tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56136326753671888482024-03-07T19:49:10.480-08:00Scent of Own InkSarojini Sahoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06356168164108611237noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613632675367188848.post-46029669485394024812016-05-21T00:00:00.003-07:002016-05-21T02:34:34.948-07:00<!--[if !mso]>
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<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">( After a long
gap I am going to continue my blog “Scent of own Ink” with the stories of
Jagadish mohanty .Jagadish Mohanty considered as trend setter in Odia
short stories. After his entry in Odia short story in 1970 it created a news
and sensation. He entirely changed the diction and theme of post independent
story pattern For last four decade an exceptional and unparallel story writer,
who is a craze still among the young Odia writer. Most of Odia writers are
influenced by Jagadish Mohanty language theme and Style. The Beast is of his
selective stories. This story has been translated by Mr. Karunakar
Mohapatra.Hope readers will enjoy it.
)
</span><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">
The Beast
Jagadish Mohanty </span></b><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">Dear Readers, a helpless
lamentation of a soundless distress is hidden in this story. Be interested.
Advance slowly towards the story. Throw away the words, take away ornaments of
poetry. Scratch away the thin layer of words, dig deep and uproot to reach the
depth. Blow away the similes and metaphors. Then you will see a helpless
distress lying supine, without a covering. That is our goal.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">Come, it will take you to an
unfamiliar world where your politics and election, hunger and exploitation do
not exist. There is no love, no attachment, nor tears nor taste of a kiss. Yet
all these are there – in different forms and different taste. There you will
meet raw nature in every atom, every molecule. You will meet the whole
universe. It will take you beyond millions of light years to another universe.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">Many think of him as uneducated
and uncultured. Without any experience and sensibility. An inert piece of clods
– <i>Jada Bharat</i>. He has no politics, no sense of discrimination between
good and bad. He does not know love and affection, has no attachment to
anything. He has not benefited by dish antenna, nor does he understand the
language of star T.V. So he does not know what love is. From time immemorial he
is not even a man for the Odia readers of stories. He is animal of flesh and
blood, of arteries and veins, of bones and bone marrows, of hairs on skin and
head, of nails and teeth, of eyes and ears and a nose. He has only a stomach,
no brain. Such ideas are wrapped round him that his real appearance is not
visible to Odia readers.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">Yet, beneath all these layers is
hidden his real character; like Valmiki, like Ratnakara, merciless in killing,
soft in death, cool in judgment, hot in love. Come he will take you to such a
man. Come he is sitting on the bond of the pond. The chameleon has appeared by
shaking its head thrice. The forgetful dragonfly will be dragged away to its
depth by the tongue of the frog. Come, come quickly.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">Where lies hidden so much of
hunger? Only hunger makes him restless. He had eaten a few date palm fruits –
mixed with sand, more skin and seed than kernel. Had eaten three guavas – no
not three, only two and half because a part of it was shared by a bat. Before
he could eat another, an urchin saw him and shouted. That urchin was as
faithful as Hanuman. While eating guava, did he not remember his hungry son or
his starving wife or his old mother suffering from an unknown disease? No, not
at all. It is not that all human sensibility was wasted away. It is not that
when he takes his son on his lap, he does not feel any attachment. It is not
that philosophers have made him tired and exhausted by throwing him like a
tennis ball between existentialism and socialism. For what pleasure a self-banished
man goes to the forest, picks up a rifle and lets blood flow from a heart? A
status quoits becomes a terrorist? Discarding Lenin’s garment people take up
Gorboyechov’s or Yelstin’s?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">For his wife he has only raw
passion of midnight. It is not that he does not turn to God and pray to be
spared this dreadful fate, when he is carrying your mother to the cremation
ground. But he cannot assuage his hunger. And this is also true that in this
world there is no adulterated truth.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">There he is, sitting hidden on
the bond of the pond. The minister will come to the college. To erect a pandal
he was requested to contribute his labour by some students of the college, by
lecturers and by some gentlemen of the village. He had made up his mind not to
go. He does not at all feel inclined to work neither free labour nor bonded
labour at the village headman’s, nor even paid work in the field. He does not
like to muck around in the watery mud, nor among paddy plants, insects and
grass and creepers. Rather he likes to sit on the bond between fields and watch
the struggles of life – how the bonds are being washed away by the current, how
helpless are the insects during a storm or how a shoal of small fish against
all odds marching in procession to declare their victory.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">Come, come to him. Tear away the
skin from his bare chest. See how he has kept himself imprisoned in the chamber
of bones, with windows closed and screened. Is he sweating profusely? Is he
feeling suffocated? Wait a second. Once you get acclimatized to the darkness
everything will be visible. So clear in the mirror instead of your face will
appear. Come, jump into the chamber of his heart.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">Very irritating and very
horrifying is the dream. A tiger is waiting in the courtyard. They are all
behind closed doors, low thatched roof. They are four of them, very
uncomfortable in the smoke and spider webs. The old mother is almost
unconscious, covered with rags she is whimpering on the floor. He was trying to
see the tiger through the chinks in the door of bamboo splints. Surunani and
her son dragged him away. The tiger probably yawned, wagged its tail and
growled loudly.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">The same dream recurred through
out the night. Surunani had stolen a fistful of rice from village headman’s
house. Not enough for the old mother and the child. His share was watery gruel.
Surunani had nothing but water. How can she assuage her hunger only by water?
He saw only darkness in the bowl of watery gruel and the tiger in the dream
throughout the night.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">The man handed him a cup of tea
and dragged him away from his dream. Take a cup of tea my Goodman. Do you know
what the real problem is? The time is bad. Formerly a k.g of rice used to cost
just Re.1. But now it is seven to eight rupees. So you see how difficult it is
to manage. Then again, if it is the truckers on strike today, tomorrow <i>Bharat
Bandh</i>. If today the terrorists created mayhem, tomorrow it is the
Hindu-Muslim riot. Is the <i>Malika</i> wrong? Everybody will be equal, no
differentiation among castes.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">It is not in the Malika but in the
Bhagabat. But he did not feel like correcting the man. He yawned. The sole of
his feet is torn. Difficult to walk. A pair of sandals made up of truck tyre
will do good. How much it will cost. He looked at the man’s pocket. Why is he
not bringing out the money? There is a bunch of papers in his pocket. He is
wearing a dirty long shirt. The Dhoti is equally dirty, sponge chappal on his
feet, spectacle on his nose. He has probably not shaved for seven or eight
days. A small garland of Rudraksha around his neck. A cigarette between his
fingers. How much the man will pay?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">In these times, a man needs
atleast a thousand rupees per month to eat enough and live comfortably. Am I
right? Besides, you need clothes, you need to spend on doctors. Isn’t it so? So
it will not be less than a thousand rupees.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">When this scene is being
enacted, Surunani will sing a prayer in Sanskrit and the children will repeat
after her.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">He became a bit worried. Won’t
the man pay? He should say something. He did not feel like talking. Yet he
spoke because if he keeps silent, he may lose in the bargain. He said, “You say
rupees one thousand? He will have to work hard. You see at the rate of
twenty-five rupees for eight hours daily, it comes to rupees seven hundred
fifty per month. Then again the child will stay there for twenty-four hours.
For twenty four hours a day should not he get rupees two thousand per month?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">The man now looked straight at
him. Probably, he thought this man was not as foolish and simple minded as he
looked. He smiled and said, “Is anyone made to work for twenty four hours? He
will work in a hotel or in some household. How much work will be there you tell
me. If it is a hotel, he will work for ten or twelve hours at the most. He will
also get his food free. Fish curry, <i>Aloo Chop, Badaa</i> and many other
things. Can we eat such things in our house everyday?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">“ A thousand rupees is a lot of
money, my good man.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">“ I have to handle his mother.
Let me go and tell her. If she knows, will she allow him to go?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">The man smiled crookedly and
said, “Don’t you know women folk are like that. For a day or two she will weep.
Then everything will be alright. She will make a compromise with herself”.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">“It will not be less than a
thousand”.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">“A thousand rupees will be
costly for me, my man. Do you think this is a business for me? Do you think I
shall get a commission out of it? No, nothing. This is service for me. You can
even say service of the country. Your child will work in a hotel in Raipur. In
the beginning, he will wash plates. But gradually, within a few years he will
become a cook. Then his demand will go up. Then one day he will open his own
hotel. What shall I get out of it? Tell me”.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">Is not it pleasant to dream?
Dream. His son has opened a hotel and named it: Adarsh Hindu Hotel. He saw a
hotel in his imagination. Chares, tables and even a counter. He even pasted
some coloured blow ups of glamorous film actresses. He even imagined the cook
and the hotel boys and washing boys. But at that instant the tiger of his dream
too appeared. The tiger yawned. Its whiskers, its stripped body, its round
eyes, its huge mouth and sharp teeth and tongue. He suppressed all his dreams
and said, “It will be not less than a thousand rupees. Do not force me, Sir”.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">The man kept quiet for some
time. Then said, “Shall I tell you what I think? I cannot pay more than five
hundred. Then it is up to you”.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">“I cannot send him for five
hundred. You see, a great goat will cost you five hundred. It is a human
child”.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">The man now whispered, “Quiet,
quiet. What do you think of me? I am kidnapping your child? Do you want to send
me to jail? See, my man, your child and goat are not the same. What sort of a
father are you? People buy goat to make sacrifice of it. I will take your child
to make man of him. A very big man. How can you compare your son with a goat?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">“Make it rupees seven hundred
fifty. I need the money. This year I have to buy roof tiles. Nothing less than
seven hundred fifty”.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">“No, no. More than five hundred
is not possible on my part. See, it is up to you”.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">The man got up, paid for the tea
and said, “I am going. I have to go Lakhanpur”. Saying this he brought out his
cycle and put his foot on the pedal, when the man called him, “Sir, wait a
bit”.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">The man put his cycle on the
stand and entering the hotel put his hand on the mqan’s shoulder.</span><br />
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">*******************</span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">“I fear for the worst”.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">“Why fear? Are not people going daily
to distant places for such work? Will your child die of hunger in the town?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">“Who will look after him if he
falls ill? Who will bother if he ate or did not?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">“He will stay in a gentleman’s
house. Won’t he get enough to eat? Does he eat delicacies in your house? He
will surely get watered rice”.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">Surunani remained quiet for some
time. Eyes brimming with tears. Her hair was not oiled, nor combed. She was
sitting with her head between her knees. Without lifting her head she said, “I
won’t give up my child”.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">He was surprised at the
intensity in Sueunani’s voice. He could not find words to say anything. What
shall he say? How can he explain the situation? Suddenly a pure lie rusted out
of his mouth. No, his voice was not grinner even for once. He was not perturbed
at all. Said in a steady voice, “Now the school has driven him away. The man
has said that when he goes there the gentleman will get him admitted in a
school again”.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">Surunani became a little bit
soft perhaps. She got lost in her dream. Her son is going to school in uniform.
She is waving to him. How pedestrian is the dream! Yet how impossible for her.
Why, she does not know. Inspite of all her desire to get her son educated in
the school it has not been possible. It is a matter of great surprise for her.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">In the middle of this rumination
the tiger growls. He can see the tiger clearly in the dark. Its eyes are
burning like Phorperous and he feels the harsh rough tongue of the tiger
licking his hand. Very uncomfortable. The tiger comes forward and sits before
him. His old mother’s dead body lies near. He tells the tiger, “Eat, eat my
mother’s flesh. There are big bones inside. Nurtured and strengthened by
experience. Come, munch it”.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">The tiger sniffs and turns away
in disgust. He opens his mouth wide and yawns soundlessly. Now the tiger looks
at him closely, comes near, sniffs him and goes to Surunani waving its tail.
Licks her feet, tastes the dirt on her feet and comes away. Now the tiger is in
their midst inside the room. Like a domesticated animal, such as cats, dogs,
goats or donkeys he falls asleep comfortably.</span><br />
<br />
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">*******************</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">“Where are you?” he asks
himself, because it seems to him that he is nowhere. In his life village
politics of the Panchayat has no place, nor the corruption of embezzling the
college fund. He is not concerned with the latest hot news of the eldest
daughter of Mr. Mishra running away with a tribal boy. He is nowhere and in
nothing. Even not in his dream. Now the tiger behind him is walking behind him
like a faithful dog. He is walking with his son, holding his hand in his.
Surunani has bathed their son with a lot of care, after massaging him
thoroughly with mustard oil. Combed his hair, dressed him in clean pant and shirt.
And wondered if the gentleman would give him a pair of new pant and shirt.
Surunani had controlled herself with great difficulty. While feeding him she
thought that their child had not yet learnt to eat by himself, how he shall eat
in a stranger’s house and tears came to her eyes. Before they came out,
Surunani had given the child some parting wisdom: to obey the master of the
house, listen to what the mistress says. Won’t play any mischief. Study
regularly and do household work.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">The child was grave and agreed
to everything by nodding his head. The man had thought that the child would cry
bitterly. But nothing of that sort happened. The man stopped on the road and
said, “My child, I have to tell you something.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">“What is it?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">“I have not told the truth to
your mother.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">“What truth?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">“I do not know where you are
going. You may get a job in some gentleman’s house, or in some hotel. I am
sending you with a man to Raipur.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">The child remained silent for sometime.
Then suddenly said, “Are you selling me off?” the man could tell pure lies to
his wife. But he could not tell that to the child. His voice quivered. The
child’s eye filled up with tears. “Are you selling me because I asked fir food?
No father, I won’t ask for food again.” The man could not control his tears.
When they came out of the house, Surunani had come running after them, to tell
the child that one of his milk-tooth was lose and he should uproot it.
Otherwise, he will have ugly double tooth. Now he realized, how intensely she
loved the child.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">He began to think that he was
probably that inhuman as he thought of himself. He felt that same affection and
looked at the child. Before the child’s birth Surunani had to wait for eight
years. At the time of the ceremony of the child’s long life she used to be
upset.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">“Every mother will observe the
ceremony but I cannot.” She used to lament and made everybody upset. After
worshiping many Gods, after many fasting, after many rituals, she got son. At
that time inspite of their poverty, she refused to work in the field in the
fear of miscarriage. And for that she was scolded by his mother.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">Our honourable Govt. selected
twenty-two writers to see India, feted them and took them in an aeroplane where
beautiful ladies served them cold drinks and foreign chocolates. They were
shown from the sky the greenery of India, the India full of mosques and temples
from the Himalayas to the southern tip of Kanyakumari. Only they could not see
the small black people bent with heavy physical work and their hunger, their
tear and their sweat. The writers wrote long essays about their experience. The
Govt. spent thirty-five lacs for the project.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">The child is still afraid of the
dark. Does not go out at night for pee. Still sleeps holding the mother
tightly. Surunani gets all worked up when the child returns home after a fight
with his friends.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">The man became very agitated
after hearing the question, “Are you selling me because I asked for food?” His
whole heart shivered and he wanted to hold the child tight in his bosom. He can
manage without that five hundred rupees. He would go back with the child. His
face is naturally child like and without guile. Holding him to his bosom will
make his heart light. When he was a baby he loved to sleep with his head on his
chest. Won’t the house look empty without the child?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">He wanted to return immediately
and imagined Surunani becoming very happy of their return. He surreptitiously
took hold of the palms of the child. Well, the man may be a broker. He said he
was headman of the village Katapalli. He does not know him at all. Will it be
right to handover the child to him? Will not the man break his hands and legs
and make him beg on the streets of Raipur?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">His heart began to shake violently
and caught hold of his legs. Should he go back? Yes, he should go back. At this
moment he saw the cycle and the rider who came to him and said, “This is the
child you were talking about?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">The man seated the child on the
back carrier of the cycle and paddled away. When he came he was holding the
hand of the child. While returning he was holding five hundred rupees rustling
in his hand. The man looked at himself absent-mindedly. He has turned yellow,
black stripes here and there. He looked at himself very carefully. No, it is
not a dream. He has really become a tiger. Exactly like the tiger of his
dreams, a real true tiger.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">Exactly like the dream tiger he
yawned loudly and sat in the courtyard guarding his mother and wife. He
imagined Surunani and his mother had bolted the door from inside and were
shivering in fear and shock.</span><br />
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">*****************</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";">N.B:</span></b><span style="font-family: "" serif "" , "serif";"> I have taken the liability to change the
title from ‘Tiger’ to ‘Beast’, because I feel that the tiger has lost some of
its ferocity, thanks to Animal Planet and National Geographic. It has almost
been humanized. However, it remains the tiger in the story. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> My story series 17 </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Title:</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
Smoke</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Odia
Title: Dhuan</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Author:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sarojini Sahoo</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></b></div>
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to English Translation: Ipsita Sarangi</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">English
Editing: Paul J. McKenna</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-outline-level: 3;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Words:
about 5,900</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></b></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 200%;">This story originally
written in Odia in 2001.This story<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>explains something about our Judicial system.</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seemed as if the whole city
had become mad, obsessed with cannabis. No one ate rice anymore, only cannabis.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyone coming to this new city carried
in their suitcase cannabis instead of clothes and papers. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The person going out of this city also
secretly kept some cannabis in his/her suitcase along with his/her basic
toiletries and other things.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">And that was not all. Instead of growing cabbage, peas, spinach, or
flower plants like rose or dahlia in the garden, people grew cannabis instead. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>College-going guys took pen and pipe together
to college. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While going to the market
with vegetables, rice, egg, bread or milk in the morning, vendors would drop by
at the Hanuman temple to seek blessings. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A bearded old man distributed <i>prasad</i> of
sugar candy from a plate and then from under it, cannabis. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Maybe women and children had been spared from the impact of cannabis as no
woman had ever been arrested...yet. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
a few had been accused of secreting it under their <i>burqas</i></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">While investigating a theft, the police would discover the reason; not
money or riches, but cannabis. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If there
was a murder in the city, the police would claim to the media the cause behind
the murder was cannabis and they always were going to crack the racket
soon. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Once, sensational news spread from the marketplace to the nooks and
crannies of every house. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some politician
or a reporter falsely spread a rumour that a cannabis plant the height of an
average man was in the bungalow of the collector himself. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The police kept calling the bungalow to know
the truth. Reporters of dailies and weeklies and television stations, vigilance
officers, some tout politicians, and a few NGOs rushed to the spot to verify
the incident as well, but all they were able to find was a cement platform
instead of cannabis plant.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The matter did not end there. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
rustic reporter came panting on his cycle and reported hemp plant saplings had
sprouted on the highway for about two kilometers where there previously had
been absolutely nothing but grass. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">All this was a matter for police records and newspapers. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Going through the police records or media
reports would never create a good impression of the city. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But a variety of news items about the city
were previously published in the newspapers. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For example, police did not only record theft,
criminal or looting cases. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
sometimes nabbed an absconding lover and would make him marry the lover from
whom he had absconded right on the premises of the police station itself. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The papers also published items like a woman
giving birth to three girls at a time or the demand of the farmers before the
Chief Minister for the declaration of ‘drought affected areas.’ <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But no one really knew when and how cannabis
had stealthily made its way into this city; it hadn’t been reported. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Life seemed utterly insecure in the city. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was ever-present fear -- fear if one had
to go to the station to catch a mid-night train, if the patrolling police
stopped someone on suspicion, it would be impossible to catch the train; fear
to stop by a betel shop for an hour to read newspaper, the police might become
suspicious; fear of going to second show cinema; fear of spending more time than
normal at a friend’s house. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fear had
made life of the city dwellers intolerable. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Let us suppose there was no other such city in the world and this one was
only a fictitious city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let us further
suppose in the court of the Sub-Divisional Judicial Magistrate (SDJM) of this
fictitious city, a trial in the matter of a hawker was taking place. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since the entire city was hazy with the smoke
of cannabis, why would the case involve anything else other than
cannabis? </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The case could have been settled much earlier if it had not been for a
headstrong, obstinate, idealistic, and self-oblivious man by the name of Anurag
Kumar. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was of the village of Hakimpur
from the district of Munger in the state of Bihar. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By profession he was a doctor. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His obsession was reading newspapers from their
first to last page.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His dislike was a conjugal
household. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His belief was good
times would someday come. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His sorrow was
no one understood him. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And his dreams?
