have a sister in Deepnagar. I will go to her. And it would only seem rude if I didn’t.”

  “Then you must go to her… but not today.” Aditi stood up and smiled. “Today, I am going to make some good strong tea, call Laila and the three of us are going to have some chit-chat. And I am going to ask her about all that sudden interest in school. Zeenat seems very distracted recently. It’s school, alright, but I have a feeling that something is not straight.”

  “You can tell her mother.” Bhagvati finally wiped her face clean with her aanchal and took a deep breath. Relaxed. “But she has been going to school like she said. That is not the problem.”

  “Then?”

  “It’s a boy. It’s always a boy.”

  *

  When Aditi asked Manoj about the loan he was planning to take and pass on the amount to Bhagvati, he just grumbled with irritation. It was a cool, moist night. She had let Bachcha inside the hall. He had curled around in a corner on the floor, pretending to sleep, and then jumped onto the cot while the married couple carried out their strained talks in the bedroom. Bhagvati had gone to visit her sister in the morning. Since she had carried only one bag and left her other luggage behind, Aditi assumed she would be returning in a couple of days and that was a sort of relief to her. She had wanted the day for herself, so she had given the girls some assignment in the afternoon and told them to be off.

  “How much is she asking for?” Aditi spoke to Manoj for the first time in almost two weeks, sniffing slightly with a cold. The window was open and stars were sparkling with all the excellence they could muster. There was no moon.

  It was the night of Amavasya.

  “Is there any limit to that? Whatever it will be will not be enough,” he mumbled to himself, his hands behind his head on a pillow, staring at the stationary fan. For some reason or the other, Arvind had not brought a charged battery and the power had run out. They were lying in the light of a lamp, doing nothing but watching shadows flicker on the wall.

  Aditi wanted to press on, but a sudden gust of irritation exploded from her core. He didn’t even care to explain his business with Bhagvati, and there he was, still giving disguised replies. She wanted to fight with him, let out her anger. She wanted to ask about the loan that was about to expire. When he had taken that loan, and what he had done with the money. There were more questions she needed to ask. The haunting memories of her past came back to life. She could no longer bear the presence of the man. With unnecessary force, she leapt out of the bed and went to the hall. Bachcha jumped off the cot the moment he saw her. She was enraged. “You,” she growled, “on bed?”

  There was a thick wooden plank that could be fixed to the door to provide extra strength. She hurled it at the dog. Bachcha crouched low on the floor, his ears flat and tails between his legs. It struck squarely on his head. The night was torn with the yelling of the dog. She removed her slipper and began beating him. Blows after blows, while he whimpered and wriggled. When that was not enough, she lifted him and smashed him on a wall. He fell at some uncanny angle. Limping and whimpering, he rushed to the door, furiously looking for a way out. She unlatched it, kicked him out into the night and banged it shut. Then she returned to the cot and sat there, erect, till her breaths had calmed down.

  She closed her eyes and tried to count backwards.

  109.

  108.

  107…

  She heard footsteps on the roof.

  Soft. Slow. Indistinct. Yet present.

  Bangles jingled lightly with each step.

  She hurried back to the bedroom.

  Someone was roaming under the eternal night sky and amid dark shapes that slept under it, humming a song of a mother calling for her daughter wedded in a faraway land.

  *

  Bhagvati returned two days later and she had an extra luggage – a big, colourful plastic bag filled with homemade pickles and drinks and jams and jellies. Aditi was teaching the three girls – three, for Zeenat did not go to school that day – when Bhagvati knocked at the door, beaming and gasping, her forearms covered in colourful bangles. Zeba and Zoya jumped from their seats to greet her. Bachcha stood behind on the veranda, wagging his tail. Aditi had called for him the next morning of that unfortunate night and he had come with all the speed his unfit legs could muster. It had taken only one pat on his head to heal his trust, though it took days for his leg to do so.

  “This is one bottle of delicious mango pickles,” Bhagvati was pulling out the contents of her bag as everyone hovered around her. “And this, chilly pickle. These are handmade incense sticks. Rose. Chameli. Mogra. My sister has a full business running out there. And this,” she was holding a bottle of dried and crumbled rose petals and tulsi leaves floating in a thick serum, “is a home-made drink my grandmother used to make. Only that I added a bit of tulsi leaves. And this is…”

  “What exactly is it?” Aditi asked.

