by Nag Mani
“Drink, my son,” Bhagvati said. Aditi took the glass with quivering hands. “This is my daughter, Payal. She will take care of you. No need to worry. I am here. I am here for you. We are here for you.”
“Did anything happen to me?” Aditi whispered, fearing the worst. “Those men…”
Bhagvati did not reply. She looked tense. Her wrinkles on her leathery skin deepened. In the silence that followed, a gentle breeze came in through the window, bringing with it bursts of distant sounds. Though faint and shallow, Aditi knew that they were of someone mourning. The maize field stood silent and wounded, fully aware of the tension that seemed to engulf the entire village.
“Mahesh and his men died last night. The Bakara River took them away.”
Aditi gasped. “What? How? What happened?”
“They were crossing the river when their boat capsized. Mahesh. His cousin. Four other men.”
“What about the others? Was there no one to rescue them?”
“The river god was angry. The water was fierce. No one had the courage to swim in.” Bhagvati and Payal exchanged looks. “But… tell me something – these women here have been blabbering all over the village now. Of course, it’s all big mouth and lots of time. And Laila is not quiet about it either. You know it’s garbage, but when you sit with them, you have got to listen. Did you actually pray in that ancient temple?”
“Yes, why not?” Aditi looked from one face to the other.
“No. No. You did not get me. When you pass the temple you bow your head, you should! Sometimes, when things turn troublesome, you visit the temple, fold your hands and ask forgiveness. That is all. But you don’t go inside… The shrine is vacant – you don’t pray there. No one worships the Devi! You did not go there, my son, did you?”
Aditi shook her head. She rested her head on her pillow and closed her eyes; and it was then she realised that she was still shaking her head. She stopped – she had intended to nod. Deep in her heart she knew – that was the reason everything was happening.
Bhagvati eyed her, but her stare was broken by a knock on the door. It was the inspector, Neeraj Mishra. “Sorry, I came this late. Was busy with some things. They told me you ran out into the forest last night?” A constable waited outside.
“Razzak has a family to take care of. What would happen to them if they came?”
“Yes, I understand… but still… Anyway, you are lucky. I mean… I guess you know that the boat…”
Aditi nodded.
“Okay,” he rubbed his hands and sat on a chair. “I hope you don’t mind if ask you a few questions. Where…?”
“What happened to Mahesh? And the men who drowned with him?” she cut in.
“Yes, we have registered a case of accident. Fourteen men had been called for questioning regarding the murder. Six of them drowned in the river on their way back. We have recovered five of their bodies. One is still missing. We will find it soon. So, as I was asking…”
“What about the Mukhiya?”
“His case was registered yesterday itself. Murder by unknown assailants. We are questioning his family for any suspects, you know, someone he might have had a recent tiff with. But it seems more like an inside job. There was no break in. No sign of any struggle. It appears that he had gone to the temple on his own, right in the dead of the night. Sumitra Devi said…”
“Oh! Come on! You know what the cause of the death was? You have been in the village long enough.”
Payal entered the room with a glass of water. The inspector gulped it down in one go. “We need something to go into the files. Reality will not be taken well by the hot-shots sitting in A.C. offices in Patna. The flood has contained the news, otherwise his death would not have been dealt with so peacefully. He had deep political roots. I hope the case cools down by the time the water recedes and we have a legitimate file to throw at our seniors.”