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps he never had any. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our story is about this Anurag Kumar and how
he single-handedly stopped the cogs of justice from proceeding.</span></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">#####################</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">As Anurag reached the court, the government lawyer took him into a
corner and questioned him, “Do you remember, doctor, what you have to say in court
when you testify? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You will say that the
hawker was already intoxicated with cannabis when he was brought to the
hospital.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then you can speak all that
you know about the injury.” </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Anurag remained silent for a while. He was thinking about the white
shirt and the black overcoat the man had put on, like a cover on a book. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He thought the man who had selected such a
uniform for the judiciary must have done so with noblest of intentions. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Black symbolized all evils like rape, murder,
theft, abduction, cheating, injustice; white symbolized the dazzling truth that
had to be elicited from all this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
this government lawyer perhaps didn’t know anything about this. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had taken it for granted he would look like
a lawyer in a white shirt and black coat and had unhesitatingly been making
Anurag’s mouth do his dirty work, much like a ventriloquist. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Anurag protested, “No. As far as I remember, the man was never
intoxicated. Why should I tell a lie?”</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“What did you have for lunch yesterday,” questioned the advocate
meaningfully.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“Whatever the cook of the Guest House had served.”</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“Yes, of course, but what did you eat?”</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“But what relation does that have with this case?” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anurag countered with an obvious annoyance in
his voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t remember.” </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“That’s it!” The advocate beamed as if he had found the key to his
problem. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I want to say the same thing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You cannot remember what you had taken for
lunch yesterday so how can you remember an incident of a year ago, that you say
so emphatically that the man had not taken cannabis?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether he took it or not is not the matter
if you speak so where is the problem?” </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The two fell into an argument regarding the proposed testimony. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then, the irritated lawyer said, “Okay,
speak whatever you like.” </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">When Anurag knew a few days earlier that the hearing date was
approaching, he had once again looked through the file of this medico-legal
case:</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Roadside injury patient; Name: Purna Chandra Mallick; Father’s Name: Maheswar
Mallick; Matia Sahi, Adarsh Nagar; Dist: Panagarh; Injury: below the left ear,
left-side temple, right-hand wrist; Weapon: Blunt Weapon, came with the
police at 1840. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Anurag would be happy whenever there was a hearing at the court because
it meant he wouldn’t have to sit in the outpatient clinic that day and was free
from his routine life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As it was, there
was such a heavy rush of patients in the outpatient in the rainy season, one
hardly found time even to go for a cup of tea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One had to bear the pallid complexion of the patients, their howls in
pain, their apprehension of some incurable disease, and strange and hyperbolic
description of the symptoms of their disease. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes Anurag felt amused when patients
could not feel or tell where the pain was; whether it was in the feet, or in
the knees, or in the belly, or in the chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Some female patients came so heavily dressed up Anurag would wonder
whether they had come to a hospital or a cinema hall. From bangles to
nail polish, everything would be matching; they would present themselves with
deep-coloured lipstick, shampooed hair, and eye makeup. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They spread such a smile as if they were some
old acquaintance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anurag suspected,
though, freedom for these poor ladies was only to this extent! The hospital was
such a place, nobody would forbid them from visiting it, and they could enjoy
their freedom to the core of their heart...at someone else’s expense.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Miss Kuisku, the schizophrenic lady doctor sitting by Anurag mostly
dozed off in the chair under the influence of sleeping pills (or possibly
cannabis) leaving Anurag to face these beautiful women by himself. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When asked about their problem, one would say
sweet pain in the bosom; another would complain of lack of sound sleep at
night. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Pain, after all, was pain but what was this sweet pain about which they
spoke? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No such pain is known in medical
terminology! Mostly Anurag would refer such patients to his colleague Dr.
Purhohit. But when in the right mood, he would joke with them and then
prescribe some Gelusil antacid tablets. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Each day was the same: jugglery with names of the same medicines like
playing with coins on a carom board. You had to move through Sinarest,
Paracetamol, Dysmen, Digene, or Chloroquin.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">It appeared Dr. Butia, a quack, was happier than Anurag. At least,
he could provide some solace to people in exchange for their money.
People say his was a very good hand as he could cure all diseases from TB to
Cancer. Some people even went away from Anurag to the quack, Dr.
Butia. But he never felt sorry or humiliated. His sorrow was
somewhere else. Who cares for MBBS these days? He wanted to soar
higher and higher and therefore read <u>The Times of India</u> in great
detail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would even underline some of
the vital points. Sometimes he applied to go away to some very distant
place. But in these seven years he had not been able to rise beyond
those Chloroquin and Paracetamols. At least a court hearing gave him his
much sought-after freedom from this killing monotony and disgust which he
perceived as his job. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Anurag had already decided on his way back from court, he would stop at
the L’Oreal Bar. It had been a long time since he visited there; the last
time was when Paritosh Majumdar had left for Kolkata. Normally, he always
returned straight home from hospital. And laying on the bed of his bare
room, he again read the stale newspapers. Switching over to different
channels on TV, he heard the same news from different anchors. Sometimes
when he visited his neighbours, he either got bored or in turn, he bored them
because the concept of happiness and misery for those family people was
different. The routine of their lives was altogether different than Anurag’s.
After all, who had the leisure to sit in the drawing room for hours on end and
bear such a fellow like Anurag? </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Anurag had also, at some time, tried to set up his household. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He bought utensils, rice, dal, turmeric, and ghee
and shelved them in the kitchen. Of course, he used to take his meals in
the guest house, but he had to cook something for the boy. The boy was poor lad
who Anarug had taken in to help him with the domestic chores and ease his
loneliness. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anurag really didn’t know
how to cook so he would boil rice, dal, and vegetables all together and then
pouring some ghee over the mixture, he would keep it for the boy, cautioning
him to go to school on time. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anurag had
to go to hospital at eight in the morning and the boy had to be in school by
ten. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only work the boy had to do was
sweep the house twice daily but he would often wash clothes for Anurag and buy
him betel from a particular shop sometimes twice a day. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">But the boy couldn’t do even this much properly. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At first, Anurag freed him from washing
clothes. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He did not know whether the boy
swept the house or not and was not bothered about it either. He only wanted the
boy to read, at least sit with the books. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But in a few months, the boy had tired of his
duties to Anurag and vanished. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Anurag had searched for the boy for some time but was not able to find
him. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once a police officer came to the
hospital regarding a medico-legal case. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
the course of conversation Anurag brought up the subject of the boy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The police officer was quite an experienced
man and questioned Anurag, “Where had you brought the boy from?” </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“Where would I? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dying of hunger
the boy had run away from the Ganjam area to a relative uncle of his. His
uncle couldn’t provide him a square meal. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cook of the guest house had brought the
boy to me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But there is no work to be
done in my house and as such, the boy didn’t know anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got him admitted in the sixth class in a
school.”</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The police officer then smiled at Anurag and asked, “But didn’t the boy
steal anything from you?”</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“No. Everything is Okay. Besides, what is there in my house worth
stealing?”</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“At least, the boy could get something to eat. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What problem was there that he ran away? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did you beat him?”</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Yes, I had slapped him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
furious with him one day. I had come home early, canceling all other programmes
to teach him English. I found him listening to his iPod. When I asked how
he was able to get an iPod, I discovered he had been cheating me. You see, I
always buy costly betel from Shiva’s shop but he buys me cheaper betel from
another shop and keep the rest of money for himself. And from this money,
he was able to buy the iPod. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So
instead of reading like I had asked him to, he would listen to his iPod instead.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he had also cheated me.<span style="color: red;"> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>I became
furious and boxed the boy’s ears heavily but I didn’t know the boy would run
away because of this.”</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The police officer gave out a laugh at his words and said, “Don’t
worry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wouldn’t have committed suicide. Such
children do not commit suicide. That scoundrel would have reached
somebody else’s house by now and be playing the same games. If you lodge
an F.I.R. complaint, you’ll be trapped in a child labour case for a long time
to come. Leave it. Forget all about that.”</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">That police officer had left a long time ago; now there was someone new
and Anurag was not that much acquainted with this new police person. The
incident regarding the hawker had happened during the watch of this new
officer. Anurag had completely forgotten the face of the hawker whom he
had treated a year ago until he saw him in court; now he was able to recollect
more details as to the appearance of the hawker. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The government lawyer examined Anurag in front of the judge as to when
he had seen this lanky, moderately tall, dark-skinned young man. Anurag
answered he was on emergency duty that day. After the OPD (outpatient clinic)
had been closed, the police brought this young man in the evening.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Q<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>What was the exact time the
defendant was brought into the clinic?</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">A<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I don’t remember; maybe about
6:45 p.m.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Q<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>What did you see?</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">A<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The young man had injuries
below his left ear and on the left temple, and his right hand wrist had some
scratches. Someone might have hit him with a stick, not with a knife. The
cut was not so deep, after all. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Q<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Did the young man appear
intoxicated when he came to the hospital?</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">A<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>No, not at all.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Q<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But the police record says
that he had allegedly taken cannabis.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">A<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>No. To the best of my
recollection he was not intoxicated at all.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Q<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>How do you know that?</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">A<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I am a doctor. Can’t I know
if a man is intoxicated or not? </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Anurag was a little irritated. He then resumed</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">A<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>His behavior was perfectly
normal. There was no smell of cannabis either from his mouth or on his hands.
Besides, his eyes were also quite normal.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Q<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>How can you speak that with
so much confidence? Do you have any record about it? </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">A<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Yes, it may be there in the
hospital register. I don’t have one with me right now.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The lawyer appeared agitated. He already had apprehensions all his
persuasion might be in vain! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps he
did not want to drag the case any further. Perhaps the hawker would have
been proven guilty with Anurag’s statement and his punishment would have been
pronounced the same day or within a few days. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But that never happened for the judge
adjourned the trial until a later date and ordered Anurag to bring the register
at the next hearing. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">While Anurag was looking for a rickshaw outside the court, a middle-aged
man came up to him and bowed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anurag
learnt he was the elder brother of the hawker who was on trial. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He told Anurag he had brought his unemployed,
graduate brother from the village to this city to enable him eke out a
living.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The older brother even arranged
ten thousand rupees for the younger brother to invest in a business. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hawker purchased a stock of attractive
stationary items in Raipur and the younger brother would sell them from door to
door. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He could mesmerize the ladies with
his pleasing manners and was beginning to earn handsomely. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said he even had plans to open his own shop
in a year or two.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">After narrating everything in detail, the elder brother pleaded quite
helplessly with Anurag for mercy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Please,
save my brother, sir. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can save him
if you please. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am a poor man. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How much do I earn from working in the shop of
Mani Seth that I can provide for my family and retain a lawyer as well?” </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“Don’t worry. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll see to it,”
Anurag consoled him, got into the rickshaw, and sped off. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had been feeling an acute headache for
quite some time now. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The L’oreal Bar
passed before his eyes but he didn’t feel a desire to pause there today. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘When will that Paritosh Majumdar return from
Kolkata anyway?’ he wondered. He had thought of spending the day in
luxury, but in fact, nothing of that sort happened; he returned home
quietly. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">And a tussle had started in his ignorance since that day. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The police had not taken the case as lightly
as Anurag had expected. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An elderly man
told Anurag this was nothing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The police
had filed the case capriciously only to meet their target numbers for the
month; they had to give explanations to their authority if they could not reach
their target goals. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The police officer sent for Anurag in the evening. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anurag planned to go for a drink but when the
officer contacted him, he put the bottle aside and went to the police station
instead.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The officer smiled at him, welcoming him, “Please come in, doctor. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You look too exhausted,” and ordered the peon
to bring tea which came almost immediately, as if it had already been prepared.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then the officer continued, “Please
don’t think that I have sent for you in connection with any official matter,
doctor. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mmm. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You cannot imagine how complicated the times
are now. I wish to leave this job and go away but cannot because my living
depends on it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether day or night, you
have always to be alert. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God has given me
only two eyes but you have to work with ten. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet no one understands our problems.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Just look at our locality. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People
say the place was quite peaceful at one time but I have observed many things that
go on here secretively, although everything seems placid on the surface. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You will be surprised to know that the whole
city has become a haven for cannabis. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
not easy to discern one’s motive. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Remember
that report in the newspapers a few days ago about the murder of a U.P. school
teacher in a cashew plantation? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you
know the reason? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a master
marijuana supplier. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m telling you about
the report of a week ago. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You haven’t
seen it perhaps?”</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“No, I haven’t. I don’t speak Oriya,” replied Anurag. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“Oh yes, I had forgotten that. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
don’t take that hawker so lightly. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
may be feeling pity at his innocent appearance. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are too young and therefore have an
abundance of emotionality. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Besides
young blood, it must be fun to argue with the lawyer.” </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Anurag could not understand whether the police officer was trying to
persuade him or was ridiculing him or both. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Too young? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was now almost thirty-five, already halfway
through his life on this earth.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“Oh, your tea is getting cold, doctor. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You should drink it,” the police officer told
him in a gentle manner. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“Sorry, I don’t take tea.”</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">At that point, both men said nothing more; they both sat silently.
After some time had passed, Anurag got up to leave. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He asked the officer if he had anything more
about which to talk.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“No, nothing,” the officer replied. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Perhaps the next hearing date is the day
after. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you come here, we’ll go
together. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What do you say?”</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“I’ll try,” Anurag said noncommittally as he exited the room. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He went straight to the Guest House instead of
his quarters. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had been a long time
since Paritosh Majumdar went to Kolkata. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When would he return? </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">When Anurag was busy with some patients the next day, his supervisor called
him into his chamber. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The GM has sent
for you. I know not for what. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps
his driver has come with the jeep or else you can take an ambulance.” </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Anurag thought for a moment; was it an order or a request? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An unpleasant situation involving him had
already happened earlier. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had become
a subject of discussion <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>among his staff. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The incident had happened only a month ago.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">When he was absorbed among patients one day, the driver of the GM had
come and asked him to come along.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“Where?” Anurag questioned.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“Memsaab is ill. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just see her.”<span style="color: red;"></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Without caring for the driver, he continued to examine patient after
patient.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The driver became impatient and said, “Please
come along now.”</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“I cannot leave the OPD now. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go
and tell your Memsaab that if she is ill, she may come here,” Anurag stated.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">God knows how much colour the driver had added when he reported this to
the GM that he immediately threatened the higher officer. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the higher officer’s threat to Anurag
proved futile. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A stubbornness took over
Anurag. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wanted to rage before his
authority and imagined saying, ‘You need promotion, posting in favourable
places, need money from training and purchase - so you may fawn him but I need
none of these. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am prepared to go
anywhere I am sent. Am I in luxury here that I may lose elsewhere? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You may not sanction my leave, if you don’t
want to.’ </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">But instead, he only wondered why the GM had sent for him again now? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hadn’t he forgotten the incident? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With such an attitude, Anurag left the crowd
of patients. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The patients stared at each
other seeing the doctor go away. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">When he came out of the GM’s office, Anurag was frowning. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The GM was an aged man. His hair had
turned white with experience. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He tried
to persuade Anurag to change is approach towards the hawker incident and
questioned Anurag, “That hawker is no relation of yours. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It should matter nothing to you whether he is
punished or not. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why do you
unnecessarily get into this imbroglio? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Think
of your career. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What will you get from
such childishness?” </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Anurag felt annoyed at this suggestion but tried to control his emotions
as he began to speak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Everything can’t
be assessed in terms of gain or loss, sir. Besides, that hawker is not an
industry that his life should be looked upon with a concern for gain or loss. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Will it be all right if all of us turn
traders?” </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“That’s not the point.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tone
of the GM was getting harsh. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But what
was it in the attitude of Anurag which made GM soften in his tone when his eyes
met Anurag’s? </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“Look, it isn’t not wise to upset a crocodile while residing in the same
water. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We always have to deal with the
police. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are several problems in
the company at different times. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If we do
not cooperate with the police today, they will not help us in our times of need.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The SP (Superintendent of Police)<span style="color: red;"> </span>has telephoned today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I have almost assured him…”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then
the GM gave a few instances from his experience to show that one gets crushed
to pieces like glass unless one adopts himself to changing circumstances.
</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Anurag could not understand why so many people were so much worried
about such trivial a matter, as if the hawker was an Abhimanyu<sup>1</sup>
besieged by a hostile army and had no way to escape! </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Anurag attended court for the next the hearing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had borne these past days in much pain. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He could not sleep; could not reach the Guest
House in time for his meals.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The most surprising thing was he didn’t betray any emotion at the sight
of Nikita. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He showed no signs there had
never been anything between them and to Anurag, there hadn’t been. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No sorrow, no regret; neither hatred nor love.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nikita spoke of happiness now. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had come with her husband. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As she caught sight of Anurag, she bowed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Does a beloved bow to her lover? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did he love her? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The girl used to visit his house with a
variety of food items for him; they were neighbors. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People thought there was something going on
between the two. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Nikita was a Brahmin
and he was a Harijan. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He himself did not
know if he had any love for the girl. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Paritosh
Majumdar had once smiled very mysteriously and asked, “How is it going?” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People would make up foul stories about them
and gossip. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At one point, Anurag noticed
a big lock hanging on her door. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
remained locked for almost fifteen days. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And when the house opened, he learnt the girl
had already married a computer engineer working in the Middle East. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, he had felt an empty space in his bosom.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes it grew and then diminished. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And one day, he felt it no more. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was this empty space he felt love? </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Many thought Anurag lived a haphazard life only because he had been
jilted in love. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He considered everything
in an eccentric manner; never practical. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And perhaps he did not marry because of this. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Waiting for him, his younger brother got
married in the end.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">And this Nikita, who people believe had inflicted an insufferably deep
wound on Anurag, now asked him, “I heard, you have been trapped in some
complication? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Papa was mentioning
it to Joshi Uncle.” </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Anurag only smiled in reply. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
had, then, become such a marked personality in the meantime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then he thought, ‘why didn’t anyone think
about that man who had borrowed money for the business of his brother? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that young man’s dream of rising to become
an industrialist from a hawker?’ </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The Government lawyer looked beaming in the court as if he had traced
out a service error in the register. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
proper document having been produced, the exam continued.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Q<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Please tell me one thing
doctor. How come that the name, address, age and sex of this particular person
has been recorded in the register when no such details about any other patient
is mentioned?</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">A<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Normally, detailed
information about patients coming to OPD is not mentioned in the register.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But since this is a medico–legal case, the information
had to be recorded.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Q<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But there are two different
handwritings in the register? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The names
of all other patients are in one handwriting but the particulars of this man,
it is clear, have been written by another, isn’t that true?</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">A<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’ve said from the beginning
that the case was brought after OPD had closed for the day. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So someone else might have written it at that
time.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Q<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But is there any proof that
you haven’t written it?</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">A<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>What a strange thing! Would
I be benefited by doing so?</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Anurag was quite irritated at this point.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Q<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That you only would know. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But there are two different handwritings in
the register. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You cannot refute that, is
that correct?</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">A<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There are two clerks who
handle OPD records. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They would be in a
better position to testify about that. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The case remained unresolved that day. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anurag was in a quandary as to what to do. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life now seemed embarrassing to Anurag. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had never been to a court earlier in
matters relating to his paternal property, or any youthful hassle, or for any
personal reason. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But he had now been so
entrapped in a maze out of which he could not find his way. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was very tired and thought of returning
home and sleeping the whole night undisturbed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But when he arrived, he saw the motorcycle of
Paritosh Majumdar in front of his house. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A surge of delight ran through his spine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had Paritosh actually returned from Kolkata? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Paritosh did not ask him anything about
Anurag’s day. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, he just kick-started
the motorcycle, Anurag hopped on, and they vanished. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">By the time of the next court hearing, Anurag had learnt the rest of the
story from the OPD clerks. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The clerk who
had mentioned the particulars about the hawker in the register had become so
entangled in the interrogation by the lawyer that he had no other way than to
succumb to defeat.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">An excerpt of the exam went like this: </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Q<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Is this different handwriting yours?”</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">A<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Yes.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Q<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then you had not left the OPD even after it was closed?</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">A<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>No. I just reached there at that time.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Q<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where were you the whole
day? Why isn’t the name of any other patient of that day written in your
handwriting?</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Q<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Where were you the whole
day?</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">A<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I was on leave that
day. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Q<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>You say that you were on
leave. But how did you work when you were on leave?</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">A<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As I was ill, I had come in
the evening to take an injection and that case was brought in at that time. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since the other clerk had already left,
someone asked me to write his particulars in the register. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">How could the clerk answer anymore? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The lawyer convinced the judge the particulars
had been written in later deliberately to save the hawker. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He also convinced the judge not only the
hawker but many other people might be involved in this business of
marijuana. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Anurag’s turn came the day after the examination of the clerk. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As soon as Anurag reached court, the lawyer
took him to a corner and tried to persuade him. “Why are you so obstinate,
doctor? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is surely not the
only case in your life. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hundreds of
cases have come and hundreds more will come too. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who will you fight for? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If the police want the hawker punished, he
should be punished. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have to make
their numbers you know. Do you know you’re a person of interest now too? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At any moment, the police may build a case
against you, implicating you in the trading of cannabis because you didn’t help
them out. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What will you do then?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What will happen to your career and life? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You should think about it.” </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Anurag thought about this and as he approached the witness box, he felt
that all this was all so meaningless; all the chatter, all the questions, all
the process, all the production. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any
hope of justice had been lost in the rush of dates and his efforts to do right
and good were totally worthless. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A book
wrapped in a piece of red cloth was put before him. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He did not know whether there was <span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">The<i> Gita</i></span> beneath the piece of
cloth or not. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still he took an oath,
without believing, to speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the
truth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the oath was now meaningless.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything seemed meaningless to him – The<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Gita</i>, his oath, and the farce of
searching for the truth, whatever that was. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">‘Why have we really come here, my lord?’ he wanted to speak aloud but
words would not come out. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He continued
his inner testimony only he was the prosecutor asking questions of himself. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Why such a farce with life, society and
civilization? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are all in a jungle, my
lord, from the beginning of the Universe till our doom. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the first day of sunrise to the last
sunset, we are all in the darkness of the jungle. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where is the light, My Lord?’</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">He remained on the stand, deep in his own examination and oblivious to
the world around him. He wanted to speak but could not. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then he cast a look at the accused man sitting
at the defendant’s table. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He continued his
inner questioning: ‘Was this the same man the police had arrested a year ago? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whom had the police really brought then? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did anything really happen a year ago?’ <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly, he began to mistrust himself. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How is his memory getting so weak now? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What was happening to him? </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">It seemed to Anurag the entire place around him had been suffused with
smoke, smoke of sweet fragrance. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly
he recognized the fragrance. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was
remotely familiar with this sweet fragrance. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had once been a part of his earlier life. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It all came back now as did the effects. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But where did so much smoke come from now not
of incense, but of a different fragrance? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What is the name of this fragrance, My Lord?”
he asked aloud. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">A misty figure emerged out of the smoke and asked him humbly: “Your
name? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your father’s name? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your occupation?” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But no words came out of Anurag. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The smoke suffocated him! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He tried to speak but coughed instead and his
throat burned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The examination continued.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Q<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Do you recognize the man at
defendant’s table? (Smoke was spreading everywhere around. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where was the lawyer? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where was the accused? Where was the judge?