  “Oh! This is our people’s substitute to your Rooh Afza in cities. Put some petals and sugar in a bottle and leave it out in the sun to dry for a couple of days. Wait! I’ll make a drink for all of us. And this lemon pickle here,” she said lifting a jar of peeled, brownish lemons, “have you ever had it with water? I will bring you lemon drinks as well. Good for digestion. And Zeenat, you didn’t to school today?”

  “No,” Zeenat blushed.

  “And you are still wearing that kajal?”

  “No. I just…” she tried to say something in defence, but there was nothing she could think of.

  “I told you,” Bhagvati said going to the kitchen, “that kajal is addictive. Wait till your mother finds out! Girls as young as you shouldn’t wear kajal.”

  Aditi knew this was the chance. “Zeba, my backyard is all dirty again. Now that we are taking a break, can you just give a quick sweep around. You know, just a few strokes here and there…”

  Zeba stood up, and so did Zeenat.

  “No! You stay. You hav
en’t completed the assignment I gave you the day before. Why?”

  “I was in school…”

  “School? But that doesn’t get you away with it. You sit back and complete it. Zoya can help her if she wants…” She hadn’t even completed her sentence when Zoya sprang to her feet and ran out into the backyard. Zeba lingered for some time, hoping to be with her elder sister in the time of trouble, but left when Zeenat opened her book and started working on the problems.

  “What is his name?” Aditi asked a moment later.

  “What?” Zeenat looked up, colours draining down her cheeks. “Who? Whose name?”

  “This school friend of yours.”

  There was a quick glance towards the kitchen. Then she lowered her gaze and continued with her work. “I have many friends in school.”

  Aditi studied her for some time. Her fair skin. Her pretty face trying not to express the nervousness within. Her hair tied tightly with a worn-out elastic band. She was intelligent, Aditi thought. With proper education and a bit of support she could have done something with her life. And that was what Aditi had planned for her. But then came along this unknown boy with whatever he had in his mind. And what did he have in mind? What do all young boys have in their minds?

  “You know Zeenat, you are ruining your…” Aditi couldn’t say ‘career’, so she pondered and ended with, “…life. It is not safe. He will make your laugh with his pranks and silly jokes. He will make you feel important with his words. But you never know what he has in mind. You are young, Zeenat. You don’t know what you are doing.”

  Aditi thought Zeenat would pretend ignorance. But her face hardened. And after a moment, she blurted out, “He is not like others. He is different.”

  “They all are.”

  “He will never use me.”

  “They all say.”

  “He hasn’t even touched me.”

  “You might not have given him a chance.”

  There was a pause. “He is a good man. I know him.”

  “He must be a good boy, if you say so. But what you are doing is not right. What if your mother finds out?”

  Another pause. Then Zeenat’s eyes began to sparkle as she spoke, “I want to marry him.”

  So, this was it. She wanted to marry him. No wonder she had been thinking, then dreaming, then living her dreams of her happy days married to him. Bhagvati served them their drinks, then went out to the backyard with more glasses.

  “He is still in school, Zeenat…”

  “In five months he will be out.”

  “What does his father do?” Zeenat remained silent. Aditi asked again.

  “He is a fisherman.”

  “And what does this boy plan to do?”

  Another period of silence.

  “You know your father will never agree to it. They won’t be able to provide anything that you take for granted here.”

  “I don’t need anything as long as I am with him.”

  “Where will you stay once you get married?”

  “I can sleep on the road if I get married to him.”

  Zeenat was crying now. These youngsters and their fickle minds! Aditi knew it was just a temporary infatuation, nothing more, but it was taking its toll on her studies. And she also knew the more she tried to reason with her, the more Zeenat would distance herself from her. Everyone appears as an enemy to young love-birds.

  “Okay, Zeenat. I understand you. In a way you are right. You are fighting for what you love, no matter what others say. I completely understand you. Say what, I talk to your mother about him?”

  “No, please, Aunty. Don’t…”

  “What do you want, your mother to marry you to someone else? I will tell her what a good couple you two will make. I know you, Zeenat, and your choice cannot be wrong.”

  “Will you, Aunty?” There was a spark in her eyes.

  “Yes, why not! I will convince her, don’t worry. But I have to know more about this boy…”

  “Rashid. Rashid is his name.”

  “And what does he plan to do after school?”

  “Join his father, maybe…”

  “Okay. Good enough. Two meals a day and a good night’s sleep. What else do you need? Happiness is far more satisfying than money. You should see these rich in cities… too much money, but never at peace. He has a house, hasn’t he? I mean, his father?”

  “Yes,” Zeenat was now blurting with excitement.