“You are not affected by any of it, are you?” Aditi said slowly. “These are just cases to you, files that you are duty bound to maintain. Maybe you haven’t seen enough deaths…”
“How many deaths should be enough, Aditi Prasad?” Inspector Mishra shot back, his voice raised. “Because I think I have seen much more than seven men die. Seven? That is what got you upset? Just seven?” He paused to consider something. “Ever heard about the case of Roshni Kumari? She was sixteen when her parents married her off. Her in-laws wanted more dowry; and when her father couldn’t meet their demand, they decided to kill her and find someone who could. And let me describe to you how they did it. When you try to kill someone, they usually put up a fight, no matter how weak they are. And they scream. They scream a lot, especially the weak ones. Her in-laws needed her not to make a sound when they started killing her. So they lifted a brick and broke her teeth and cut out her tongue. They thought she wouldn’t be able to scream if they did so. Then they locked their house and set her on fire. Alive. The neighbours heard her screams, but none dared to help, or even object. You know why? Because this little girl, she would come and go, another would take her place. But her in-laws, they had been living there for ages and would continue to do so. No one here wants enmity with their neighbours, that too for the sake of one little girl.
“Someone did inform us, though. That was my second week in this village. We rushed to the house. Apparently, they hadn’t used enough kerosene to kill her. They had to save some to cook dinner. When they caught wind of us, they took the girl by the river side and tried to bury her. They fled when they saw us. She was still alive when we found her. Half buried in wet mud. All burnt. Her eyes still haunt me. They were so big… and white, like some creature thriving in her blackened body. She was asking for water. She must be what, about seventeen then, and two months pregnant, and she was tortured, burnt and buried alive.”
“What… what happened to her?”
“What could have happened to her, Aditi Prasad? Death is more merciful than we humans are.”
“And her in-laws?”
“Her in-laws? What about them? This is not some movie plot where a common man becomes a hero and gets his revenge and lives happily ever after. We arrested her father-in-law. He is old and dying and has nothing to do. He gets free meals in a jail and proper medical facilities. He just sits and prays and waits, passing the remainder of his life in peace. Her husband is still absconding. Probably married to some other girl now. And her parents… they cried when they came to collect her body and then for a few days after her funeral. That was all.”
For a few moments, nobody seemed to say anything. Even Bhagvati and Payal, who were in the hall, held their breaths. “I know of women who have been raped, and are being raped, but I cannot take action because they refuse to report it. A woman once came to me to complain that her husband married her and left for Punjab a day later. His father and his younger brother, a bloody fifteen-year-old, had been raping her ever since. I filed an FIR. But before I could get her to put her thumb, her mother-in-law marched into the station and pulled her out. “We have endured it all our lives, what is the problem with you? You think you are a queen or something?” This is what she told her. I could have arrested her in-laws. But what then? Her husband would have never accepted her, neither would her society. He would have thrown her out. This being the case I if I did arrest them. But she never put her thumb. She herself knew the consequences. Her parents were poor enough. They married her off only to lighten their burden. Do you think they would fight a legal battle for her? No, they wouldn’t. Leave alone the legality, would they have even welcomed her home if her husband abandoned her? The first thing they would have done would have been to march her to my station, withdraw the complaint and force her to apologise.
“Even if they did go ahead with the case and even if they won, who would marry her then? Marry a woman who had already been married, used… woman who got her husband and in-laws arrested? Such women are not applauded here, Aditi Prasad, they are looked down upon. She would have been a burden they could never get rid o
f. It’s easy for you educated women to go around talking of rights and giving your educated advices, but think about it. An uneducated woman, here in this village… What will she do if her husband abandons her? And along with him the society? She doesn’t know the laws. She doesn’t know her rights. All she can do is go around asking others for help and will only end up getting exploited in the name of help. Can I get another glass of water here?” he said to the hall.
Aditi gulped. His words pierced her, yet they were the truth. Respect is a luxury for the rich. The poor struggle to survive. Without education, a woman would always be dependent on her husband. And that was the irony – that women were not educated because all they had to do was be dependent on their husbands.