Where was Paritosh? Why wasn’t Paritosh here?)</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Words this time emanated from his throat but with much difficulty.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">A<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I can’t recall anything, my
lord. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So many people come to the
hospital. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can one really remember what
happened a year ago let alone last week? </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The entire room had been suffused with smoke; smoke of a pleasant
fragrance. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emerging out of that smoke
someone patted his back and said, “Bravo! Well said, Anurag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ve
done your civic duty!”</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">At that point, Anurag awoke to find Paritosh standing beside him with
his hand on Anurag’s back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Paritosh was
always beside him, always there for him. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Let’s go to the pub, Paritosh,” Anurag suggested.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I need to clear my head.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the two of them got on Paritosh’s
motorcycle and sped away. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Note: </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<sup><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">1</span></sup><i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Abhimanyu</span></i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">: Son of
Subhadra and Arjuna, deceitfully killed by Kaurava warriors in the Mahabharat
war.</span></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">#<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>#<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>#<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>#</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-outline-level: 3;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-outline-level: 3;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Sarojini Sahoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06356168164108611237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613632675367188848.post-65814347452828056032014-02-27T23:06:00.000-08:002014-02-27T23:06:20.949-08:00My stories series 16<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Waiting for Manna</span></b></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The
scene was like that:</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Three
people are in a waiting around a pregnant woman.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Inside
her swollen womb, His Highness has slept</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">In a dark,
closed chamber, full of mud and filth.<span> </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The
heart beats with an unspeakable anger.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The
doctor records the fetal heart sound –140 per minute.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Yet,
three people are in a strange kind of imprisonment </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">In a
mysterious womb,</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">In a
slumber of sleeplessness,</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">In a
dreamlessness of dreams.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">They
are waiting. They can’t step forward, </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Nor
can they fly faraway like a bird.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">They
are waiting for the day</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">When
the door will open</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">When
the smile of a morning will spread</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">When
His Highness will arrive and declare</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Look,
I’ve come”, all anger,</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">All
pains of my gone days are forgotten.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">And,
the three people will once again be released from the womb.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The
three persons around the pregnant woman waiting for a rebirth.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The sweat which sprouted from
every nook of Paramita’s body now formed a stream down the middle of her back.
Sleep had deserted her long ago. Paramita heard the pediatrician asking the
nurse, “Where is the baby?” A sleep-laden Paramita wondered, ‘Baby? Which baby?
Baby isn’t here!’ But suddenly she remembered what madam had told her this
morning when she examined her par-abdomen. “The size of the baby seems to be
small; we have asked the pediatrician to have a look.<span> </span>We must check out the size of the baby.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The bespectacled and bald
pediatrician was looking very serious while examining Paramita’s par-abdomen. After
his exam, he prescribed some medicines, bid her good day, and continued on his
rounds.<span> </span>He hadn’t given her any
information or...hope.<span> </span>This caused
Paramita to lapse into a state of worry.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">She began to think ‘Is the baby
really too small? The time is ripe now; they will have to somehow bring out the
baby.<span> </span>But is the baby a thumb-sized body
like in “The Tom Thumb” story? How would she live her whole life with such a
dwarf child? What would people say?’ Paramita shuddered with fear. ‘Was her
inner impulse so small? Unfit for a human baby? Besides the human fetus in her
womb, was there something else growing there as well?’<span> </span>She had often heard of such exceptions: lambkins,
monkeys, distorted babies, etc. Fear engrossed her. Partha was not with her nor
was her father; only her mother had curled herself up on the floor near the
bathroom door. If there had been anyone around, she would have shown them the
doctor’s prescription, what medicines the doctor had prescribed. She needed a
healthy complete baby even if it was not beautiful.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Paramita felt a deep sigh
within her. Perhaps she would begin to weep after a few moments of loneliness. Each
time the doctors said, “The baby is very small,’’ she would think about how very
difficult it is for the baby to survive if born below five pounds of
weight.<span> </span>Anger bloomed within her towards
her family.<span> </span>It was as if no one really
cared for the baby for whom they were anxiously waiting. What were they doing
for her and her baby other than bickering amongst themselves? Now they all seemed
withdrawn behind their own masks. Was he the same Partha with whom she had spent
four years of conjugal life? Were they her parents whom she had been seeing
since her childhood?<span> </span>The stress and
anxiety affected them all.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Paramita had to remain in the
hospital bed for a long time as doctors advised her to get admitted much before
her expected date of delivery. They were provided with a half portion of a
double-bedded cabin; the other half, along with one bed, was left for other
patients. Paramita, her heavy-weighted husband Partha, and her mom and papa all
had to use that one-bedded half-portion of the cabin.<span> </span>In addition to the people, a suitcase,
basket, tiffin carrier, water pot, and a lot more things found their place in
that small room. The crowded room already caused bickering among the three
attendants over sleeping space. Nowadays, there appeared to be a readiness amongst
themselves for bickering over <i>anything,</i>
including the sleeping space.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">At first, Partha drowsed there
but was his drowsing because of his obliviousness or selfishness? He arranged
to sleep on the floor, keeping the suitcase, tiffin box and other things aside.
Mom was addicted to betel and she couldn’t take her betel box often because she
had to jump over Partha. And since mom didn’t want to disturb her son-in-law, she
asked papa, with annoyance, to always bring the betel box to her. Papa gestured
to silence mom. Finally, Paramita arose from her bed and as she tried to bring
the betel box, rebuked Partha saying, “Why don’t you budge? Doesn’t the man who
has done so much work and brought meals for you need rest?”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Where shall I budge to?”
Partha replied sleepily.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“But won’t papa sleep?”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Partha got up suddenly. “I was
going downstairs; why did you forbid me?”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“But you told there was not
even room to sit.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“What bothers you whether I sit
or wander?” Partha replied, a bit annoyed.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Why do you get angry, is this
the time to move away?”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“If I can’t go downstairs,
can’t wander, and can’t sleep here, then what shall I do?”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Then Paramita’s father joined
in. “You sleep here son, don’t listen to her. I’m going upstairs. There is
enough wind up there.” With that, he took a pillow and a bed sheet and began to
leave the room.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“You sleep here, Papa, please,”
Partha insisted. “I am going downstairs. You can’t sleep upstairs amidst so
much dust and noise.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“I won’t have any problem. You
sleep here.” With that, Papa left leaving Partha with a sullen face.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Paramita felt unhappy for them
both. She imagined an old man smeared with dust struggling to sleep on the
floor of a half-built building. Maybe a young man would wander in from the
scorching sun, unable to get anywhere a little space or would be smoking
cigarettes, leaning against the gate by the Nepalese watchman who was drowsing
on a stool. She wished to go downstairs, and upstairs too to see how both were
getting on but the use of any stairs was forbidden to her.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Meanwhile, Paramita’s mom prepared
betel coolly as if nothing happened. After each one departed, she told Jayanti,
a woman of Paramita’s age in the adjacent bed, “Look my baby, everybody gets
angry but what for? I am here for their sake. I swear I don’t want to stay here
anymore after listening to so much but if I go home, people will wonder why the
mother sits home, leaving her daughter in discomfort. It is only for the fear
of what people will say that I am here.” Throwing a glance at Paramita, she
again told Jayanti, “I pray to goddess <i>Mangala
</i>to relieve my daughter quickly and without incident.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Jayanti only smiled at
Paramita. What could she say? She also had the same problem. Fed up with her
check-ups at several hospitals, she finally had come here. She had an operation
too. Her problem was the formation of mucus in the fallopian tube which had
made her unable to conceive, even after twelve years of marriage. Why did such
things happen? When one’s hand is ravaged with draught, another’s smiles with
an abundance of greenery!</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Unmindfully, Jayanti’s mother,
who was also in attendance in the small cabin said, “We have enough land and
property but none to enjoy. I am worried for this girl so therefore, I came here
throwing away my own household. Her father is an executive officer and he has
no time at all to visit as he has his work responsibilities.<span> </span>He can’t ever come. My son studies medicine
in Berhampur. He got us admitted here and will be keeping in touch with us.
What else can I do? If I go away, my son-in-law can’t do anything. Don’t you
see how he always fumbles! A friend of my son’s is a doctor here. He will be
looking after us.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Paramita knew Jayanti’s mother
never liked her son-in-law. She would always humiliate and caricature him
publicly, even for his slightest fault; and all this because he was a farmer
who had dark skin. Jayanti’s dark skin was also a problem for her marriage and
therefore, she had to marry this half-educated fellow. Although he had enough
landed property, he was never considered equal with the other son-in-law or
even with Jayanti’s father. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Sometimes Jayanti swallowed all
the quarrels and remarks; other times, she wept when she thought no one else
was around. Once Paramita felt shocked at this and tried to solace Jayanti,
“You should not be so sentimental and weep at such a time over such trivial
matters. Two of your lower stitches have become septic and the doctor said the
others are getting infected too.<span> </span>If you
weep so much, won’t it affect your stitches?” Paramita offered.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“I don’t need anything; neither
children nor family,” Jayanti began to sob as she rose to speak. “I am so far
without a child. What if I don’t have one now? How long shall I live?<span> </span>Because of this, I will have to tolerate so
much. Mama lashes with her words at whomever she wants; my husband rages
whenever he feels.<span> </span>And simply because I am
one’s daughter and the other’s wife.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Yes, Paramita had observed
everybody coming to this cabin since her stay began.<span> </span>All came there shrouded in a deep intimacy but
after staying too close for a few days in this little room, they all developed
a strange sense of intolerance. Which one of them was the real one then -- the deep,
sympathetic relationship that was there when first coming to the cabin or the
stark reality about their character which came out after they were there for a
few days?</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Paramita did not understand why
there was so much want of love and sympathy among people.<span> </span>A misty wall of doubt, suspicion and loveless-ness
always seemed to maroon one from the other.<span>
</span>Thus were the situations with several who inhabited the other bed in her
room before Jayanti.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Hema, a rustic, uncouth woman
had been in this bed right before Jayanti. Her attendant was her husband, a casual
labourer in a jute mill in Calcutta.<span>
</span>Paramita had noticed a wall of suspicion and inequality even among this
rustic, illiterate couple.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Hema had a keen interest in
chatting with Paramita but Paramita didn’t have much interest chatting with her
and didn’t really like her ugly smile and constant chatter. Perhaps Hema discerned
Paramita’s uneasiness with her as she said to her, “I have enough jewellery. I
am not as you see me now. I look like a queen when I put on all my jewellery.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Paramita was startled at these
words. She thought, ‘Are the eyes of this woman more powerful than x-rays, as
they could capture one’s thoughts? The woman is surely very lonely in her life.
And that loneliness has made her so sensitive that she can quickly know the odour
of the wind, the colour of water, and the feelings in the hearts of those
around her?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">It seemed from her words Hema
had an intense dissatisfaction for her husband. She had been rebuking him constantly
since she came back to sense after her operation.<span> </span>Nothing was right. In contrast, her husband was
very gentle and tolerant. He had stealthily brought fish curry for his pampered
wife evading the eyes of the nurse attendants after her operation. Paramita
thought the woman must be very lucky having such a husband. After giving fish
curry to his wife, the man struck up a conversation with Paramita’s mom saying,
“Auntie, she lost her parents in childhood so I never scold her and she does
whatever she likes. I have willed five acres of land, a house, and enough
Jewellery in her name. By the grace of God, she doesn’t have a want of
anything. Our only sorrow is we never had children.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“How long have you been
married?” asked mom.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Sixteen years. But Auntie, I
no more hope for a child. But psychologically she suffers fits. I thought I’d
have her checked up as she remains alone. She accuses me of having no interest
in her.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">At that point, Hema interrupted
saying, “Why you are telling lies? You came only after I had sent ten letters to
you. Nothing will happen to me. I shall live normally as I used to after my
return.” Then her tone turned softer and she told Paramita, “Who else is mine after
his departure to Calcutta? You know, he told me that he would marry another
girl. He has chosen another bride and brought me here only to show off. Well, I
don’t need anything from him now. I have jewellery, property, a house,
everything. What more should I need?”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Paramita agreeably responded to
the woman. “What else does one need?” But the words, as she uttered them, stuck
in her bosom. She thought, ‘does one really need this much in one’s life? Can
she be really happy with only these things?’ Despite having a large heart for Partha,
Paramita’s life had become a vacuum. Perhaps her life would be more fulfilled
with hope when she had a baby. And when this woman was drifting away from all
possibilities, how could she lead her life?</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Before Hema, a middle-aged
woman had occupied the bed. Her attendant was her husband, aged and
aristocratic. Their son was an officer in Bhubaneswar. This old man and his
wife were also poles apart yet entangled in family-hood. Their son had
distanced himself from them emotionally.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">When Paramita first arrived at
the nursing home, she had noticed an old lady lying like a corpse with a saline
IV in her hand. She had undergone an episiotomy. A ward attendant was by her
and her husband beside her bed.<span> </span>She had
come out of the operation theater recently yet there was nobody around her -- no
botheration, no anxiety.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">No one else visited that old
couple except their son. Amidst the routine use of coconut water, biscuit,
special meal, horlicks, and bread, they drifted away their days and nights.
Paramita wondered how, even after six or seven days after the operation, no one
visited the lady.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Of course, their daughter-in-law
had once visited and returned after fifteen minutes with a distinctly changed
mood.<span> </span>Paramita’s parents were, of course,
responsible for that.<span> </span>The incident was
quite a trifle. Once the old lady wanted to urinate so badly she almost crawled
in pain like an insect.<span> </span>The
daughter-in-law, at that time, was chatting with Paramita.<span> </span>The helpless condition of the old lady was
noticed by Papa.<span> </span>Infuriated, he told the
daughter-in-law, “Why don’t you take her to the toilet? She might fall down
without help.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The daughter-in-law was
careless in her response to Papa replying, “She can do everything by
herself.<span> </span>She doesn’t need any help.”
Paramita’s mom reacted quickly. “But time has changed! She is sick now!” This
time the daughter-in-law didn’t reply nor did she go to the toilet to help either.
Instead, she went away soon after the old lady came out of the bathroom. After
the old man returned, Paramita’s Papa raged over the daughter-in-law’s
behaviour, but the old couple seemed unmoved.<span>
</span>Observing all this, Paramita felt as if the old couple has become so
stoic they never expected anything; never alleged anything.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">One day, raising his legs to
the chair and looking at the ceiling fan, the old man said to Paramita, “Listen
daughter!<span> </span>I was journeying to Vrindaban
but have been stranded here mid-journey. How heinous a sinner I am that even at
this age, I can’t move!”<span> </span>Meanwhile, the
old lady was in slumber; Papa had gone to bring lunch; and mom was engrossed in
chatting somewhere else in the building.<span>
</span>The old man continued, “I am retired man now, I have never visited
anywhere during my service except occasional visits to monasteries in Puri. I
had only dreamed of retiring in Vrirndaban. But while I was preparing to go, my
wife asked me to take her to our son for treatment. After treating her, my son
asked me to drop her at the village after her checkup and then go anywhere I
liked.<span> </span>And see how far my pilgrimage to
Vrindaban has progressed and where I am?” Displeasure was clearly heard in the
words of the old man, more for his wife than for his son, as if the old lady
had trapped him into the situation purposely! </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">One day the old lady had to
leave the hospital. Their son had come from Bhubaneswar. He had come only twice
during her stay at hospital. <span> </span>He always
seemed busy, enquiring of his mother’s health without ever physically seeing
her.<span> </span>And without expecting an answer, he
would ask his father to fill the prescriptions if more medicines were required.
One time when the son actually did come to see her, the old lady sobbed, “Why did
the doctors drain so much blood from you for me? Why should I need your blood? I
must die then. How much blood have they drained away from you, my dear son?”<span> </span>The old lady sobbed as she tried to feel the
hands of her son. Meanwhile, the old man had gotten the prescriptions filled
and the son rushed out of the room to bring the medicines.<span> </span>It seemed to Paramita as if she was watching
a scene from an experimental drama.<span> </span>And
the reason for her feeling this way was the bed lamp which lit up the room
instead of the overhead tube lights would constantly blink due to low
voltage.<span> </span>When the son came back into the
room with the medicines, the old man lit the overhead tube lights, then the bed
lamp.<span> </span>And in this light, the son seemed even
more mysterious. <span style="color: red;"></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The old man rose early the morning
his wife was to be released from hospital. After his bath, he put sandalwood
paste on his forehead, cleared the room, and got their luggage ready for
departure. The wife wore a clean saree, put on vermillion after combing her
hair, chewed some cardamoms, and sat expectantly, waiting on her bed. The man
had settled all the open accounts with the hospital. Although the old lady had
been permitted to be discharged, the couple waited for their son, who would
come between nine and ten that morning. The time passed but the son never came.
Suddenly at noon, the nurse burst into the room, behind her, a stretcher
carrying a half-dead body in saline. The orderlies shouted at the old lady to
get off the bed. Unable to understand anything, the old lady tried to move away
in pain. The nurse was furious with her as she had delayed vacating the bed
which was obviously needed for this emergency.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The old lady didn’t know where
to move because many people had gathered around the new patient all at once.
Paramita’s Papa beckoned her to sit with them. There she sat with them, leaning
against the wall out of the way.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">When the old man returned to
the room after hours of waiting for their son, he was worried to see this
condition of his wife, “What shall I do, sir, go to Bhubaneswar to my son? I
can’t understand why he delays! If I go now, can’t I be back by evening?” As he
said all this, the man carried their belongings into the space confined for
Paramita.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The old lady consoled him, “Why
do you worry. He will come.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“When will he come?” The old
man said in an irritated and impatient voice. “It is twelve-thirty now. I have
cancelled meals in the canteen since last night. What can we do now?”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The old couple seemed lifeless
as evening set in, as if they were two ghosts, two shadows – two speechless
shadows. Like every other time, the son came at ten that night. There was no
trace of remorse in him. Rather, he went about his business calmly as if nothing
had happened.<span> </span>He asked, “Got everything
ready? Let’s go.”<span> </span>And that was
that.<span> </span>The three disappeared from the
room...and Paramita’s life.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">As time went on, Paramita lost
all sense of time...</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Tearing
away the pages from the calendar,</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">She
became timeless;</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">A
prisoner among moments.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">And you
for him<span> </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span> </span>In sleeplessness </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">And in
unsleeplessness;</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">in an
absence of happiness; </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">in an
absence of all sorrows.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Yet
sweat drips from the body in the scorching heat;</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">devastating
thirst kills the bosom.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Nothing
is there before you</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">No –
April, no May, no June.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Not
the Nursing home nor Cuttack, India , world, planets, stars, sky-</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Nothing
is there. Only you and he.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Prisoner
among moments, </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">And
yet timeless. And yet sweat drips from the body</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">under
seething heat </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">And
yet a devastating thirst in the bosom.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">You have forgotten Sun Clinic
and Cuttack; forgotten looking for a rickshaw at the bus stand; queue up for
juice at the juice parlor; watching upbeat movies in the noon show.<span> </span>You have forgotten everything; forgotten that
life before when you were engaged in the play of building a nest in some
jungle. Like a woodcutter man, he would return from the jungle bazaar with rice
in his napkin; cleaning with cow-dung that hut, that little, beautiful dream
home at the foot of the hill. You would blow conch and worship in the evenings.
You have forgotten that life of some previous birth.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Now
you are a prisoner among moments</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">And
yet timeless.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Before
your eyes-only your shadow. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">No
world is before you. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Yet
sweat drips from the body in the sweltering heat</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">And in
the bosom-a devastating thirst.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">You
have torn all pages from the calendar, </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Like
falling flowers, in the sun of timelessness.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Paramita never quite escaped
the reality of her situation though as she experienced several false pains in
the meantime. Her body shivered in unbearable pain. While tolerating the pain
with her tight lips, Paramita felt delighted at the prospect of an arrival of a
baby -- her baby -- as if some long stagnant water dazzled with waves! All became
alerted and anxious, throwing away anything they were doing in favor of waiting
near Paramita. Sometimes, they called the nurse; sometimes they called the doctor,
but all pain would subside after a few hours and then there would be a return
to the status quo.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">At this point, Paramita did not
know what real pain was or what false pain was; but as she often heard, perhaps
false pain had no importance at all. She heard the doctor the other day say, “There
is no more intense pain in the world than that of labour pain. Therefore, women
are preferring these days Caesarean operation than bearing these intense pains.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">But Paramita was not prepared
for a Caesarean operation, nor was anyone in her family. They decided to wait.
Paramita could not rest in peace after she heard the word “Caesarean” from the
doctor. She feared the doctor would have made the Caesarean operation upon her.
She went through the daily delivery register to check the number of Caesarean
and normal cases. She was so scared she kept asking the same question to all
the doctors: “What is the position of the baby? Does it need a Caesarean? What
normally are the reasons for a Caesarean? When is that decision made?”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Who would answer so many
questions? Still some tried to solace her. “Why do you feel so nervous?