  “How big is it?”

  “Two rooms.”

  “One for you two and one for his parents. That is good, that is good. You can easily manage in one room. But what when you have kids? I mean you will need more rooms then… you are planning to have kids, right?” Zeenat blushed. A nod. Aditi continued, “At least two children, I suppose. They can stay in one room, with their mother. What can be a better place than a mother’s lap? And when they are all grown they can sleep on the floor.” Aditi saw the spark diminish. “Then there is schooling. Then books and clothes. But his father earns enough, doesn’t he? You can ask him to take care of them. And what if they get sick? There are no hospitals here. Where will you take them? Purnia? Rashid can always ask his father for money, can’t he?”

  Aditi smiled to herself as Zeenat hung her head. She gave her a few moments to let the facts sink in – that life was more than just love. “You yourself can do a job, Zeenat. Not the menial kind of job, but in offices, like in cities. Look at Sir. We have our own house… garden. Roses your sister is so fond of. You can have them all. You can live with him. The two of you, together and happy. And you don’t have to rely on his father, or anyone for the matter of fact. Rashid can continue his fish business and you can work in your office. But then, it’s easily said than done…”

  “I will do it!” Zeenat said out loudly. There was a strange determination on her face. “I will do it. I will become an officer. A big officer. Then I won’t live here. I will take him with me to the city. He and his parents.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t think you have what it takes to do it.”

  “I will! I will show you!”

  “Then stop wasting time and fooling around in school. Study. You have the entire life to be with him. And what can your mother do once you are all grown up and have your own job? No one can stop you from marrying whoever you want…”

  “Rashid. No one else,” Zeenat interrupted.

  “Study, Zeenat. That is all I have to say.” She paused before adding, “You are doing it for him.”

  Zeenat was hopping with excitement when the girls left, telling her sisters about the conversation she had with Aditi. “I will become an officer,” she announced, wiping off her smeared kajal, as she pranced back to her house. Thunderous clouds were coming in from south, promising rain as had never been seen before.

  She had not taken more than a dozen steps when something held her wrist.

  Something with long, cold fingers.

  She jumped around… only to find no one there. Flabbergasted, she turned around, rubbing her wrist, and ran to catch up with her sisters.

  She didn’t notice the black finger marks that had appeared on her fair wrist.

  Neither did anyone else.

  CHAPTER 12

  THE PRICE

  When This-Boy appeared before Aditi during the first year of her college, she failed to recognise him. His section had been changed when they were in Standard 1. She didn’t bother to remember or recognise him after that. So when he stepped in front of her during a college event and bared his pearly teeth, she stepped back in fright and was about to scream for help. Young men from other colleges often visited the Bhagalpur Women’s College for various academic events. They would stay in their groups, talk in hushed voices and throw longing glances at girls and young lady teachers. The more adventurous ones would try to talk to contestants and other girls of the women’s college. But that was a risk only a few dared to take, for if caught, the matter would be reported to their parents and they would be barred from future events or
expelled.

  Aditi was least mindful of the rules and regulations. No one seemed interested in her. She roamed the campus freely with her books and registers clutched over her chest. She had never expected that someone would risk getting expelled for her. Controlling her impulse to run away from the lanky boy standing in front her, Aditi had managed to maintain her composure during the formal conversation. Blushing and with warm cheeks, she had marched straight off to home after the boy took his leave.

  They met again a month or so later. And a week after that. And then again. And again. And before she knew, she started liking his company. He was the only person she had met who was a match for her intelligence, maybe even superior. They talked about their subjects and their careers. He too aspired to become an IAS officer. And before long, their discussions transformed from studies into personal matters. He was poor, but learned, and lived in the Dalit jhuggis along the banks of the Ganga.

  She admired him. His soft, girlish face. His long eye-lashes. His dense, curly hair. His confidence. She fell in love with roses when he took her to a nursery. He needed to buy some pesticides. And there, right in front of a large, richly constructed visitors’ hut, was a small lawn with a variety of colourful roses. She was mesmerized by the one in the centre. Deep red. Velvety texture.

  One day, when he told her to come to his house, she became nervous. She was reluctant. But he insisted. She left her house saying that she was going to a friend’s place and took a rickshaw to the ghats. Large boats and steamers were ferrying men and women across the river. A bridge was under construction. They said it would be one of the longest bridges in India once it was finished, running over the water for 4.7 kilometres and connecting Bhagalpur with the districts in the north. It would be known as the Vikramshila Setu.