“I come from a poor family,” Inspector Mishra continued after he drank another glass of water and Payal went back to the hall. “My father owned a small grocery shop in Bhagalpur. I cleared the state police exam thinking I would change the system. But it’s always the vice-versa. I took bribes. I let criminals escape. I know nexuses that run deep in the political system. But I sit in my office and watch them do their dirty work. At the end of the day, they deliver me my share. I take it back to my wife and I see her smile. She doesn’t want to know where it comes from. She just wants it to keep coming. But what can I do? They come knocking at my door. Tell my wife to take their names when I return. If I shoot a criminal, they will set an enquiry on me. I have to prove whatever I did. But they? They don’t need permission to shoot. They don’t need warrant to enter my house. They… Leave that, and tell me, Aditi Prasad,” he stretched back in his chair, “should I care if the Mukhiya or his criminal of a son drowned in a river? Should I care if his wife chopped off his head, or his son, or the Devi herself? And to tell you the truth, we could have helped them. Jumped in the river and saved them. But we didn’t. We stood by and watched the river take them away.” An evil flickered in his eyes. “And frankly speaking, I felt a sense of satisfaction watching them cry for help and fear for their lives. But now is not the time to discuss what I felt or did. I am here because I know you. You might not know me, but I do. He was my best friend. And I know what you meant to him. We grew up together. You couldn’t keep in touch when he left the village, but I did.” Something dark clouded Aditi’s face and he quickly added, “It wasn’t your fault; and you know it.” Silence. The constable outside was talking with someone. “And let go of this episode of yesterday. You are unhurt, and that is all that matters. All that happened wasn’t your fault either. There is more to it than you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“I ask again. Where is your husband?”
“I told you. He went to Purnia yesterday morning. The bank summoned him for something urgent. And please don’t drag him into this. You know how this happened!”
“We called the zonal office,” the inspector continued, ignoring her. “He never reported. And what’s more, he is officially on leave.”
Lying was one of the many things that could be expected of Manoj. This didn’t come as a surprise. But what if something happened to him… what if he never reached… “Where is he? Did he… reach home?” The words barely came out.
“Yes, he did.” Inspector Mishra crossed his arms and sat back against the chair. “Your tenant, Vinita, she said he came home two nights ago. They had kept a room arranged for him. But he left again the next morning. Where did he go?”
“I don’t know… His parents live in Naugachia. And he has a brother, Ajay Prasad. He lives in Madhepura. He runs a gas agency…”
“Ah! Ajay Prasad! Did you know he paid regular visits here? He had come quite close to our Mukhiya, our Om Prakash Singh.”
“Yes, I know.” She didn’t elaborate.
“And there is this Heera Lal Singh. He lives further in the interior of the village. Very interior area it is. He is a distant relative of Om Prakash. Did you know your husband visited him quite often?”
“I don’t know. Must be another of bank business.”
“Yes, it was! Turns out Om Prakash had mediated a loan for this relative of his. A big amount. And it was always Om Prakash who took your husband there. They were always gracious to welcome him. I am sure all loan-takers keep their managers pleased and happy. He had come to my station this afternoon, this Heera Lal Singh. All tears and words for his distant brother. Half the family wiped out in one night. Father and son…” Aditi waited for him to continue. “Did you know he also has an unmarried daughter? Gitanjali. I’ve heard she is very fair and pretty. But mentally unsound… just a bit. Doesn’t have much intelligence. She is innocent and naïve. Good at heart. Like a cow…”
She suddenly thought of the field trip she undertook with Manoj. The last customer, who had served them with lots to eat, what was his name? She recalled the pretty young woman who had served them. Was it her the inspector was talking about? “What are you getting at?” Her nostrils flared with anger. Of all the things her husband could do, she least suspected him of infidelity. She found herself uncontrollably defending him.
“I am not getting at anything… as of now. I wanted to inform you that this Heera Lal Singh has recently gifted two acres of land to your husband. He hasn’t completed the paperwork yet, but was going to do it soon.”
Aditi let out a gasp. This was too big a thing to hide from her. Land couldn’t have been very expensive in the interior of the village. But to pass it off as a gift… It could be the commission for the loan he passed. But the loan had to be pretty huge for a piece of land to be the commission. Bhagvati came and stood by the doorframe. She had been listening all along, but now she made it clear that she had been doing so. “What was the amount of the loan?” Aditi asked.