Caesarean is very normal matter now. Besides, you have to wait some more days. The
doctor will make a decision depending upon your condition at that time. Please
don’t worry.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Meanwhile, Paramita had enquired
the reasons for every Caesarean case and had condemned the greed of the nursing
home authorities for suggesting the Caesarean surgery. She did not want a Caesarean
operation but she would have to wait patiently for a normal delivery, which she
couldn’t.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">She never imagined, when she
came here, her days would be so painful and her nights so dreamless. She had only
come in for a checkup. But after examining her, the doctor had advised Partha
to stay since the city was not safe for her to travel frequently by bus to and from
the country.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Partha had no convenient arrangement
to stay in the city nor was there a relative where they could stay for a month
or two. So at this point, he was anxious to know if it was really necessary to
stay in the city.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The doctor was non-committal in
his reply. “It all depends upon you. If it is a normal case, we will not compel
you. But we have considered this case as serious and special.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">This was the first motherhood
for Paramita after years of infertility. After several examinations, x-rays, medicines,
and gonadotrophine hormone treatments at AIIMS (Delhi), she was blessed with
this happiness. She had almost given up all hope as if she was a barren land
where no seed would ever sprout. The gonadotrophine treatment delighted
all.<span> </span>This much-coveted dream was
precious for anybody and perhaps because of that, there was so much anxiety and
caution. Not caring for his business, Paramita’s father had come to stay with
his daughter and bear all the expenses of the nursing home. When the doctor
advised about bed admission (before a month and a half), Partha had also
decided to spend all his leave here as well.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">When it was decided they would
stay, Paramita and Partha had planned to meet some relatives, watch offbeat
movies, and visit memorable places. But, after she reached the nursing home on
the morning of the twenty-fifth of March, she could never once come out. The ‘city’
turned out for her to be only a small room, a red-bulb-lit long corridor, an Alsatian
dog seen through the window, and an old woman moving with her palms and feet in
the neighboring apartment. She had written so many letters to many
acquaintances but no one had replied or come to see her. It was as if all her
acquaintances had left the city or people who had so far been writing her
letters had forgotten that they knew her.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Paramita had thus become a
prisoner at the nursing home. Through the window could be seen the TV tower and
some ruins of the old city along an open field. There was no botheration of IV
fluid, injection, medicine or bandage. It seemed to Paramita as if she had come
to play the role of a patient!</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The white bed sheet, pillow,
and mackintosh blanket of the hospital always reminded Paramita of her role as
a patient. And in a bid to forget all this, she always draped the bed with her
printed bedcover. But how could she drape the environment that surrounded her;
turn her face away from the insensate women returned from operation with
saline; the smell of ether flowing from the OR; the trace of concern in the
face of the attendants; or the desperation of the people who could not find suitable
blood in the blood bank? Paramita was in that environment yet was unconcerned
with ether, saline fluids, and the search for blood, the cautions of the nurses,
or the alertness for the change of dressing.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The day Partha arrived with
leave of a month, Paramita became very much delighted to see him. She felt as
if Partha was not a husband, but her lover. She wished to weep in his embrace
and pour out all her anger on him as to why he had gone away leaving her in so
much loneliness. No city was there; no streets, no coffee houses, and no malls.
How illusionary this city was where everything went on at a safe distance.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">It seemed as if Partha wanted
to say, “See, how I have rushed to you? Without you, how could I live there in
peace?”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">But Paramita’s father was not
happy with Partha’s early arrival. According to the previous plan, her father
was to return home after Partha came. But he was not willing to go now. Concealing
his displeasure he asked Partha, “Why did you come so early? You should have
come a week later. It is not certain how long we will have to stay; no one
knows when it will happen! You have come to stay from now but you may not be
able to get leave in the real time of need. It is a pleasure you came and saw
the girl. Now go and cancel your leave. Come later when it is really needed.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">But Partha was resolute. He
didn’t want to go back nor was he going to. He responded somewhat curtly, “You
think, I can avail leave whenever I wish? It is not easy to arrange leave for a
month. Better, you please return home. Your business would have suffered much
loss. Mom can go with you if she wishes. Practically all of us have no such
problem. I’ll arrange all the meals at the hotel. Enough days are there before
the delivery. I’ll make you a trunk call, if needed.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">‘’Do you think I have no
concern for my daughter? If I go back as you suggest, I won’t remain there in
peace.” Papa’s voice sounded different. There was a serious altercation between
Papa and Partha regarding their staying with Paramita. But in the end, no one
went away. Couldn’t they see, while arguing, there wouldn’t be enough space for
four persons? They could never sleep comfortably at night nor could nap at noontime.
There would be enough time but they would have nothing to do. Who knows when the
day might come when a person would be needed to hold a salined hand carefully, give
medicines in the mouth, or softly caress a frail body!</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Paramita always knew Partha slept
soundly but she didn’t know he was so heavily sleepy and idle. After a little
errand and a little idle sitting on the chair, he would feel so tired that he
slept on the carpet spread on the floor. Paramita felt as if he had not come to
attend to her. Sometimes she got irritated with her sleepy Partha and would
scold him, “Why do you always lie flat like an idle?”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Partha was equally reactive as
he responded, “Say, if anything is there to do. Do you think I like to sit here
like this? Don’t I wish to meet my friends in the city? But I don’t want to
spend my time or my money on a rickshaw, nor can I walk. If you don’t like to
see my face, I am going downstairs. Call for me when you need me.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Paramita nourished a deep anger
not only on Partha but also on her mother who seemed to her to be a woman with
a stone heart. She did not think to caress Paramita when she wriggled in pain.
Be it false pain or real pain, it was all pain to Paramita! How couldn’t she?
When Partha was comforting Paramita, caressing her aching body, how could her
mother watch it unperturbedly but never realize it was her duty and not
Partha’s? Unable to tolerate all these things, Paratima once told her mother, “Does
it look good that he would do all these things even if you are here?”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Perhaps her mother was hurt by
these words and retorted, “Don’t talk like that. I have become old, unable to
do anything. I feel pain even in swallowing food. We were also pregnant at our
time. Were there sufficient doctors or such nursing homes in those days? We had
to do everything despite so much pain. Besides, we had to bear child after
child. I am going home if you talk like that. Inform me when the child is
born.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The real issue was Paramita
didn’t want three persons to sit idly around her and spend time and money
needlessly. They had to spend at least fifty to sixty rupees everyday besides
tips for the nurses, attendants, and sweepers. Paramita once fancied to stealthily
go away to her home, stupefying these three people.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Paramita now turned back to Jayanti’s
words. Jayanti asked worriedly for change of fifty rupees. Paramita enquired about
the urgency of the request as she looked for the change, still worried. Jayanti
said she was angry with them. Her mother had gone to the city bus stand to
return to her residence. Jayanti hurried her husband to look for her mother as she
might have boarded the bus already. So he rushed out. Paramita was surprised by
this turn of events, and asked Jayanti, “But she was all right in the morning.
What happened?”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Nothing,” Jayanti replied.
“I’m fed up with the tasteless boiled food every day here. I asked him to bring
some curry from the hotel. As she noticed it, she was in a fury and suspected
that we were enjoying hotel food in her ignorance.” Jayanti was on the verge of
weeping. “Can she go even if she wishes?”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Paramita picked an apple from
the basket, and as she looked for the knife, she saw Jayanti’s mother enter the
room. “Here, Auntie is back,” Paramita announced. When Jayanti asked her why
she didn’t go, her mother angrily replied the bus would be late by an hour.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The
process of creation is mechanical formulae in chemistry.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span> </span>Ask the pregnant woman shuddering with pain,</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span> </span>Ask the scientists busy with calculations
after turning away from the telescope,</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span> </span>Ask the doctor, lost in thought of episiotomy,
contraction, cervix and placenta </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span> </span>Do they know the address of poetry ?</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Yet
poetry dwells in the corners of the eye, </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">In
tear-washed lips,</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">In
smiles of contentment of a woman </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Relieved
of the burden of her womb.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Poetry
resides in darkness of the sky.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Poetry
blossoms in the innocent smile and cry of a new-born baby.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Ask an
ignorant student of a chemistry laboratory what poetry is. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Ask,
about poetry, </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">To a
mother feeling excited with the tender kicks of her baby in the womb.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">But
the girl selling tickets in the planetarium </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Knows
the whereabouts of poetry.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Step-down
from the enlightened consciousness and watch.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The
process of creativity is mechanical, </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">But
creation is all poetic.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Perhaps Paramita had turned
into a machine. Now she was ready for everything, ready for whatever she was
told. A Caesarean or normal whatever it would be, she needed emancipation. It
was strange her family members were also losing their patience. Papa, who used
to be strongly opposed to Paramita having a Caesarean, now approved of the
operation.<span> </span>He offered, “Yes, if necessary,
do it. My elder daughter’s two children’s births are Caesarean cases as well.
Paramita’s chances are a bit more because of her late marriage.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Paramita irritated the doctors
with a flood of questions. She was never satisfied with the consolatory response:
“Fetal heart rate was 140 beats per minute; blood pressure normal” How long
could she bear to hear these words? Doctors were now aware Paramita was too
sensitive. Some of them described the process of growth and life circle of the
fetus from conception to delivery. Some had cautioned her talking about the affect
of psychic condition of the mother upon the baby. Was she content with all
these consolations?</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The doctors were almost
astonished the day when Paramita said, “I shall prefer Caesarean; I am prepared
now. You can operate at any moment.” The doctor smiled, also astonished, said,
“It is surprising that you have changed your mind! It seems you are very
impatient now. You have been waiting for a long time. Let’s wait for a few more
days and see what happens.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“No, no doctor, I can’t take
this anymore.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“See, nothing is in our hands.
Everything depends upon the decision of the Chief.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Papa was a bit inquisitive now.
“What is the standing rule here? How early is a Caesarean decided? Look, all
the decisions lie with the authority. However, the day before the operation we
bring out a list of patients scheduled for the procedure.<span> </span>Perhaps, these decisions are taken two or
three days earlier. Akshitrutiya is ahead. As it is an auspicious days for
Hindus, it will be better to give birth to a child on that day. Please convince
the doctor.”<span> </span>The doctor smiled away with
an assurance of help.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Partha was asked by the nursing
home authority to arrange blood for Paramita, who had type A-positive blood.<span> </span>He had been restless the entire day and returned
with empty hands from the blood bank in the morning.<span> </span>Blood of her group couldn’t be found there.<span> </span>Partha’s blood type was O-negative; Papa’s was
AB-positive. Partha had contacted some of his friends and acquaintances, as if
the blood of Paramita’s group didn’t run in anyone else.<span> </span>Papa asked Partha to try some more in the
afternoon.<span> </span>If need be, Papa himself
would go home to try the other children and bring one if the required blood
group is found.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">And it turned out Paramita’s blood
type would be available in the evening from a doctor of neurosurgery but Partha
had to donate his own blood in return.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“When they have asked for
blood, will it surely be a Caesarean?” Papa queried.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Partha replied, “It can’t be
said for sure. They told me in the office that they always asked for blood
before fifteen days if it should be required in an emergency.” </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Partha checked the list every
evening but never found Paramita’s name, neither in the list of Caesareans nor in
the list of those women in labour.<span>
</span>Paramita wanted emancipation, but when? In the meantime, the kiths and
kins had come to meet the expectant Paramita. Was the child inside Paramita’s
womb also suffering in the expectation of an emancipation? Paramita felt as if
the coming baby had forgotten its path and sat quietly and stoically like some sage.
Frustrated in waiting, her mother had gone back home.<span> </span>Waiting for the baby, Papa had been reading
many suspense thriller books. In the waiting, Partha had been growing his beard
and nails and did not care for his dirty clothes. Yet the baby inside Paramita’s
womb was quiet, unperturbed. And when the doctor came to record the vital
statistics, every time it was the same: fetal heart rate 140 beats per minute;
blood pressure normal.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Papa had gone to the hotel to
bring some bread. Paramita was having a chat with Jayanti. Partha had lit up a
cigarette looking at the darkness of the world. It was then a nurse came and
informed Paramita, “Your operation will be tomorrow.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Paramita was startled. “Mine?
Are you kidding me?”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Yes, yours.<span> </span>Take only bread and milk tonight. Keep the
door open. You‘ll receive an enema.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Partha had gone downstairs to
check the list of medicines and returned to the room with them and asked
Paramita, “How much money do you have with you?<span>
</span>I need five hundred rupees only.<span>
</span>I must hurry or else the medicine store will be closed.”<span style="color: red;"></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Paramita didn’t know why but
her body shivered severely from the moment the nurse told her about her
procedure being the next day.<span> </span>She handed
the bundles of notes to Partha. She couldn’t eat more than two slices of bread
that night.<span> </span>The entire night was spent
with short trips from the bed to the bathroom and from the bathroom back to the
bed.<span> </span>Paramita and the porcelain goddess
bonded that night!</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Her pubic hairs were shaved in
the morning and she was given a white gown to put on. Wearing that gown,
Paramita paced slowly towards the red-lit room which always seemed so
mysterious.<span> </span>Outside the room, Papa and
Partha waited.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">#################</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">It seemed to Paramita as if
lots of people were around her amidst the mist. The scent of anesthesia grabbed
her entity. Someone spoke to her from within the mist, “You have given birth a
baby boy, dear -- a boy.” Paramita came out slowly from the mist. Groping for a
path, she opened her eyes and caught sight of a cradle between Jayanti’s bed
and hers.<span> </span>Someone said, “You have a baby
boy.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">What a strange transformation
in Paramita had taken place!<span> </span>Till
yesterday, she was a creature of some other world and today, she was completely
different.<span> </span>The laws and customs, values
and validities of this world were now totally different.<span> </span>She had so far been hiding her breasts
thinking them as the most secretive part of her body.<span> </span>Who took away all her shyness? Strange were
the feelings and experiences in this new world of motherhood where all which
was previously obscene was now decent and okay.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span> </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Paramita had seen a world of
different realizations in those days and realized how trivial was the
attainment. <span> </span>And why had she struggled so
much for this meager attainment?<span> </span>She had
been living, at least for three years, with hopes and fears. She had to rush
for the city, crossing some four hundred kilometers to attend the nursing home
for an endometrial biopsy within twenty four hours of the beginning of her
periodic menstrual cycles. Yet how trivial was this attainment? After attaining
motherhood, now it seemed to Paramita it was not so much important at all to
become a mother.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Man can live his life only in non-attainment;
like Hema Behera, like those old couples, and like Jayanti. How valueless are
the love, affection, and attachment for which people are so anxious to get!</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">On the landscape of the other
side was the desperate Jayanti, with pressing her cheeks on her knees, had
become poetry. Aha! Paramita felt sad for the girl who was looking so oblivious
since this morning. Paramita had observed this while Papa, Mom and Partha were
busy preparing for their return. Mom went to give Jayanti the water pot; she
took and kept it on the shelf in absent-mindedness. As if she was not in this
world; nor was there the din and bustle of the morning around her.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">All the luggage had been
carried down to the vehicle waiting below.<span>
</span>Paramita looked, for the last time, at her shared space and in the
bathroom to see if she had left anything. Taking the baby boy from Paramita’s
mother, Jayanti embraced him and began to weep as she kissed the baby farewell.
And between the tears she asked, “You’re going?”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Paramita felt if anyone could
bless a desire, she would surely ask for one thing: that Jayanti becomes a
mother. After becoming a mother, let her realize that poetic moment her realize
how futile all these things really are.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Translated
by: Ms. Ipsita Sarangi</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">English
editing by: Paul J. McKenna</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
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</xml><![endif]-->Sarojini Sahoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06356168164108611237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613632675367188848.post-70875833074799082972013-10-24T08:03:00.000-07:002013-10-24T08:32:04.804-07:00MY STORY SERIES – 15<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 22.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Flower of the Seventh Season</span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sarojini Sahoo</span><br />
<br />
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">(In her <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Diary of Anaïs Nin</i>, Vol. 1:
1931-1934, Nin once told “Man can never know the loneliness a woman knows.”
This story relates to such feminine loneliness. The original story is included
in author’s Odia anthology<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Srujani
Sarojini (ISBN: ISBN: 978- 81-7411-483-1) under the title ‘Saptam Rutura Fula’.
Unlike author’s other stories, so far it has not been translated into any
Indian languages.)</span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
rainy season was slowly and steadily coming to an end. Whenever I saw her, she
appeared as if she was a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sadhab bohu</i>
who turned into a cute red velvet insect for her love from a bride of a
merchant, according to folk tale. Since the day I met her for the first time, I
had noticed something unnatural about her. Of course she reminded me of the
days when I was a newly married bride as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Around
eleven o’clock at night, I could hear a lot of hustle and bustle in the house
next door. Earlier I had heard the sound of a vehicle stopping. So they have
finally arrived. But why would I go and meet them at night; I’d rather go in
the morning and meet them I thought to myself, and quietly went to bed. Yes, I
have to go in the morning. Otherwise what would they think?</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She
was surprised to see me. I introduced myself to her and told her that I lived
in the house next door. As she folded her hands to wish for her <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">namaste, </i>I told her to call on me if she
needed anything. “If everything else fails, I can even hear you if you call out
from your kitchen,” I said smiling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">When
she heard me saying those words she pretended not to listen and said, “All
right, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">namaste.”</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
felt offended by her behavior and I was surprised as well. We always greet
everyone with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">namaste </i>when they come
and when they leave. She wants me to leave, but why? I had not gone there to
cause any harm. She did not even offer me to sit. Instead, she asked her
brother to put a nail on the wall. I noticed there was no sofa or chair in the
drawing room. Had she given me some attention, I would not have minded even if
she did not offer me to sit.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though I felt offended, I could not help
but notice the shine in her eyes and the satisfaction on her lips which
reminded me of the days when I was newly married. When I was setting up my new
home what an excitement it was, as if heaven was within my reach. The dreams I
saw in her eyes forbade me from being angry with her. I thought to myself,
after she adjusts to her own new world, she will come out on her own to mingle
with the neighbours.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">However,
after a week, some very surprising and unnatural events began taking place.
These events made not only me but everyone around curious about them. The girl
had brought a constable and her brother along with her. The constable would
drive the police jeep. He had come to drive the car the girl had received as a
dowry. He also had another duty which involved teaching my neighbour Srinivasan
how to drive. Just after a day of his arrival, the driver was loitering near
our gate when my husband Rudra asked him, “Do you need anything?” </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He
opened the gate and came inside saying, “I was having a look at the garage.
Really, it’s in the right place. A similar garage could be constructed on the
other side.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘On
the other side’ meant the neighbouring house. The neighbouring house was the
last house in the row of houses. Next to the house was a road and fields with
bushes. Almost ten days had gone by since she had come. Her brother and the
constable had gone back but she remained. During that time, the building of the
walls of the garage was only halfway through. After they left, the work had
stopped completely.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
was not able to meet her during those ten days because I was busy with a lot of
things. I sometimes wondered how the poor girl must be spending her time. I
wouldn’t know as I am never at home. Around ten o’clock I had to leave for my
consultancy office which was located on the ring road. By the time I come back
from the office, it was almost four o’clock in the afternoon. I remembered the
days when I was newly married. I used to keep waiting for Rudra. And then just
like the girl next door, I was so fed up with my lonely existence, I opened up
the consultancy office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">But
there was something different about this girl. The other day I was leaving for
my office in a hurry, the jeep driver from Srinivasan’s office stopped me and
asked me, “Isn’t there anyone in their house?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Maybe
they are there. I did hear the sound of the whistle from the pressure cooker
the other day.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He
replied, “I have been honking for sometime but there is no response. Look, the
gate is locked.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
then noticed the gate was indeed locked. But just five minutes earlier, I had
heard the sound of the whistle from the pressure cooker. I could hear the noise
of utensils clanking as well. How could they get out so quickly? Why would
anyone lock the door when they are inside? How will the milkman, the vegetable
man, and the newspaper vendor come in? I told the driver to wait a bit longer
since they could be in the bathroom.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Within
a few days, the juiciest gossip of the colony was that Srinivasan locks the
girl indoors when he leaves for the office. I also noticed their gate was
locked throughout the day and night. So I did not get any opportunity to visit
the girl at her home since my meeting with her the first day she came here.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Some
people had started enquiring about her because I was her next door neighbour.
The question always was, are they really locking their gate?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">As
a neighbor, I was interested in getting to know more about them. I had found
Srinivasan’s behaviour quite mysterious. I could not understand why he left the
big house and moved into a smaller house after his marriage. Why did he choose
a house in a desolate corner of the colony over a house with a garage and nice
garden in the middle of the colony? And finally, why did he lock himself and
remain distant and aloof from everyone in the colony?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
came to know from Rudra the Superintendent Engineer had summoned Srinivasan to
his office and had scolded him. When there was a breakdown in the substation,
he had come to his house only to go back after honking at the gate of his
quarters. There was a lock on his gate and no one came out of the door. No,
these kind of incidents never happened when I was newly married. On the other
hand, I used to sit next to the window and wait for Rudra; and as soon as I
heard the sound of his vehicle coming from a distance I would run outside with
the key to the lock in my hand. As soon as he reached the gate, I would say, “I
am feeling claustrophobic inside the house. Let us go for a walk towards the
hill.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">It
would never occur to me Rudra might be tired after his day in the office but
perhaps he understood my situation so both us used to leave for our walk, right
from the gate.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Almost
four months had passed during this period. In December, almost halfway through
winter, it was quite cold. There hadn’t been much change in her house. The
construction of the garage remained in the same half-way stage. There was a
heap of sand on one side of the gate and on the other side, a few rows of
bricks still lying there. There were no workers to be seen. And Srinivasan
hadn’t gone for his driving lessons either. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">One
day the girl smiled at me through the opening between the walls of our houses.
I was watering the plants in my garden and I asked her, “How’s everything?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She
nodded her head with approval and said, “Are you quenching the thirst of your
plants?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Yes,”
I replied, and added, “Do come over to our house sometime.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I
will. The door is open. I have to go,” she said and hurriedly left.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">It
was a common practice to invite people to visit their homes when anyone meets
someone from the colony in front of their gate. However, Srinivasan never took
the girl to anyone’s house, not even to our house. Once the managing director
was coming for a tour of the colony and superintendent engineer summoned
Srinivasan and told him “You should give a party. You have gotten married and
you have not even introduced your wife to anyone. What is this? You should
bring her to the club once.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Srinivasan listened to everything but
pretended as if nothing went into his ears. The managing director came over and
there was a big feast organized by the relevant authorities. Srinivasan came
all alone, had his dinner, and left.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Everyone
had come to terms with the fact that Srinivasan was a loner. He was not
interested in maintaining relationships with anyone. Some people felt sad for
his wife and thought of her as a ‘poor girl.’ She was such a smart and pretty
girl too; Srinivasan was not a good fit for her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">One
evening I went to her house. After being hassled by the SE, Srinivasan was not
locking his gate anymore. The girl opened the door and happily ushered me
inside. She had changed much from my first visit to her house. She made tea for
me and showed me the album with her marriage photos. I saw many pictures of
her. Some of them were taken before her marriage. Before her marriage, she had
cut her hair in a short, low-maintenance style. In one of the photos, she was
sitting bravely on a pony about the height of her waist. I enquired her about
the picture, “Did you go to visit someplace?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“No,
no. This was the picture taken when I was learning horseback riding and my
father was the sergeant.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Do
you know how to drive?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Yes.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Does
Mr. Srinivasan know how to drive?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“No,
and he is not learning. Sometimes I take out the car and drive around a little;
otherwise it may become rusty.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Where
are you keeping the car? The garage is still only half done.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“In
the division office. I have been telling him to get it finished. My father can
also send someone and get it done.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
could not understand why the girl had married Srinivasan. The girl had given
her part 1 exams before her marriage. She must be around twenty-one years old.
I have seen Srinivasan working here for the past twelve to thirteen years.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
girl told her “Five years back, there was a proposal for my sister to arrange
marriage between her and my husband. He did not approve of her at that time. My
elder sister got married to someone else and then I got married to him. Really
amazing isn’t it?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
said, “Yes, they say destiny takes us to the place where we belong.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“How
do I look in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">salwar kameez</i>?” she
asked, changing the subject.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Oh,
you look wonderful. You’re looking smart and beautiful.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“My
husband does not like all these dresses. He asks me to dress up by putting on
my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">saree </i>by the time he comes back
from the office.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Yes,
not everyone has the same sense of fashion. It is better to follow your
husband’s wishes and save yourself from trouble, isn’t it?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
got up to go and as I did, she told me, “I really enjoyed chatting with
you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ll do it more, I hope.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I
am generally not at home during the day, so do come in the evening sometime.”
She nodded her head in approval.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">#
# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">In
the meantime, winter had given way to spring and as it was getting less and
less cold, I had resumed going on my morning walks. One day the girl peeped
through the wall and asked, “You go for morning walks?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Yes,
I do.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I
used to go for morning walks with my parents”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“You
can come with me. I don’t mind. If you want, I’ll give you a call in the
morning.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I
will ask him and let you know,” she replied.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Throughout
winter, I had seen an old maid sitting with the girl in the evenings. She used
to be there until Srinivasan was back from the office. Sometimes it would be
dark by the time he came back and the old woman would be complaining. Sometimes
she would peep through the wall and ask me, “What are you doing? Why don’t you
come over and chat for a while. I am here to guard her. Most times, by the time
I reach home it is night.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Srinivasan’s
wife would come out from the house and complain sometimes, “I can’t understand
a thing both of you are saying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t
know Odia.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“She
was inviting me to your house” I would say.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Why
are you in a hurry, aunty?” She asked to the old woman.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The old woman started laughing loudly. “No, no
nothing serious dear! I was just asking her to come over. The older woman
reminded me of the flower seller old woman in the folk tale story of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sadhab bohu</i>, who performed her role of
the middle person in the love of the bride and the merchant. She did not have a
family of her own and had taken shelter in her brother’s house in the nearby
village.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Srinivasan
had still not yet mastered driving so their car was not taken out everyday.
Sometimes he used to take his wife for dinner in the hotel in the nearby town.
However, even during their trip, the car was driven by Sur, a caretaker of a
guest house where Srinivasan used to stay during his bachelor time. He knew
driving and somehow Srinivasan had gotten a hold of him. So Sur would also have
dinner in the expensive hotel along with the couple. Gradually Sur had access
to the house, just like a member of the family. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Another
person who could enter Srinivasan’s house without permission was Banambar, the
caretaker of the guest house. He had a moped and he used to buy vegetables and
mutton and run other errands for Srinivasan’s household. Banambar also used to
guard the girl whenever the old woman did not turn up.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Everyday
Srinivasan used to come home riding behind Naresh on his motorbike. Naresh
would come to his house around ten o’ clock at night. Like the famous musician
pair Kalyanji and Anandji, Naresh and Srinivasan were often seen together on
their motorbikes. Naresh had a son who was doing his engineering studies
somewhere outside the area. Naresh’s wife did not like to stay in the
government quarters as she felt claustrophobic. She preferred to stay in the
village in her own house and never bothered to take account of Naresh, who had
been working with an insurance company. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Everyone
in the colony was surprised that even though there was no dearth of
high-ranking officers in the colony, how could an engineer type like Srinivasan
associate himself with a worker from the lowest<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>grade, a caretaker from the guest house and a mere clerk?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Sometimes,
Srinivasan would take the group whenever he went for dinner to expensive hotels.
Be it Puri or Similipal, he always took the group with him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Almost
a year had gone by since the girl had come. One rainy season had gone by and
within no time, another rainy season was here. The only change was the girl had
begun going on morning walks with me. We used to walk for about two or more
kilometers, chatting as we went. I did not dare stop going on morning walks
even though it was sometimes difficult for me because I felt for the girl. The
mornings were her only opportunity to be free from her cage -- to breathe the
air of freedom rather than the air of control and oppression.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">During
our conversations I had come to realize the girl was very sad because she could
not bear children. She confessed to me one day, “I have some problems with my
hormones.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“This
place has something to do with it. Many couples are childless here. Even after
ten to fifteen years, they still have not been able to bear any children. They
think there is something wrong with the water. Initially, I also had some
problems with my hormones as well,” I remembered those days when I had no child
to fill the loneliness in my life. Life seemed so meaningless for me back then.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
girl said, “I did not have any such problems before; only after coming here I
am having them.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Did
you undergo any treatment?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Of
course, how can you sort these things out without treatment?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Another
day during our morning walk, the girl had said “He does not have time to go
with me to the doctor. He is saying he will send Sur tomorrow. He will take me
in the car to see the doctor. I do not know anyone in this town. I don’t know
what to do. I would have taken you along if you were at home. Banambar, the
caretaker of the guest house, will accompany me.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“What
keeps Srinivasan so busy? Why don’t you ask him to take leave for a day?” But I
immediately felt uncomfortable after uttering the words. ‘What if there is no
fight between husband and wife over the matter? No, this was not right at all,’
I thought.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
did not know whether the girl went to the doctor or not and I did not want to
talk about it. I knew that that was a sensitive question which often hurts most
women. Only experienced women would know how insulting it is to answer
questions posed to women who are not blessed with motherhood.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Previously
we used to meet for at least half an hour or even forty-five minutes during our
morning walks but gradually, that had to come to an end because of the heavy
rains. I had not seen her for ten days. She also often stayed behind locked
doors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One day when I came back from the
office, I saw her walking up and down the road in front of her house even
though it was drizzling.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“What
happened? Why are you getting wet in the rain?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“There
is a snake in the house.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh, really? Where? What kind of snake?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I
don’t know what kind of snake.” The girl was shivering. I could make out from
her gestures that the length of the snake was about half a meter.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“It
is pitch black in colour,” she said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I
hope it is not a cobra,” I offered. I had also started shivering, “This is so
dangerous. How will you know where the snake will hide? Have you informed Mr.
Srinivasan? You come over to our place and take a seat. Don’t get wet in the
rain. Let’s see what can be done. My husband knows a snake charmer who can get
hold of the snake by chanting some <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mantras</i>.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
girl came with me to our house. But she did not sit on the sofa. She was very
restless. I tried to console her, “Don’t worry. I am telephoning Rudra. He will
inform Srinivaan. You can also telephone Srinivasan if you want.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She
appeared not to pay any heed to my words. She was constantly running to the
gate in a very restless state. After I telephoned Rudra, Mr Srinivasan
telephoned our house a short while later. I called the girl and handed the
receiver to her. The girl burst out in rage and told her husband, “You went off
leaving me alone to fight with the snake.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
could not know what Srinivasan said but the girl put down the receiver and said
to me, “He is coming with some people.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
was a bit surprised after I heard her so I asked “Was Mr. Srinivasan at home
when the snake was seen at home?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Yes.
He was at home. It was around three-thirty and we were watching television.
There was a small gap near the door and all of a sudden, the snake entered from
the garden. He was scared and ran and sat on top of the slab in the kitchen. I
noticed the snake had gone into the guest room. I shut the door of the guest
room from outside. After a short while, he left for his office.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“He
left without solving the problem of the snake?” I asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
girl did not answer my question. I tried to understand Srinivasan. It was
acceptable that he was scared of the snake. I had to admit that he could not
have killed the snake. But he could have arranged for someone to do that. How
could he leave his wife alone at home with a snake and work peacefully in the
office? What would have happened had I not met the girl? If I had not
telephoned?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Of
course that day, the snake was caught. The snake charmer caught the snake very
easily and showed everyone. The snake was pitch black in colour. The snake
charmer said it was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">junglee chiti,</i> a
wild krate. From that day on, I had lost respect for Srinivasan.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
rainy season had given way to autumn. The garage in Srinivasan’s house still
was not constructed. During autumn, small snakes would come out to eat frogs so
Srinivasan’s wife got some workers, arranged through Banambar, and put the
bricks onto the top of the boundary wall. The sand was lying for a long time
and so people began thinking it to be common property and had carried it away
in bags of one and two and had turned the heap into a plateau. Srinivasan also
had abandoned his driving lessons. That may be because whenever he wanted to go
out, Sur, the care taker of a guest house, was always there. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
rainy season had come to an end and we resumed our morning walks. I came to know
from the girl she had gone with Sura and Banambar and had her hormone test. She
had very sadly commented, “He is not taking care of me at all. The test report
has been lying for a long time. Should not he go and consult the doctor? I am
getting very bored here. I have nothing to do throughout the day. He is not
letting me mix with anyone. He tells me that the women here only spend their
time in gossip and backbiting. I only get to talk to you. Otherwise, I just sit
at home all to myself.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“There’s
some truth in the fact that when three women come together they start
gossiping. However, if you are really bored why don’t you do gardening? You
will never know how time will fly with the trees and plants. Before you moved
into this house, a family used to live here. And their garden was full of
roses. After they left, the Mali household moved in. Mali always used to spend
his time reading and was a bit spiritual as well. And his wife was always busy
with their twins. And that’s the reason why the garden was spoilt. I do not
understand why Mr. Srinivasan left his old house and moved into this one where
there is danger from everything, from snakes to thieves.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“No
one knows why he does not want to go inside the colony,” she replied.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
knew why Srinivasan did not let his wife meet with the women in the colony. No.
It would not be right to say I knew but rather I could imagine. Before he got
married, he had become close to the girl living next to his old quarters. Some
people had seen the girl going to his house at night. Now the girl and even the
family had transferred and moved out. However, he was still afraid someone may
disclose the matter to his wife. Initially, Srinivasan did not even have faith
in me. He had said something about me to his wife and that was the reason why
the girl remained away from me. Gradually it was as if Srinivasan developed
faith in me. I decided not to say those things to Srinivasan’s wife.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">One
day, after I came here and was married, a high school student who was living in
the house in front of our house had come to get some old newspaper; he wanted
to use the newspaper to cover his books. After taking the old newspapers for a
couple of times, the boy told me, “A girl used to come here before you came
here.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
was surprised at the audacity of the boy and asked him with a very strong tone,
“So what? I know the girl.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
boy could not stand my strong words and left the place immediately, and never
came back to ask for newspapers.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
long running autumn festival <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Navratris </i>was
over and winter was approaching. The dew drops were shining on the petals of
the flowers in the morning. The wind was fragrant with the smell of the flowers
in the paddy fields. However, the girl was gradually becoming morose. She
looked like the flower which had bloomed for three, four days and was drying
out. She was drab and had lost her radiance. Even her health was deteriorating
day by day.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
could understand the girl was sad for some reason. I said, “Why don’t you do
some gardening? Some nice plants have arrived at the nursery in the village.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Sometime
after I had said those words, I noticed that Srinivasan purchased a rose plant
and had planted it under the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">neem</i>
tree. I told her the plant may not survive under the big tree.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">True
to my words, the plant did not grow. Nothing grows without sensitivity.
Gradually Srinivasan brought more and more plants for the girl. Since the
plants were not growing under the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">neem</i>
tree, Banambar had come and cut the branches of the tree. The old maid of the
house grounded the cow dung and made manure for the plants. However, one day
Srinivasan, put so much synthetic fertilizer on the plants that within a few
days, all the plants were dry.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
girl would look at my garden over the wall and would be very delighted. She
would say, “In my parents’ house, orderlies would do everything. We had a big
area around our quarters. We grew vegetables as well. But the soil here is not
very fertile. Look at the height of the trees. Whenever I feel like it, I stand
here and look at your garden. I feel very happy.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">By
this time the mango trees had started sprouting buds. The cuckoo had begun to
rehearse her musical chords for the season ahead. The breezes ran wild like
naughty children. I noticed from the area from where the half-constructed garage
stood to where the garden was, small plants of marigold had come up, looking
green like a field of green leafy vegetables. I inquired of her, “Have you
planted marigold plants? It’s already going to be spring, will the marigolds
bloom now?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“During
another festival day of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Deepavali,</i> I
had decorated a garland of marigolds for the doorway. When I took down the
garland I scattered the seeds all over the garden. Now the saplings have come
out.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
pretended not to notice the fresh saplings. Everything had its time. Nothing
blooms; nothing bears fruit unless it is the right season. I realized then the
girl could never do gardening, and she didn’t have the interest either it
seemed. Some motivation is needed to live. Why couldn’t the girl understand? I
tried not to think about it but somehow, it would keep creeping into my mind
like an unwanted guest.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
noticed one day a big yellow flower had bloomed on the five-inch tall plants.
The flowers appeared as if the moon had come down from the sky. The flower appeared
as the smile of the family; such a big flower in such a small plant!!!! If the
whole bed of plants bloomed like that, the whole place would be illuminated.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Even
though she was a neighbour, I had never asked the girl for salt, sugar, or
ginger. I had never sent curry or cakes to her house either. We had never had
any meals together. I never nurtured any jealousy towards her as a neighbour.
However, the flower had struck a chord in my heart and I couldn’t resist asking
her, “Could you please give me a few saplings from those flowers?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Yes,
please feel free to take some. There are so many,” she replied. However, I felt
a bit hesitant to get the plants as soon as she gave me permission; I came back
at a later time. However, that one marigold flower had stuck to my heart like a
flash of moonlight. I would look at the flower as I went back and forth to
work. Four days after receiving permission to take the plants, when I was
watering the plants in the garden, I asked my daughter to go to the neighbour’s
house, “My dear, please go and ask Aunty to give you some marigold saplings.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">My
daughter went. I was in the garden picking weeds and tending to some plants and
was picking up the dry leaves lying under the plants. In some plants, I had to
put fertilizers and insecticides. I finished everything and washed my hands and
face and stepped out onto the verandah where I noticed the marigold plants kept
there at one corner of the garden. Instead of being happy I was very upset to
see the uprooted plants. That beautiful yellow flower was smiling there with
four or five other plants.</span></div>
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has been uprooted and re-planted the sapling of the yellow flower in the
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">(Translated
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
Sarojini Sahoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06356168164108611237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613632675367188848.post-57799575136568081372013-09-20T08:57:00.002-07:002013-09-20T09:33:59.237-07:00MY STORY SERIES – 14<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 22.0pt;">Freedom<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Sarojini
Sahoo<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt;">(The
original story was written in 90’s and was included in author’s Odia anthology Dukha
Apramita (ISBN: ISBN: 978- 81-7411-483-1) under the title ‘Mukti’. Unlike author’s
other stories, it has not been translated into any Indian languages.) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
hadn’t thought we would ever meet like this. It seemed neither had she,
standing, stunned at my presence. She regarded me with her large brown eyes as
if she had something to say but had forgotten it because of this chance
meeting. She lifted her hands to greet me with a <i>namaste</i> (good day greeting) but then dropped them. The bubble
burst. The moment ended. The silence continued. Words came to my lips,
trembled, and disappeared into the awkward silence like a leaf being cast away
by the breeze. The silence continued.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">A
route out of this quagmire was provided by Dr. Samantray, who hailed her from
inside one of the examination rooms.
“Uma, would you come in here for moment, please?” Over time, I had
forgotten her name even though I remembered her face and gait. Dr. Samatray’s
call to her reminded me of her name -- Uma.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
never thought I would meet Uma again but here I was at Dr. Samantray’s office
and here was Uma. She was just like I remembered her only now, she was wearing
a <i>saree</i> instead of a dress. The
questions and thoughts began flooding within me like a broken dam.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Would
she remember me? Would she have changed her mind about me after so many years?
Would she be angry with me or hate me? What must she be thinking about me?
Would that smile plastered on her face be a reflection of her inner self or a
mirror image of the hatred inside? Would she commiserate herself by murmuring
that ‘no one rules for eternity?’ Would she be thinking when you were on your
way up the ladder, your power flowed out for everyone to see, and now look at
you: white hair, wrinkled skin, deficient eyes, and rotten teeth?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I then
wondered if she questioned why I was there or did she think to herself did she
come for arthritis or perhaps just for a common cold. Would the girl ever say,
“Look at me, I didn’t blow away like a feather on the ground. I haven’t just
withered away and died like an ant does after someone steps on it.” At this
moment, I didn’t know what she was thinking about me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Was
she still thinking I had destroyed her future? How much must Dr. Samantray be
paying her? Would her father be as humble as before or be stooped down carrying
the burden of his daughter? I did not have the courage to ask these questions
of Uma so they swam inside my mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">While
I was lost in thought, she had taken the opportunity to brush past me and
disappeared into the examination rooms beyond the door in answer to Dr.
Samantray’s call.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Examination
rooms...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
wasn’t very popular with the students. I don’t know where this hardness existed
inside me but it always seemed to flower right around the time of exams where I
made sure that I wasn’t liked, especially amongst the student body. I had been aware of my hardline tendencies
right from my first year of service. It had been a new job. I needed to prove my
capability under all circumstances. I was motivated and zealous to the point of
obsession. Uma and I became acquainted with each other under the torment of duty.
It was the day for the year-end examination in English.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">In
a hall where about fifty students sat, my investigative eyes roamed around
everywhere, from students’ laps to under their sheets to their feet. When I
caught someone cheating, a feeling of victory swept through me. I felt elated, unconquerable.
I caught girls who had copied everything onto their thighs under their plain white
garden silk dresses. I would take them to the toilet and wash the answers from
their thighs. I sometimes had to put my hand inside the girls’ dresses and take
out the cheat sheets hidden amidst their chests. I had to ask the boys to
remove their shoes and take out copies of answers hidden inside their socks. Like
a blind person I would poke, prod, grab and ferret out these copies from their backs,
sleeves, and trousers. Maybe it was my investigative eyes or my efforts in
proving my capability or my desire to be lauded. Whatever it was, it made me
very unpopular with both students and their parents.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Everyone
at my home knew I would be in trouble one day because of this. That’s why my
husband Ravi would be there with his scooter inside the college campus as soon
as the examination would finish. He used to sit in front like a shield and I
would sit behind him and relate my battle-laden moments as we sped off. Like a
conqueror, I would describe what had happened; how I had uncovered copies from places
they thought safe; what kind of threats I would receive as I made my way
through the students on my way home. Ravi would tell me his thoughts only after
we left the campus. “Think about what you’re doing. Who knows what this may
lead to someday,” he would always say.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
would get irritated when he said this. “What do you think will happen? Do you
think they’ll kick me out? Slap me around? If everyone was to think that way,
no one would do anything good in this world. If you allow someone to do something
wrong, first, you’re an accessory in whatever they’re doing and second, you’re doing
an injustice to the person doing it by letting them get away with it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Ravi
would flare up and say, “Don’t lecture me about what is just and unjust. No one
has asked you to correct the nation. You’re going there to do a job. Just do
that job and come back home. What’s the need to go beyond the call of duty?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“What
a strange thing! Aren’t examinations a part of my duty? Isn’t it my
responsibility to make sure the examinations that are happening are conducted
properly? You can’t understand since you’re not there. If you were in my place,
you would find out how difficult it is to tolerate someone cheating.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Ravi
would respond, more irritated. “There’s no need to be so sincere. I am asking
you not to do it and you will listen to me. That’s it. I don’t want to hear
anything else.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
understood the fear behind Ravi’s unhappiness. Not only Ravi but I guess my
father-in-law as well had read of bad rumours when he read the Bengali newspaper
in Majumdar’s shop. Once he called me in a soft voice and tried to make me
realize the situation. It seemed like it was something he had wanted to say
something for a while as it sounded well-rehearsed. “This world is not for good
people. No one here understands the value of idealism. A good and ideal man
always suffers. Did the Pandavas get any happiness in their whole lifetimes?
Did Ram get it? Or how about Jesus Christ or Mahatma Gandhi? Did they ever get
happiness? You must be thinking they are beyond death and some of them are
worshipped by us. Fame, divinity, what do you gain by these things? Did any of
them live to see fame and divinity?” I felt he could not say all that he wanted
to though. There was a problem somewhere. In spite of this, I could understand his
purpose. Then he would add, “Look, you’re a woman. There are obstacles at every
step for you. How much can you oppose these things?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
was surprised to hear these words of opposition from someone who had once been famous
as a teaching idol. It made me think something had happened at one point which
made both father and son have a certain fear. I wondered what that unknown fear
was. What made both father and son so scared?
Or was the son scared because the father was without knowing what it
truly was?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Our
neighbour’s son, who was studying in my college, was relatively comfortable
speaking to me. He sometimes came to our house and gossiped about the different
reactions of the students to how I did my job. The gossip usually ran amongst
fairly similar lines. It was either they were discussing how to get back at me,
threatening to smack me around, or surrounding the principal and complaining about
me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Madam,
don’t try and catch these students copying,” he would say.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Why?”