Inspector Mishra studied her face for a few heavy moments. He rose from his seat. Settled his belt. He seemed to have guessed what she was thinking. “Let’s hope it was big enough for that land.” And he left.
What the goddamn was this Manoj up to? Was it a reckless choice rashly made, or a calculated move? The bank hadn’t called him. Manoj had to leave the village for some reason and he did so only after Bhagvati had left to bring her daughter. And out of all the people, he chose the Mukhiya to be her host, the same Mukhiya who was beheaded that very night. The timing was perfect. The cards were well played. Did Manoj know, somehow, that the Mukhiya would die? Was there some plan set in action long before she even came to the village? She shuddered as another thought crept in. Was the Mukhiya supposed to die? Or was it someone else?
Did the Devi take the wrong person?
She had come to her first, hadn’t she? She remembered the fingers on her head, cold and long, extending right up to her lips. And even as Aditi continued to murmur that she did not kill her child, she saw herself lying in a cold dingy room that reeked of urine. And she saw it all. Re-lived her dreaded, dark past she had struggled to erase from her memory.
It started with an innocent visit. It was just a friend helping another friend. It was just a Dalit entering a Brahmin’s home.
When her father was questioning This-Boy, she hurriedly tidied her clothes and her bed, her heart maddened with dread. By the time her father came in, she was sitting on her bed. She didn’t dare meet his eyes. Maybe he understood…
She was sleeping that night when the Dalit houses were razed. Her father was angry with her, that much she knew. Of all the daughters, he could not believe that she would be the one who wouldn’t uphold the honour of their family.
The mere thought of what This-Boy had to go through was torturous. She discussed with herself different methods of suicide, the pain they inflict, the spontaneity of death and the consequences of failure, but didn’t have the courage to actually experiment.
That could have been a reason it took some time before she noticed that she had missed her periods.
It was almost three weeks when she complained to her mother about her abdominal pain. She was handed an antacid tablet. Days later she summoned the courage to tell her about her missed period
. She was told that sometimes they were late.
One night as her parents lay on their bed waiting for sleep to takeover, her mother mumbled something about her periods. Her father couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night. He had noticed the subtle changes in her body. Those words were all he needed to confirm his nightmare.
It was well over a month. The nurses in the city would not keep their mouths shut. The news would spread. The honour her father had earned and maintained for years would all shatter in a moment. That was when Sangeeta Nurse entered Aditi’s life uninvited. She had assisted a doctor for over ten years before she decided it was high time she adopted the title herself. Doctor Sangeeta Nurse shifted to Purnia and started her own clinic.
The clinic a was shady building built (illegally?) behind a pathology lab. “It is nothing. Just a simple procedure. Everything will be all right, gudiya!” Doctor Sangeeta Nurse had assured her, lips smiling, eyes judging.
Aditi was shivering when they made her lie down on a dirty operation table. Of all the suicidal methods she had thought of, that definitely wasn’t one. How she wished she never woke up after the operation! Doctor Sangeeta Nurse loomed above her and caressed her hair, “Everything will be all right, gudiya!”
Everything was not all right. But Doctor Sangeeta Nurse chose to ignore that she had permanently damaged her patient’s uterus.
Was the Devi supposed to take Aditi instead of the old man? But then, why didn’t she?
And that shit load of the land her husband received as a gift? And who was this pretty girl the inspector was talking about? It must have been her, the girl who had served them. But why would a young, unmarried woman serve a professional guest when there were enough servants and even older women to do so? Aditi clenched her fists. It was a bloody show of their secret romance! That woman was performing the sacred duty of a wife – serving her husband – practicing for the time when it came. And they had the audacity to do it right in front of her! That bitch was as naïve as a cow, that was what the inspector had said. And that was exactly what Ajay had said, years ago, that a wife should be like a cow!