I asked in a determined voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“No,
it’s just that sometimes they can throw acid balls.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Be
quiet,” I admonished, getting irritated. “Are you their spokesman or
something?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Even
though I argued with everyone and shunned their advice, fear had bound me from
the inside much like a caged bird.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">When
for some reason Ravi could not come to fetch me after the examination, I only
knew how breathless I became when I had to come up to the street square and get
a rickshaw home. When I came across students outside the classroom, it seemed
as if those disciplined students who quietly listened to the lectures inside
the classroom had turned mad during the rush and would charge at me with swords.
In reality, it was not as if the students had really turned into devils rather,
it was my own fear which was haunting me. I never looked at anyone. I walked
with my head down. However, the next day whenever I would enter the examination
hall, all my fear would vanish. My seriousness and my pride would make me feel elevated,
as if I was the empress on an invisible throne. When speaking in front of the
class, I felt I could dictate to all my subjects and tell them to become
donkeys or even ants just by waving my magic wand and anyone who protested
would lose their freedom. All the old fear would vanish. I felt within the
group, there were conniving people who needed to be caught and I was the one
who had to catch them. Then the hide and seek game would begin. It is not that
everyone in the examination hall resorted to such unjust acts but definitely
one or two bad apples would always be identified. I used to think ‘Ha, I’ll
always be one step ahead them.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
met Uma under these circumstances. She was sitting on a sheet of test paper and
copying the answers. I was first suspicious when I saw her unhurried penmanship
but I could not catch her cheating while attending to question papers and other
papers at my desk. I went to a distance and cautiously watched her from the
corner of my eye. All of a sudden, like an eagle capturing its prey, I made her
stand up and snatched away the piece of paper hidden beneath her. Her face
turned red. She kept on staring at me with her large open brown eyes which looked
just like a calf. I directed her to write her name and roll number on that piece
of paper. When she was writing, I noticed her hand was shivering violently. I
mocked her and said “Looking at your simple face, I would never have believed
that you could be cheating. You are a sneaky thief, aren’t you? All right, sit down
now. If I come across another copy, you will fail the exam.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Two
days after the incident I had invigilation duty again in her room. Since she
was identified earlier, I went up to her without any pretense, searched all
over her body, and found a lot of paper in the waistband of her <i>salwar</i> (trousers). I rebuked her. After unarming
her, I directed her to write and said sternly, “This is your second warning.
After this, don’t blame me for anything happens.” She just kept on staring at
me with her innocent brown eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I had
completely forgotten about Uma after this incident. In fact, I hadn’t bothered
to find out whether she passed or failed her examination. She was just another
name for me. Similarly, anyone else who would have been in her place and had
similarly been copying, I would have taken it away from that person out of duty
and obligation and would think nothing more of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">That
year during the supplementary examination, I once again encountered Uma and
came to realize that she <i>had</i> failed
in the previous examination. I was hoping she would have changed by
concentrating more on her studies. Hence, I was a little lenient. Buy one hour
into the examination however, I noticed that she hadn’t changed. I was furious.
I was full of irritation and hatred. I thought quite a malignant girl hid
behind those innocent eyes. I had filled up a malpractice form (MP) and confiscated
the copy material when a colleague of mine suggested I forgive her this time, and
I succumbed. However, I didn’t feel pity for Uma anymore. I felt she was like
an irritating fly hovering around me, humming unpleasantly, and I really ought
to rid myself of her presence. After the examination, however, neither her face
nor her identity mattered to me. Appearing for that single examination seemed
to have become a habit for Uma as she had repeated it four to five times
already. I thought to myself, ‘why does she not stop her education? Why doesn’t
her family get her married? Is sitting the exam twenty-odd times actually doing
her any good?’ I was amazed to see her and her parent’s patience. Gradually she
appeared as a pile of garbage to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">As
far as I can remember, it was the last time Uma was appearing in that
particular examination when I met a very humble gentleman. I was hastily trying
to get off the rickshaw and enter the gates when a gentleman bent and greeted
me with a <i>namaste</i> in utter humility.
I responded with a polite <i>namaste</i> and
was going on when he called from behind and asked me, “Could you spare a
second? I’d like to ask you something.” I turned back and looked at him
questioningly and replied, “You’d like to ask me something? I’m a bit busy at
the moment.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He
replied with a lot of humility, “I understand. It’s time for the examination.”
His words made me pause. He continued, “I had come to see off my daughter who
is appearing for her examination today. I have a favour to ask of you and I
don’t know how to say it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Why
are you hesitating? Whatever you want, just say it,” I responded, wanting to
get on with my day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Somewhat
hesitantly, he explained, “My daughter is very scared of you. She forgets
everything as soon as she sees you. She can’t remember anything of what she had
studied. Please don’t be in her room. Poor thing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“What
do you mean?” I was surprised. “I don’t know your daughter and yet she is so
scared of me that she forgets her studies because of me? Can you tell me who
your daughter is?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“She
is appearing for this examination for the last two years. She hasn’t been able
to pass. You have seen her. She limps because of polio.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Can
you tell me who she is?” I asked again as I was still trying to remember.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Her
name is Uma,” he said with pride.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Oh,
Uma. Uma is your daughter? She brings a lot of copy material.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">These
words came out naturally for me and he was ashamed to hear my words and said, “She
can’t easily remember, even after lot of repetition. Moreover, she is disabled
because of polio. I thought if she gets over her Twelfth Class, then for the
rest of her education, there is the semester system, and I could give her some
kind of training and get her into some sort of school.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“What
do you do for work?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I
am a teacher at a high school located thirty kilometers from here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
looked at my wrist watch to give a subtle yet polite reminder that I was indeed
getting late and then I looked at him. He looked as if he would break down with
humility. I could understand his helplessness but I could not start a
conversation about the copy materials then. Looking at him, I could understand this
unfortunate father must be stuffing his daughter with copy text when she left
home for the examination. I said, “Look, I don’t go into Uma’s hall out of
choice. I have to go wherever I am assigned to do my duty.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Still,
please do what you can,” he said, turning his bicycle to go and leaving me to
enter the gate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">That
day for the first time there were mixed reactions to my idealism. Are the
children of ministers and bureaucrats so talented that they are always in the
front row? There is so much happening everywhere and yet I am stuck with Uma. The
first two days of my invigilation duty Uma was not in my examination room. I
thanked God the girl must have finished her English examination and I had
escaped from an uncomfortable situation. What troubled me more, though, was not
whether I could catch and fail someone cheating but the fact that Uma forgot
her studies whenever she saw me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
examinations were due to get over soon. There was an optional paper and on that
day, I found Uma in my examination room. That was the day when I first noticed the
effects of her polio; she had crooked feet. I remembered her father’s words. I
was roaming around keeping a safe distance from her. However, absentmindedly, I
went into the row where she was seated. I was coming from behind towards the
front of the hall. My attention went directly to Uma; the zip on her <i>punjabi</i> (dress) was open. As I went on
to pull the zip, I found a handwritten paper. I snatched the paper immediately
like an eagle and pulled the zip and left quietly from the place. I then
remembered she forgets her studies when she sees me. I felt like a criminal. I
should not have touched her. I went and stood far away from her. She did not
see me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">As
I watched her, I noticed she wasn’t writing. It was also true that day, she was
not copying even though a piece of paper was found with her, but she wasn’t
writing either. I kept on waiting there for a long time hoping she would begin
to write but she didn’t. After a while, very hesitatingly, she must have
written a few words.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">That
was the last time I saw Uma. She never came back to take her examination. From
that day, her existence seemed to diminish just as grandfather’s picture turned
yellow with age; just as infestation of ants attacked something and then
disappeared; just as an infection of fungus ate away at a leaf. Did Uma ever pass
her examination? What course did she end up pursuing, if any? She had faded into my memory but had not
disappeared.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Sometimes
when I contemplated my sins and reflected on whether my fortune or misfortune
could be traced to my actions, her face always came to my mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">#################<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">As
mentioned previously, Uma had gone inside to attend to Dr. Samantray’s call and
didn’t come out again. She never even came and asked, “Madam, have you come for
asthma or just a common cold? Have you contracted Filarasis or Malaria? I was
hurt yet there was no reason to be hurt. Had either of us really changed over
all these years?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">After
waiting awhile, I jumped the queue and showed my face to Dr. Samantray from the
door. Without leaving his chair he inquired, “Did you get an asthma attack again?”
I smiled; he got his answer from my dry smile. “Please come in” he said as he
invited me inside. I went inside and sat on the stool next to him. Actually I
could not sit, I had to bend forward. I was having more and more difficulty
breathing. He put his stethoscope all around my body and started writing my
prescription on a piece of paper and then directed me, “Take the injection now.
I’ll prescribe some medicines which you can take back with you.” Then he called
for Uma and asked her to give an injection of Deriphyllin to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
got up from the stool and sat down on another chair to take the injection. Uma
went into the tiny room behind the curtain. The doctor was busy attending to
other patients. I sat down and started reading the advertisements on the wall
which promoted total polio eradication, vitamin A, and AIDS. Actually, I could not
look straight at the wall as my pain was forcing me to bend my head and sit
bent over in the chair. My whole body shivered with each breath. Was it an
indication of death? What a fight for a handful of oxygen! It seemed as if the
elements, earth, fire, air, and water were rebelling against me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">What
was taking Uma so long? Couldn’t she see
I was having issues and was in distress? Uma was not coming. I urgently looked
at the curtain-covered room hoping she would come out with the promise of
giving me a handful of oxygen. Uma was not coming. Is she taking her revenge on
me? Why now? Was I just another patient to be forgotten at the end of the day? Had
she not forgotten the past? Was she thinking back then she was asking for a
favour from me and today I was asking a favour from her? Uma did not know and
perhaps would never know that that day, I had sacrificed all my idealism and
wanted her to pass her examination. Uma was not coming. She must have been
stuck with other patients or must have been suffering from some kind of
resentment. There was a longing for life in my body. ‘Please give me
Deriphyllin; the pain in my chest is making me numb.’ I could not say these
lines, only think them. I did not get up and look behind the curtain to see whether
or not she was loading the injection or yawning on a chair with her legs on the
table.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Dr.
Samantray finished attending to one of the patients and when his eyes met mine
asked me “Are you feeling better now?” I looked at him pathetically and said,
“Better, where?” in a harsh, impatient, pleading tone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Why?
It must be ten minutes since you took the injection. You should feel better now.
Not to worry. You will feel better soon. Should I arrange for you to take the rest
here or do you want to go home? Where is Sir today? Hasn’t he accompanied you?”
I really wasn’t in the mood to be interrogated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
fired back, “I haven’t had the injection yet. How could I feel better? ‘Sir’
has gone on tour. I am really having difficulty breathing now. Please help me”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">His
mood suddenly changed and he said, “Oh, you have not yet taken the injection? Is
that what you’re saying?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He
then called for Uma. As soon as she heard him, she nervously came out from
behind the curtain with the loaded syringe in her hand. “You could not push a
Deriphyllin for my patient? Worthless” he said disgustedly. Uma listened to his
rebuke and accepted it without a word. She had the syringe in her hand. I
showed my arm after sliding my blouse from the shoulder. But she did not come
forward with the cotton and spirit. She just stood there, frozen, with a blank
stare. I looked at her face. Her hands were shivering.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
was shocked. Had she forgotten her lessons? Had she forgotten how to give an
injection? What was in my eyes? What was in my stare? Why did she melt with my
stare? Why did my stare make her nervous? I know at this moment there should not be any
rudeness in my eyes, only my pleading for help. I began to pray for it felt
like a matter of life and death now. No, I could not say a single word to Uma.
Perhaps Dr. Samantray was observing this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“What
happened Uma?” he asked. “Are you not feeling well? Is something wrong?” Uma
neither answered nor came forward to give me the injection I so needed. She remained frozen, scared. Dr. Samantray then
freed himself from another patient and said, “Leave it. Give it to me.” He took
the loaded syringe from her. She remained frozen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He
then turned to me and complained in an almost whispering voice, “How could one
work with these people? She is shivering to give an injection. She has just joined
fifteen days back. She had almost started picking up. Her father had pleaded a
lot and hence I had brought her on.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
was very angry with myself. I would have rather died rather than appear in
front of Uma and have her see me like this. Why had my investigative eyes or my
agonizing stare brought so much stress to her? I don’t know why but I felt I
wanted freedom; freedom from Uma. I had the urge to violently shake her and
plead, “Why are you so afraid of me? Why?” But instead I calmly told Dr.
Samantray, “Uma is a nice girl. She was my student. Maybe that is the reason
why she has issues giving me an injection. You keep her with you. She will
learn the job very soon. I’m sure of it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
looked beyond Dr. Samantray and focused on Uma. Our eyes met. Although she remained frozen, tears flooded
uncontrollably from her dark brown eyes. A lesson had been learnt that day by
both of us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
don’t know whether Dr. Samantray ever accepted my suggestions or not. He knew
anything of the past between Uma and me. But somehow, I felt assured after this
incident; Uma would not be scared anymore. She would not forget her lessons/studies.
She would lead a comfortable life without any trouble...and I would as well. We were both now free.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">(Translated
by Gopa Nayak and edited by Paul McKenna)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Sarojini Sahoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06356168164108611237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613632675367188848.post-51595196207316784812013-08-25T09:33:00.000-07:002013-08-25T09:33:20.955-07:00MY STORY SERIES – 13<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Shackles<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Sarojini Sahoo<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This
story was first published in an Odia magazine
in 2009 and till now it has not been anthologised in any
of my Odia short story collections. Hindi and Bengali translations of this story are anthologised
in my short stories collections <i>Rape
Tatha Anya Kahaniyan</i> (ISBN: 978-81-7028-921-0) published by Rajpal &
Sons, Delhi and <i>Dukha Aparimit</i> (ISBN 978 984 404 243-8), published from Bangladesh
by Anupam Prakashani, Dhaka) respectively. </span></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We were
as if roaming around a stump. I was feeling restless and terrible. But still,
we could not get away from it. It was perhaps we did not have a way out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I was
tired of trying to make her understand but she failed to comprehend. Finally, I
decided not to meddle in her affairs. Let her think whatever she desires and do
whatever she wants. I can’t say whether it was a common incident or a rare one.
While the incident appeared very insignificant to me, she gave it a lot of
importance. The problem laid there. When I said forget it and move on she got irritated,
protested loudly, and gave even more importance to the event. Eventually I left
her to her state of mind. Slowly she enclosed herself just like snails hide
themselves in shells.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I
observed she was not at peace with herself. Had she been calm, she would have
come to me and chatted. But she even stopped coming over to my place. I was perturbed
with her behaviour but was helpless to anything about it. What right did I have
over her other than trying to make her understand?<span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-GB">She was much younger than me.
But still we became friends because we were neighbours.</span> She
was only comfortable around me. Both she and her husband thought little of the
other less educated women living around us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">She
used to come to my place in the evening and we used to sit and chat. Every morning
we went on a walk for two-and-a-half kilometers. Previously she used to get up
around seven to seven-thirty in the morning. Once when I was returning from my
morning walk, she saw me from her balcony. As I was about to climb the steps,
she was waiting for me on the verandah. “You go on walks? You never told me? I
used to go for walks with my mother before my marriage. I gave up the habit
after I came here. When do you start? I will come with you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Of
course, there is no need to ask,” I replied pleasantly. After that day we went
on morning walks every day. Previously when I went alone I found myself in the
greenery beside the roads, in the gentle sky before dawn, in the cool morning
ambience, and in the deserted streets. Sometimes I felt I was with the divine
Creator, as if He was invisibly present with me. I was filled with eternal
peace on those days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">No, I
never enjoyed walking alone on the road. People looked at me with awe. Maybe I
appeared different from others because of my serious attitude and my
profession. Once when I was on my morning walk, I heard sounds of heavy
footsteps behind me and imagined that somebody was following me. I was all
alone on the road which meandered like a long snake. Dawn approached. My heart
started beating rapidly with fear. I was so worried with fear I forgot about my
own self and my divine companion. Slowly as the sound came closer, I turned
back in my attempt to face the unknown fear; I was almost sweating by that
time. As soon as I turned the youth said, ‘Madam, <i>Namaskar</i>” and walked away. The boy looked familiar. Afterwards I
remembered that he was once my student.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In a
similar incident, a heavy man was moving towards me. It appeared from his style
of walking he could crush me on this deserted road if he so chose. I forgot my own
self and my divine companion for a few moments. I was covered with sweat when I
crossed him with my face down. That heavily built man walked away without a single
word and I moved on, each of us going in our own separate direction. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">All
these experiences made me fearless and my morning walk soon became an everyday
ritual. After she accompanied me I had to lose my own sense of self and my divine
company as if it was another rhythm of life. I had to accept this new rhythm
without any complaint and hesitation. We shared everything starting from current
events to domestic help issues. We never realized the distance we crossed as we
chatted and walked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">If ever
she was sick, she would let me know the day before she wouldn’t get out in the next
morning and so I cancelled my walk that day. This morning walk had brought us
together and we became very good friends. If anyone ever saw us without our
partner they would ask us about the absence of the other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We
never gossiped about others; we were at peace. Her parents and even her husband
advised her to maintain her friendship with me. It appeared as if she had
accepted me as a friend with whom she could share her joys and sorrows. No, we
never entertained any envy or jealousy between us as neighbours; neither did we
share dishes with each other. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">She was
very sensitive. She used to be very sad if anyone ever told her anything. I
used to console her. I advised her not to pay attention to others. In this
world, many people say many things without any purpose or for destructive
purposes. They never think if they are hurting others with their words. So if
one pays attention to others, one is bound to be unhappy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">She
used to like me because of these remarks. She used to say, “We should not
bother about others when our families get along.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Gradually
I came from the immaterial world to the practical one. I had lost my identity
and my divine connection a long time ago. Nowadays, it was only my parental
place and hers; my maid servant and hers. We even talked only about our conjugal
lives and our children. We used to talk continuously on our way to the banks of
the river and back. On both sides there were bushes. At a distance a path led
to the river from the cremation ground and in another corner was a lonely house
which we knew to be a storehouse for magazines of ammunition. In that lonely
house submerged in mud, gunpowder was also being stored. Every morning when we
went for walks the man in charge of the security at night finished his duty and
another security guard began the shift which followed. We always started back
when we reached that storehouse for gunpowder. On our way back I plucked <i>dudura</i> flowers and leaves from the <i>bel</i> tree for worshiping Lord Shiva]. She
used to get dry sticks to boil <i>neem</i>
water for our baths.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">As I
struggled to walk I narrated to her about a murder in the storehouse for
magazines; a security guard had<span lang="EN-GB">
slain</span> another security guard. And sometimes she narrated her dream about a
man who resembled a bear crushing her in the dead of night. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Sometimes
even though I did not want to get up at five-thirty in the morning, I used to wake
up and get ready changing my dress for our morning walk just because she was
waiting for me. She also put on her alarm in her mobile phone and was always
prompt for the walk lasting for about half an hour to forty-five minutes. Early
in the morning when people would meet us on the road, they would comment, “You
are really health-conscious women.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">She
would sometimes say, “This is the only freedom I have throughout the day;
otherwise I have to follow him everywhere. Whatever I do I do for him. But one
should live for oneself at least for a few minutes every day, na?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">She
visited her parents and stayed at their place for two months. I gave up my morning
walk completely then and would stay in my nice warm bed. No one disturbed me
there; neither my identity nor my divine companion. I would not go out in the
quest of anything. It was almost June-July by the time she came back after
spending two months at her parents’ place. It sometimes rained but not every day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Her
first question to me on her return from her parents’ place was, “Are you walking
these days?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I
smiled and said, “No. I stopped after you left. I did not feel like going
alone. I was lazy and kept on sleeping.” She smiled and replied, “You stopped
your walk because of me. Should we start again tomorrow?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“That
would be great,” I enthusiastically answered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Same
time?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Yeah,
same time.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">From
the next day, our walks in the morning resumed. This time, she had got a nice
pair of jogging shoes she had brought from her parents’ place. She wore them and
shyly commented, “When I was at my parents’ place, I used to put on these shoes
when I went on my morning walks there. They were lying at home so I got them.
How do they look?” They were white-coloured action shoes. I was happy as it
would feel like I was now going on a real walk. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">That
day, as we walked between the bushes on the road, a one-and-a-half foot snake suddenly
slithered across the road in front of us and then vanished into the jungle. Every
day, we came across dead scorpions, lizards, and sometimes we saw dead snakes
lying on the road crushed by vehicles but we had never seen live snakes before.
That day, we did not go to the magazine storehouse. Instead, we turned back
right at that spot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Generally
during our morning walks, we encountered two slopes. We went down them on the way to our
destination and up them on the way back. We got a lot of exercise when climbing
up. On the day we saw the live snake, we did not go down the slope; we came
back. On our way back, we only talked about snakes. Why are there so many
snakes in this area? Why don’t they kill snakes here? I related during the
twenty years I had lived here, there were no cases of anyone dying from snake
bites.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The
next day I forgot about the snake and got ready for the morning walk. However,
my walking partner didn’t show up at the usual time. When I knocked on her door,
she answered it, arranging her <i>saree</i>
on her head as if she had just woken up. “I was asleep,” she said sleepily and
somewhat embarrassed. She had not even put on her walking shoes yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">As we
moved forward on to our usual road, she stopped abruptly and said, “We won’t
take this road today. There are snakes there.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The
only option we had was to take the other route through the colony to the main
road and then from the main road through the <i>thana</i> bazaar and then we would walk on the footpath and come back through
the colony again. We had decided we would take that different route. No one
from the colony was awake yet. The road was deserted. We walked on chatting
with each other. I was talking about something and she kept on answering with “yes,
yes.” I really wasn’t paying attention to where she was or if she was even
answering to me. Suddenly she screamed. It was then I noticed a youth crossing
us on a bicycle. I thought early in the morning she had been talking to the
milkman. The youth had overtaken us on the road with his cycle. She exclaimed, “Did you see what he just did?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“What do
you mean?” I responded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Here,
he banged into me here,” she said and pointed to a place on her back in the
shoulder blade area near her neck.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Really?”
I was shocked. “I thought he was your milkman and you were talking to him. How
I could not even know when all this happened? How could anyone have the
audacity to do this inside the colony?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The
youth turned back and looked at us from a distance. He was a labourer of about
twenty-two or twenty-three years old. I was not in a situation to run and catch
him. I could not imagine how to react to such an unlikely incident. We came
back. She was upset and kept on saying she still had pain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I had
never had such an experience during my long time living there. I came back and
sat down silently. I could not understand how such a great event could have occurred
in my presence yet I was not aware of it. The youth had come and attacked her from
behind like a treacherous assassin. How had I not even heard the sound of his bicycle
chain or wheels?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I was
worried about the incident until the children woke up. Around nine-thirty, I
was drying clothes in the balcony when she called to me from her balcony. “What
happened?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“I’ll
come around,” she said, and briefly disappeared.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I had
to do my prayers yet but still, I opened the door for her. She said, “I took a
shower after I came back. I really hate it. I feel as if my flesh is coming
out. I had never experienced such a thing in my life. My friends used to tell
me how they faced such situations when they traveled in the town bus. But I
never traveled in the town bus. Our official vehicle used to drop and pick us
up from school and college. I can never forget his face.” She was restless, nervous, and was obviously
still upset. After telling me, she began
to cry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I told
her calmly and motherly, “Forget these things as accidents. It was not our
fault. The man suddenly attacked us from behind. The most amazing thing is that
we had left our usual route and God knows why we chose to take this route.
Perhaps the inevitable happens just like this.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When
she heard these words, she became more upset rather than becoming calmera. In a
very sharp voice she replied, “How can I forget? You fail to understand my
suffering. How could you not know that all this happened to me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Even
though my identity and my divine companion were not with me, my attention never
went in that direction as if I was too absorbed in my own thoughts rather than
pay attention to my surroundings. I then confessed, “To be truthful, I never
knew what happened until you told me. Why didn’t you kick the cycle?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“I had
gone straight from bed. I had just washed my face. I guess I was not fully
awake. Nothing happened to you; it happened to me,” she answered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“The
same incident could have happened to me, if I were walking to the right instead
of left side that day,” I offered, trying my best to calm her down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Yes,”
she replied with sadness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> “These are all accidents. When an accident
occurs, who can predict what will happen?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">She got
up again from the sofa and said, “What should I do? I am really suffering
inside. I cannot share this with anyone. My mother had called but I could not
even tell her. If my parents come to know about it, they will shout at my
husband and make an issue of it all? Was it his fault anyway?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The
face of the youth flashed in my mind. He was a local tribal lad. A black shirt
covered his dark skin. ‘Where was he going that early in the morning anyway?’ I
thought. ‘What was he thinking when he did that? Was he suddenly under the
influence of a devil or was he drunk or high? Perhaps disaster comes like this.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“See,
nothing happened to you,” she said like a child, repeating herself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I
looked at her with amazement. What did she really want to say? Had the incident
happened to me, she would have not been happy but would have had the consolation
that I too had the same experience. I dusted away her resentment towards me and
asked her, “Have you told your husband yet?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“No, I
haven’t. I haven’t told anyone -- just you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Then
don’t tell anyone,” said. “Just forget it like it was a bad dream.” She walked
out without any response to my words. Throughout the day, neither of us came
out of our houses. She did not visit my place in the afternoon as she usually
did. The next day, I saw her again in the balcony around nine-thirty or ten.
She asked, “You stopped your walk?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> She quickly went inside before I could answer.
After a few minutes our calling bell rang. I opened the door and saw her
standing there. As she entered inside, she said “I told him everything today. After
all, he has shared all his secrets with me. He knows everything about me. What
will I gain by keeping this incident hidden from him?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I
thought to myself, ‘this girl did not do the right thing. Tomorrow if there is
a fight amongst them, her husband will cite this incident and shout at her, even
though it was not her fault. This was just an accident.’ I asked her, “What did
he say when you told him?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">He
said, “How could this have happened when you were with me? Why didn’t she say
anything to the youth? How could you let him get away?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“What
could I do?” I replied feeling very helpless. “Before I was even aware of the
incident, he was quite far away. Like I told you before, I thought he was your
milkman.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Why
should he be our milkman?” she replied, irritated. He said “I let you go
because she would take care of you. How could she keep quiet?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Why
doesn’t he realize that the same incident could have happened to me if we were
on opposite sides to where we were? I am also a woman like you. He should understand
this,” I reasoned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">She was
very unhappy with my reply and left. The next day I woke up as I normally did, changed
my nightie, and put on my walking attire. As usual, I climbed down the stairs
and stepped out onto the old road. I did not come across my identity or my
divinity that day because my mind was still clouded with the events from the previous
day. I did not come across the youth of the other day either. When I returned
home, I saw her standing on her balcony. By the time I climbed up the stairs,
she was already on the verandah. As soon as I reached the top, she asked, “You
went for your walk?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“After
all that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“And you
weren’t scared?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“No. Why
should I be scared? We don’t stop living because there is death or injury in
this world. We have to face storms in life but that doesn’t mean we have to
stop enjoying life, does it? Life is a series of accidents. Does that mean we can
let go our habits?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Perhaps
she did not understand the meaning of my words. On the other hand, she asked, “No,
but what if that youth came back?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“No,
no. He will at least not come back within this period. I will not leave him if
he comes again,” I continued. “The fact is we are women and as such, we will
always have fear. That’s the reason why I went. I had to get the fear out of my
mind. Had I not gone, the fear could have stayed inside me forever. I would
have been shackled.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“What
are you saying?” she asked, trying to grasp what I was saying to her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Instead
of answering her, I smiled and said, “You look very pretty in that <i>saree</i>. But what are you up to so early
in the morning? Are you going to your village?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Not
really. He does not like me wearing <i>salwar
kameez</i>. He asked me to put on <i>sarees </i>instead.
Apart from that, he is a little scared after the incident. He told me it was
better to wear a <i>saree.”</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I gave
a deep sigh. I knew something like this was going to happen. Eventually, this
girl will shut the doors and windows and lock herself in and the unseen
shackles will bind her legs forever. But would it be her decision or his? Did
she have the option of thinking for herself?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I
stopped thinking about what weird ideas she must be nurturing about me. Before
leaving, I said, “Okay dear, as you wish.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>(Translated by Gopa Nayak and Edited by Paul McKenna)</b></span><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, serif; font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
Sarojini Sahoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06356168164108611237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613632675367188848.post-42053464160900184222013-07-27T03:10:00.001-07:002013-07-31T19:42:02.184-07:00MY STORY SERIES – 12<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 26.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Burqa<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 20.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sarojini Sahoo<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></b>
<b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></b>
<b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></b>
<b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">(The original story was written in 90’s and is included in author’s Odia anthology </span><i style="color: #cccccc;">Deshantari </i><span style="color: #cccccc;"> </span><span style="color: #cccccc;">(ISBN: 81-7412-147-0) under the title ‘Burkha’ and English version of this story was first published in The Kindle in 2011. Hindi translation of this story has been anthologized in author’s short stories collection</span><span style="color: #cccccc;"> </span><i style="color: #cccccc;">Rape Tatha Anya Kahaniyan</i><span style="color: #cccccc;">, (ISBN: 978-81-7028-921-0) published by Rajpal & Sons, Delhi.</span><span style="color: #cccccc;"> </span><span style="color: #cccccc;">Arita Bhowmik has translated it into Bengali and it has been included in author’s short stories collection </span><i style="color: #cccccc;">Dukha Aparimit</i><span style="color: #cccccc;"> (ISBN 978 984 404 243-8), published from Bangladesh by Anupam Prakashani, Dhaka.)</span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">All throughout the journey we faced each other in the
compartment on the train. We were acquainted with each other; we were
classmates in college but it had been a long time since we saw each other. And
even then, there had not been any great bonding between us; we just had been in
the same section. She was smart and I was just a simple middle-class girl. She
had passed out from an English-medium school and could speak English fluently
while I struggled. While she used to make running notes during lessons and
lectures, I could not understand what was being taught in the lessons I attended
and struggled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Her name was Simi. As I remember, she wasn’t very pretty, though
they say that youth makes even a monkey look beautiful! Her face was big like a
pancake. Her nose was flat and broad. Her teeth were not uniform but there was
a magic in her smile. She was very healthy. Her bust line was bigger than mine.
We used to come in salwar kameez; she used to wear skirts. All the girls were
very quiet when they stepped out of the common room to go the classrooms; she
was never quiet. She had a different style of moving in and out of the
classroom than the rest of us. She would enter the classroom after the teacher
always asking, “May I come in, Sir?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The lady now sitting in front me resembled the Simi I remembered
from college. Her face was round like a pancake just like hers. Her nose
appeared as if someone had slightly pressed the clay when the sculpture was
still wet just like Simi’s. But this woman was not smiling so I could not make
out if she still had a magic in her smile. She sat in front of me but never
showed any signs of recognizing or knowing me, let alone smiling at me. I was a
bit confused. I hoped I was not wrong. Or maybe, she was someone else. As it
was, I didn’t have a good memory for faces. That’s why most of the time I had
to face unpleasant situations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I had met her when I had just joined college. Twenty years had
passed since then. The woman on the train was accompanied by her three
daughters and a son. The three girls sat close to each other and chatted while
the son sat between the parents and kept on squirming around like a pet cat. A
very serious gentleman sat next to her. He was sweating profusely. Might it be her husband? Something in his
face reflected he was a very dominant man and had those five lives firmly under
his thumb.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I suddenly remembered the girl who came to see these people off.
She had a blunt, cut hairstyle and was dressed in a pair of jeans with a khadi
top. She was a replica of the Simi I remembered from twenty years back. She was
definitely Simi’s sister I thought. But is it possible this ‘Simi’ did not
recognize me? Had she forgotten me? Or was this woman someone else?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I examined her more carefully as we sat facing each other. Her
wrists were full of red bangles with gold trim. A wide row of sindoor ran
through her thinning hair on her forehead. Her cheeks bore the mark of age. A
white stone nose-pin adorned her nose. She had two to three bead necklaces and
a gold chain. She wore an embroidered
blouse to go with the saree. Her stomach appeared heavy with fat. Her fingers
were swollen like moist lotus stems. Her ankles were full of cuts and black
marks. Was this Simi? There was a great difference between this ‘Simi’ and the
one I remembered from college. Sometimes
life and age radically changed our appearances.
I wondered...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Simi had finished her schooling in Delhi and had come to our
small town. She did not go back to Delhi for college but instead, got admitted
to the college in our small town. Her father was an officer in the Army.
Sometimes she would talk about her daddy and mummy. “Daddy got transferred to
Jammu and mummy makes nice kachoris because we can’t find kachoris in any
restaurant here.” Yes, in those times, even the best restaurants in our town
did not serve kachoris.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We had twelve girls in our section; the rest were boys. Out of
the twelve girls, Simi was the only one who tried to be friendly to me; I don’t
know why. But I could never stay with her for very long. Her way of life and
her mannerisms never suited my temperament. Maybe she was attracted to my smart
looks and my smart hairstyle. Whatever, it was, we drifted away from each other
within a few months. I was not bothered about her because I never considered
her my friend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Soon she became very irregular. She started missing classes yet
she was seen on the campus every day. She would be there for the English class
and then vanish somewhere. She would not
show up for the logic lesson afterwards.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There were so many ‘pairs’ (lovers) in the college. They were
seen talking to each other behind walls and pillars and under the mango trees.
But Simi was never seen in those places. Actually, she had no friends so one
knew where she went. Simi was lost somewhere in the amazing world where popular
stories were about sleazy teachers, knife fighting of hooligans, strikes for no
apparent reason, elections, drama, sports, teasing the principal, and
vandalizing walls with the names of pairing couples.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But can the town of my college days really forget Simi? That
very small town where everyone knows everyone; where every human being thinks
twice before and after committing a sin; that town which was like a disciplined
and cautious daughter-in-law from the village; that town which had been woken
up from the deep slumber by Simi early that dawn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Simi was very talkative. I remember one day, as we sat beneath a
mango tree, she told me the story of a movie in such a way that I was able to
imagine the whole movie while listening to her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But this lady sitting in front of me could never be Simi. Why?
Simi would have started chatting with me. We had spent twenty minutes without
exchanging a single word; the journey would be for about two to two-and-a-half
hours. Other than this woman, there were lots of familiar faces in the
compartment and I had shared a thought or two with almost everyone within that
first twenty minutes. I had already answered numerous questions like where are
you going? When had you come home? Where are you these days? How many kids do
you have? How long will you stay there?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘I hope this lady is someone else and not Simi,’ I thought. How
would we travel together sitting across from each other for two hours or more
without uttering a single word?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It had happened before. We would be chatting with her but once
we went into the classroom, we would forget about her. We never paid any
attention to anything about her; she was like one of those people, friend or
stranger, one meets on the road.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">That day, it was around four in the afternoon. Simi had been
missing for a long time and we were all waiting to go home on the bus. The bus
was about to leave when all of a sudden, she came dashing onto the bus. She
came up to me with a smile on her face and squeezed herself next to me. Then
she said, “You know he was looking for you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Who? Why was he looking for me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“You don’t know him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“If I don’t know him, why are telling me about him. Look, I
don’t like such things.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“His daddy is an industrialist.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Whose daddy?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">That day I felt I was watching two movies; one from the past and
one of the present. Among the many mismatches there was one thing that did
match, that one thing which kept on making amazing collages in my mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Her husband asked ‘Simi’ or the lady across from me for a paan.
She took out a packet of paan from her purse and gave it to him. “Keep it,” she
said to him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“No, you keep it. I will finish everything if I have it with
me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Before ‘Simi’ could say anything, her son said, “Mr.Das! Why
don’t you keep the paan? Why are you keeping it in her purse?” Obviously
shocked at the words of the child, everyone in the compartment stared at him.
No one had noticed the child had first uttered ‘Mr. Das’ before saying the
rest. I saw the scorn in their looks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Simi’s husband was a little perturbed. He muttered slowly,
“This child is really getting naughty.” Then he turned to his son and said,
“Can’t you keep quiet?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I looked at ‘Simi’ to see what her reaction would be. As soon as
our eyes met, she turned her face. She pretended as if she did not know me at
all, as if my presence in this compartment was nothing more than the presence
of a stranger. I don’t know why, but my undisciplined eyes kept on turning
towards her and sensing my stare, she continuously tried to escape my gaze. Had
her husband taken her name, I would have found out for sure but he only
addressed her with commands and questions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As our journey continued, ‘Simi’ and her husband were discussing
about some problems in one of their relative’s marriage. She was looking
stealthily at me even when they were chatting. When she spoke, I noticed the
black mole on her lips. I was sure that this lady was none other than Simi as
Simi had had a black mole on her lips as well. I wanted to address her by her
name and put an end to the hide and seek game which had been going on for some
time now but something inside me stopped me. I thought, ‘Let me leave her
alone. If she does not want to recognise me, why should I be bothered? There
are so many people who come into our lives and then shoot their way out of our
lives like meteors or change their paths. Why should I be so serious about
Simi?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Simi was just like a meteor. She had come into our town out of
the blue. She had dazed everyone with her brilliance and then vanished from our
lives. While still young, she had gained a lot of unique experiences; they were
nothing more than a matter of curiosity for us though. A few of us had fallen
in love as soon as we began college. These things were not a secret to us. But all
these were instances of platonic love. We had so much fear and hesitation that
it was doubtful if we even held each other’s hands. Those were the days…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Once we saw Simi in a disgusting state. This was when she wasn’t
attending her classes regularly; she used to come once in every two or three
days. That day I had a leisure period and was reading a novel under the Mahua
tree behind the ladies’ common room. Simi came up to me, looked at me and said,
“What a wonderful deer cub!” I looked around. I could not see a deer cub
anywhere. Her laugh did not sound normal. I realized that day that even
laughter can be ugly and indecent. I was unnerved. I felt like crying. Was
there anything wrong with me? Before I could think of anything, she came and
held me tight. I tried to break her embrace but she refused to let me go.
Somehow I escaped from her clutches and ran as fast as I could. She ran after
me around the Mahua tree. I suddenly ran into the common room and took refuge
with one of our senior colleagues. I complained to her about how this Simi was
troubling me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The colleague looked at me somewhat confused and then asked,
“Who?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I turned around and saw Simi was nowhere to be seen. The senior
thought one of the boys had troubled me so she advised me to go and speak to
the principal but I did not go to complain to the principal. Instead, I went
and told everything to my best friend and felt a little better. We thought Simi
had been possessed or she had become mad. Slowly, word spread throughout the
college. The conclusion which came out of the gossip was Simi was suffering
from hysteria. We were new to the college. We knew what ‘history’ meant but
‘hysteria?’ What was that? But soon
afterwards, we came to know what this hysteria meant. After getting a vague
idea of what hysteria really meant, I told everyone about all my unpleasant
experiences with Simi, even the incident about her getting high on cocaine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Simi did not seem to care about it at all. As usual she was seen
in the college for hardly thirty to forty-five minutes at a time and then she
vanished somewhere. The principal could not throw her out of the college
because she was having an affair with a guy who was a real ‘dada’ (gangster).
He was two years older than us. The principal maintained a silence about
Simi. We didn’t know if it was out of
fear or out of helplessness to a situation out of his control.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There were two groups in the college who carried knives instead
of pens. These two groups always engaged in feuds and attacks on each other.
The use of knives in these attacks by members of the two groups was not
uncommon. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Could this lady facing me discussing with her husband about the
budget for putting a roof on her house be that same Simi? Who knew? It appeared
her house was not very big and there was no space for a garden. She was upset
about not having space for a garden. She had to have a house with an open
space. She was sad as she realised she would never get it, at least not in this
lifetime. Her husband was consoling her. He explained, “You ought to be happy
that you have a house in Bhubaneswar and the girls will get married. We don’t
know where our son will take up a job. Why do we need a big house for just the
two of us?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I glanced at ‘Simi’ from the corner of my eyes looking for some
kind of response or reaction to what her husband was saying. But there was none.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It seemed to me Simi was like a free bird yesterday, hopping
along the electric posts, rooftops, window sills, and branches of trees and
somehow had caught sight of the space on the skylight. But now, ‘Simi’ was
collecting twigs and straw for her nest and complained how the free bird of
yesterday had lost its wings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The husband continued, “Look, everyone gets a roof over their
heads. Whether it is one of tent or it is the sky itself is a different issue.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">By now, the train had left the Barang station. The compartment
had become more crowded. After a while, ‘Simi’ left her seat and disappeared
somewhere. We were seeing each other for the first time after twenty years but
it was more like not meeting at all. But why was there no warmth in our
relationship even though we are seeing each other after such a long time? Was
‘Simi’ scared of me? Was she thinking I would spill the secrets of her past?
Would I speak about how, on a fateful dawn, she had awakened our small town
from its deep slumber? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #333333; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Yes on that day, Simi appeared at my home even before the sun
had come out. She had never been to our house. I woke up to my mother’s call
and thought, ‘What does she want from me this early in the morning?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Simi asked me, “How will I go home?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“What do you mean, how will you go home? Where had you been
early in the morning? How did you come?” The day was early; the questions were
many.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She did not answer my questions. She only replied, “I would have
gone, but…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Then, go,” I interrupted her. Simi’s house was in a corner of
the town. “Take a rickshaw and go.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She did not speak anymore after that. She left the place just as
she had come, a ‘morning deity.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I had not even asked her to stay for a cup of tea. My father,
who was brushing his teeth, asked me, “Who was that girl?” I told him her
grandfather’s name. “Oh, her mother was very infamous,” he responded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I could not understand what my father meant by ‘infamous.’ I
left the place as soon as I could, anticipating he would be cross with me for
being friendly with her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">That day what I heard at the college sent shivers through me.
Indeed, there were incidents like this which happened throughout the world but
I never thought this could happen near me and with people whom I knew. I knew
Simi was into many things on her own accord. But how could such a thing happen
to her? And I would have never known from that encounter early that morning she
had just faced a storm, an attack. She
appeared like a dew-laden flower in dawn’s light -- sweet and delicate and
innocent of life’s realities. I had learnt the incident happened like this:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The night before, around eight thirty in the evening when she
was walking alone on the road, her lover and his friends saw her and proposed
to accompany her. Simi felt as if some strangers were coming to attack her,
baring their claws and teeth. Simi started to walk fast. Just at this moment
she saw a jeep with very dim lights approaching from the opposite direction.
She stopped the jeep and asked for help. Within a flutter of an eyelid she got
into the jeep and disappeared. Neither her lover nor his friends could make out
where the jeep vanished. They went to her grandfather’s house but Simi was not
there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The rest of the incident I heard in college from Simi. She
appeared very calm. Until that day, I had never approached Simi; this was the
first time. I went up to her and asked, “Do you know what these people are
saying about you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She remained calm and explained, “There were four people in the
jeep. They took me to the dilapidated bungalow that belongs to Peter Saheb. All
four of them bit me into pieces but still I am not sexually satisfied.” I was
shocked when I heard her words. I could not make eye contact with her. Was it
because I felt sorry for her or I felt sorry for the society in which we lived?
I was very perturbed by the incident for a long time afterwards.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Simi never came to college again after that day. Where did she
go? </span><span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">To Jammu or did she go to another unknown town? Did she continue
her studies or was that the end of her college life?</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">What paths did she tread to reach to this ‘Simi’ (if it was
Simi) sitting in front of me? Did her husband know about ‘Simi’s past? Did he
know everything and had he forgiven ‘Simi’ with his generosity? Or was it that
‘Simi’ had buried the incident away in a deep hole like a hidden treasure and
there was no way this man had ever known about it? Was ‘Simi’ thinking that I
would open her secrets and that’s why she was ignoring me? Was she afraid I
would show the man that way to find the hidden treasure? Otherwise, why was she
avoiding my looks?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I never regarded her as my friend anyway; but she always treated
me like a friend. She always came close to me. But today when I wanted her
closeness, she was moving away from me. Maybe she was not Simi after all; maybe
she was someone else. Maybe her memory just came to me because of the
resemblance between the Simi I had known in college and the woman sitting
across from me on the train.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The train reached Bhubaneswar station. ‘Simi’s children cut
through the crowd and jumped out of the train. ‘Simi’s husband got down with an
attaché and an airbag. ‘Simi’ followed but seemed to hesitate. I got down after
a few people. When I got off the train, ‘Simi’s children were already on the
stairs. Her husband followed while minding them. But ‘Simi’ was far behind
them. She shocked me when she turned and smiled at me. I did not expect this at
all. I tried to return a smile but discovered I couldn’t. She enquired, “You
are Mita, aren’t you? Where have you been?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I don’t know why but I thought to myself, ‘You will never be
short of tricks will you? Only I will be fooled.’ I asked her with a note of
surprise, “Are you talking to me? But who are you? I don’t know who you are.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Sorry” she replied, moving forward and joining her family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As I watched her walk ahead I thought, ‘Did you think you would
finish the game? Go. I have set you
free. Go. Make a home. Have a happy life.’ Just like in old times, this ‘Simi’
disappeared from my life just like the Simi from college did…except this time,
not like a meteor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">(Translated by Gopa Nayak and edited by Paul McKenna)</span></b><span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
Sarojini Sahoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06356168164108611237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613632675367188848.post-1603318368525561812013-06-14T18:50:00.000-07:002013-06-15T17:19:24.281-07:00MY STORY SERIES – 11<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 22.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Afternoon<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sarojini Sahoo<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What happens when a woman still has not reached
menopause after 60? Anyone may relate
this condition to the role of excessive sex hormones or may find out all sorts
of funny conclusions but for some women, it's real and a source of pain, shame,
and distress - both physically and emotionally.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My main character in this story is one such woman. Come and journey with her as she gives us a
better idea of what goes through her mind and tells us her experiences in
relation to the world in which she lives.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The original story was written in the nineties and was
included in my Odia anthology <i>Dukha
Apramita</i> (ISBN: ISBN: 978- 81-7411-483-1) under the title
"Aparanha" and so far has not been translated in to any other
language besides English. The story may provide a self-assessment test to help
my readers to determine psyche of a woman after her menopause.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘For shame,’ she thought. Shame overcame her.
Inhibition swept over her. Her face blushed. Tears welled up in her eyes. She
felt as if she had committed a crime. She sat with her head down -- in shame.
But she couldn’t express her helplessness to anyone. When her daughters-in-law
would come to know about it, they would surely laugh at her. The youngest
daughter-in-law, in particular, was very upfront with her views and thoughts.
If she did not care for others, she laughed in their faces. It was really shameful.
She pondered why it happened to her. All her friends and contemporaries had
been bereft of this responsibility, but not her. But she was entangled in all
these things just like a newlywed bride. Sometimes she accepted it as her
destiny and sometimes she consoled herself as if it were the law of nature. She
felt hurt with the jokes of her daughters-in-law but she wouldn’t say anything.
As the mother-in-law, she had never used her implied authority to stop them, as
if it was her weakness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Even when her husband was alive, she would keep these
things to herself and never discuss them with him. The old man was a different
kind of person. He didn’t even like being addressed as ‘old man.’ She wondered
if he would have been able to tolerate the ridicule of his daughters-in-law.
Even at an old age, he would become romantic when the dew drops appear. He
would sometimes ask his son to book a room for himself and his wife in the
forest guesthouse, so they could stay there for three or four days. He would
say to his son, “Please make packets of oil, ghee and basmati rice. I can get
good chicken in the village there. There is no need to worry about that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The youngest daughter-in-law would smile and say, “Dad,
are you planning to go on a honeymoon?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Why? Are honeymoons meant only for you folks alone?”
he would respond in kind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The daughter-in-law never said another word after that.
Their ridicule and taunt was indeed disappearing in the air but they could not
understand someone was being terribly hurt.
How could they?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Once, her scalp was aching and she rubbed the juice of
the aloe vera plant into it. The eldest daughter-in-law asked, “Maa, does this
help to keep your hair black? Here, my hairs near my ears have started graying.
You don’t even have a single grey hair. How old are you anyway? You must be
nearing sixty, 'na?'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What could she reply to the daughter-in-law? She was
not aware whether rubbing the plant helped in keeping one’s hair black but she
had read once in Laxman Mishra’s book that it kept the head cool. She was
having a terrible headache so for a little respite; she got a piece of stem
from the neighbour’s garden and was rubbing it on her scalp.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The youngest daughter-in-law asked, “How could you
think the cells can be kept fresh by applying or rubbing something onto them?
These things are all in the mind. It indeed depends on how the mind can be kept
fresh and young and on how you can live for love. The other day there was an essay about it in
the newspaper. Didn’t you read it? It
said that in America, people there get old later in life and the reason behind
it is they are sexually active until seventy years old and beyond.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">While talking to her sons, daughters-in-laws, and
grandchildren she could understand the meaning of English words by guessing.
However, she could never understand these references to sex and she dare not
ask the daughters-in-law as it would give them cause to laugh at her either
behind her back or directly in front of her.
They never realised how much it hurt -- much like a knife cutting into
sensitive skin. Even then, she never
brought these things to the old man’s attention.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Seeing their mother in law being shaky, the elder
daughter-in-law stopped the younger one but both of them laughed. Their laughter cut her inside like a saw yet
she remained powerless to do anything about it. Even then she did not bring
these things to the attention of the old man. Just like an important paper is
tied unto a wire she kept the words tied onto her heart. Is love really a bad
thing? Who should one love if not one’s husband? How could they ever defame the
love of husband and wife?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Her husband worked as a clerk in a foreign fertilizer
company. Even though his status was that of a clerk, he had the responsibility
of taking care of the club and the guesthouse as well. In fact, as he was the
favorite of the officers, he was always in charge of the dining and
entertainment, and in due course, he left the office work completely and became
involved only in the concierge duties at the club and guesthouse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">During that time, he became close to many local and
foreign delegates. Every day, he used to talk about the dance and drama as well
as many scandals which took place at the club. The description often centered
on picnics and boating events on moonlit nights where some couples disappeared
with each other for hours. All these secrets of the families of the officers
were known to him as they held him in their confidence. These incidents also
influenced the old man’s thinking for he also wanted to live in style like the
officers lived. That is why even though he belonged to the middle class, he had
led a fashionable life. That was also the reason why their quarters stood out
among all the other quarters around them. In addition, his employer always
motivated their employees to lead a fashionable life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There was the time Sen Saheb saw him in front of the
Durga Pooja Pandal. They did not talk to each other; both went on their own
way. The next day Sen Saheb called him to his office in the excuse of some work
and told the old man, “Das Babu, does the value of the diamond lie in being
hidden inside the house? You should display it outside sometimes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The old man could not understand what Sen Saheb really
meant and responded, “I am a middle-class man. Where will I get diamonds from?
Those things look good only on people like you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I was talking about your Mrs. You know, your wife is
really beautiful.” Saheb responded, a bit taken back by the old man’s ignorance.
That day,the old man had been very proud but on the other hand, he was a bit
scared as well for Saheb’s attention was indeed a matter of which to be afraid.
After that incident he loved her more as if he had a possession with him, as if
she was a trophy or prize. After that day, he never met Sen Saheb again but he
never forgot his words. Sometimes when he remembered those words, he felt a strange
kind of happiness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The daughters-in-law would never understand why the
manager of the fertilizer company had named her as a diamond. Yet everything
had its own time; the law of this world was to change with time. It was also an
eternal truth beauty also disintegrated with age. However, with her, the change
had come at a very slow pace, an embarrassingly slow pace. But was she
responsible for that? The thing that was once her pride had gradually become a
burden for her. Everyone had so many questions about her but she did not have
an answer to any of them. On the other hand, when there was any reference to
womanhood or motherhood, she would go back to her childhood and adolescent
days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She remembered her mother’s lips were bright red from
the juice of the paan. She remembered she had round and fat arms. She
remembered how her mother roamed around in the kitchen, or in the courtyard, or
sometimes in the room for the family deity, or in the place where rice was
pounded. She had twelve children who hovered around her like chicks following
their mother in gardens, fields and even in drains and streams. But she had no
idea of how long her mother’s womanhood stayed alive as she had left her
parents’ place a long time ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The other day she could not sleep because it was very
humid, but her husband was sleeping soundly. She got up and sat on the
verandah. Her son and daughter-in-law perhaps had not fallen asleep either as
she could hear her daughter-in-law laughing and talking in a low voice. They
were talking about many things. Her daughter-in-law laughed and said, “Do you
think that I am like your mother and I will be a fruit bearing tree till sixty
years? Don’t you think your mother’s condition is a bit abnormal? I had never
heard a thing like that before. At best some people get it till they are fifty
but she is crossing all bridges and moving farther than anybody I’ve ever
known. Why doesn’t she consult the lady doctor?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In very low voice, her son replied irately, “Are you
mad? Could you let me know how you are affected by it? Why are you getting so
intolerant? Have you tried to see her within herself? Moreover, as a son, how
can I take her to the doctor for such a thing?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She could not listen to any more of their conversation
so she got up from the verandah and went back inside. She felt bitter about her
life. She could not understand. Even though she did not harm anyone, why did
people make her life so miserable? The rules of the world were really strange.
All this love, all this affection, all this attraction; are these all
pretensions? Otherwise, why would people become intolerant if the daughter did
not get a suitable husband at the right time? Or if the son does not earn his
living at the right time? Or if a woman does not become a mother at the right age?
How could people wish someone’s death when someone didn’t die at the right
time?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Why didn’t the right time ever come for her? Unlike her
husband, her blood sugar and blood pressure never increased. She never had the
need to visit the doctor. She never ever suffered from indigestion. She never felt tired. From dawn to dusk she
tended her garden. Everything, including papaya and cabbage, grew with her
care. She would make small flower beds with different kinds of local and
foreign species in the garden in front of the house. She would dig the ground
herself and put fertilizer and chemicals to protect the plants from insects.
She would put support for the tendrils to grow. Yet she was never tired. She
would make sweaters for her granddaughter, would make dry snacks for her
daughter-in-law, and even manage to do a few household chores. She had the
habit of bathing twice everyday throughout the year, irrespective of whether it
was summer, rainy, or winter season yet she never suffered from cold or fever.
She was herself surprised at this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What kind of an afternoon did she have? She had not
lost her brightness in the sunlight nor was she getting ready to progress
towards setting down. Once while giving a speech on TV, a spiritual leader
mentioned that no one had come into this world without a purpose and that
everything in this world had a purpose. If that was true, then what could be
the reason behind her present state? Why was she still flowering like a teenage
girl at her age?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She remembered her mother when her mother was pregnant
during her mother’s marriage. Even though no one said a word to her mother, she
always felt as if the whole village was talking behind her back. Her mother had
stopped going to the village pond to take her bath. If someone ever asked her
about her unborn child she would be in tears. Sometime she would secretly rub
something on her lower abdomen. Perhaps she was getting some home remedy to
destroy the child in her womb. She had asked the laborer from the farm to get
the stem of the lotus from the pond. When the laborer asked the purpose she
became irritated with him and said, “You just have to get it. Why do you want
to know anything else?” Somehow it felt as if her mother was at times very
affectionate toward her unborn child and yet at other times, she appeared very
cruel to it. When she was getting married her elder sister and her husband had
come with their two daughters. She remembered clearly her mother never used to
go in front of her brother-in-law; it was as if she was a criminal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She felt very sad for her mother then. She wanted to
console her by being next to her but she had gotten married and had gone to her
in-law’s place to live. Whenever she wrote to her mother, she felt like asking
her mother about the unborn child. Is the child growing steadily or had the
child died? Yet she could never ask for fear of hurting her mother. After a few
months, her mother-in-law questioned her, laughing while she asked her, “Do you
know your mother has a son?” She was burning with rage when she heard her
mother-in-law’s words. She was shivering all over. Had she not sat down she
would have lost her balance. She could not look at her mother-in-law. Was there
ridicule in her mother-in-law’slaughter? She could not ask how her
mother-in-law got the news. She felt shame, but shame for what? She felt
ashamed. She felt as if she could not stand it. Even though nobody ever told
her anything, she still felt very ashamed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The other day, her twelve-year-old granddaughter clung
to her crying, thinking that her grandmother had an accident. Her
daughter-in-law came out to enquire as to what happened and was overwhelmed
with both joy and sorrow. Before she could put her hand on her granddaughter’s
head and explain her that these things are natural in a girl’s life, her
younger daughter-in-law laughed and commented, “Really wonderful! We have young
women from three generations in this household.” She was shocked; the elder
daughter-in-law was also shocked and the younger daughter-in-law was shocked
too by her own words. The elder daughter-in-law gave the younger
daughter-in-law an angry look and left with her daughter. The younger
daughter-in-law made an excuse she had work to do and snuck out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The words ‘young women’ hurt her but she could not give
a fitting reply. She could have complained to her husband but she did not. She
could have told her son to ask his wife to be more careful with her words but
she could not. She was offended and engulfed with shame.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When her husband was alive he used to always think his
wife was as young as ever. He treasured the words of Sen Saheb when the boss
had heaped praise about her beauty. It was not that others did not appreciate
her beauty, but Sen Saheb was unique. The old man always wanted her to be
dressed up like a doll. Since the time when the children were young, a glass of
milk had been arranged for her every day. Many times she had asked, “What is
the need for me to drink milk? It feels like I am taking a share from the
children.” The old man would get irritated and say, “How is it taking the
children’s share? The children are drinking their share. I asked you to have
milk so just have it.” When the old man bought books and stationary for the
children, he would get cream, powder, and other fashionable things for her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As the children got older, those life styles somehow
changed. She did not require the dressing table anymore to tie her hair knot.
The children got involved with their own jobs and business. The
daughters-in-law would come to the household. The house was full of
grandchildren. With the change of the ruler, it felt as if the rules also
changed. She did not visit the kitchen frequently anymore. Also, no one
bothered to give her a glass of milk. Yet the old man never forgot to get a box
of cream or powder for her. Sometimes she would put cream on her face. When she
had to go out, she would conservatively put on some powder. Yet most times, the
things the old man bought for her would lie on the self; dust would gather on
them. If the old man noticed, he would get upset and would say, “Did I get them
to keep on the selves? I should not get anything for you.” She would laugh at
his words. She would feel proud. She would consider herself lucky to think that
she had gotten so much love which few women ever got, even in their younger
days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She would not accept the fact her husband was not in
her life anymore. She felt as if he had gone for his morning walk and would
come back with his cap on and with his walking stick in hand. Sometimes she
felt he would come back with fish from the market and she should grind the
spices and get everything ready for cooking. Other times she would think he
must be in Goswami’s shop at the road crossing and would come back at nine
o’clock, coughing his way home. But her husband never returned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The biggest room in the house had belonged to the old
man and her. There were windows in front of each other. Light and wind swept
through the room. Next to the window on the other side, there was the Juhi
creeper. In the middle of the room was the double bed with clean sheets and
pillows. Every day, she would keep fresh flowers in the vase on the shelf.
After retirement, they spent most of their time in that room than during their
pre-retirement years. Suddenly he had died and she was left in the room --
alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The most miserable incident in her life had also taken
place in that big room. It had happened all of a sudden. Her husband had taken
a peg or two of wine and had his dinner with bread and cheese. Before going to
sleep, both of them had talked about many things, just like they did every day.
She was not aware what time it was but she had felt the old man pulling her.
She was used to the old man’s habits so she turned to her side and tried to
sleep. She could hear the sound of mumblings as if someone was suffering. She
turned around and saw that the old man was out of control. She got up and had
asked him what was going on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Severe pain in my chest,” he moaned as he rubbed his
chest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Why do you take all these things at this age?” she
remembered asking him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Give me water.” he got the glass of water and had
attempted to drink it but the water came out from his mouth instead of going
down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Press my chest,” he had urged. She took him to her lap
and pressed his chest. However, after some time, she had realized that the old
man had died. She could not believe one could die so suddenly. She thought it
was all a big lie. But the old man’s death was not a lie!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After the old man’s death, she had left the big room
and moved into the small room next to the kitchen out of her own will. If
anyone asked her the reason she would reply, “I am alone now. Why do I need a
big room?” She would spend her afternoons in that small room. In front of the
window of the small room was the old wood apple tree.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The tree had been there since the time they had bought
the land. They had eaten the fruits of the tree for several years. She did not
notice that in the meantime, the tree had become old with its branches looking
lackluster and dilapidated. There were still a few leaves here and there but
the tree appeared like an old woman awaiting her death, all naked. Had she not
shifted into that room, she would not have noticed the tree. She felt as if the
tree was telling her, “You have spent a longtime under the illusion of the Juhi
creeper; now turn your glance towards the real truth of life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After she had shifted rooms, the elder son occupied the
big room and the younger son took over the room of the elder son. Their
household had taken the joys and sorrows in their stride. However, she had
become lonely. She changed her style and habits. She now wore pale sarees instead of colourful
ones. Her mother-in-law’s religious books, in which never showed interest
before, were now taken out. The books
had been hiding inside a colourless box for a long time, bereft of all colour
and shape. Since they had not been touched for a long, as soon as she tried to
touch them they fell into pieces. Was this
yet another symbol or sign? When the old man was alive, he had never even
opened the box for a single day; what was the point in opening the box now? Was
it a change of role? The books shattered into small pieces as if they were
smirking at her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Once she told her younger daughter-in-law, “When you go
to college, get me some good books. I am bored at home sitting alone.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The younger daughter-in-law replied, “Father-in-law is
not there anymore but aren’t we all here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Why couldn’t she see anyone? There were some very
pleasant memories about her sons yet she could not see anything beyond the old
man. His memory seemed to rule her life. The younger daughter-in-law brought
her a book after all. She turned over the pages. She read through a paragraph
and felt as if she had read a lot. She could not get any pleasure from the
book. She was surprised at her own attitude and read only a few pages every
day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When the old man was alive, she could never keep track
of time; it just flew. The daughters-in-law would comment, “Our father-in-law
goes crazy if he does not see her every moment of his life. We take care of his
food, bath and everything so why does he need our mother-in-law?” The
daughters-in-laws would conclude the old man was hen-pecked, always dancing to
his wife’s tune.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In fact, she was not aware if the old man really danced
to her tune or not but he had definitely left behind a huge void in her life
and that void could never be filled by anyone else, not even by her sons,
daughters-in-law, and even grandchildren put together. She felt very lonely and very scared now. It
was not that way when the old man had been alive. He would take her side and
would fight for her then; his presence like a shield.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The new moon was approaching. Two or three days after
the new moon, that day would again be there. She felt helpless; yet again she
would have to face an unpleasant situation. A fear was slowly and steadily
building within her. Again that inhibition. Again that shame. Again she would
have to listen to someone’s painful words. When the telenga washerwoman would
come to take the clothes, she would give her a look of surprise and ask her,
“Aunty, are you still getting stronger?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">No one said, “How much does she have to suffer at this
age? What kind of atrocities is God inflicting upon her?” No one ever tried to
understand the physical and emotional pain. On the other hand, they hurt her
feelings. She realized the daughters-in-law did not appreciate her, as if there
was a secret indecency behind that. Their imaginations would go wild. She took
in a lot of insults and ridicule. The younger daughter-in-law said, “There is a
tradition in our mother-in-law’s family. Watch out, in case a thing like that
happens in this family. If it does, we will not be able to face anyone.” They
talked about worse things.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She had yet to understand how she had harmed anyone.
Even though she was the mother-in-law, she had never shown her authority, even
for a day; and this weakness made her so vulnerable. She did not remember when
she had started treating that as her weakness and felt inhibited about it but
it was clear now everyone had taken advantage of her weakness. She should have
held her head high and walked around like a lively woman. Instead, why had it
all turned upside down?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">########################<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Almost twenty days had passed since the death of the
old man. All the relatives who had come to attend the funeral had gone back.
Her sons and daughters-in-law had resumed their own lives and schedules. She
should have become like the discarded wood apple tree yet she was becoming
aware the day was approaching. All her nerves from her toes to her thighs were
being pulled. The pain around her waist was like the sting of the scorpion. It
was if a storm was brewing in her lower abdomen. She could not concentrate
anymore on “enlightenment.” She was not attracted to her children’s lives. She
was seeking help from the wood apple tree which stood on the other side of the
window but the lackluster and lifeless tree had dozed off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She folded her arms and touched her forehead in pain.
“Oh Lord, I don’t need it anymore. Why are you dragging me into the illusion?
Am I that big a sinner? Can I not get freedom? The old man is not here anymore.
Why are you chaining me to this illusion? How will I face my sons,
daughters-in-law and grandchildren? Make me disabled, Oh Lord! I don’t want my
womanhood.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. At that very moment, she realized her
prayers had not reached the Lord.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In the meantime, her granddaughter came to her,
“Grandma, are you crying? What happened? Are you missing grandpa? Are you not
feeling well?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She could not find words so she just embraced her. The
young girl had just stepped into the illusory world as well but how could she
understand the pain of a human heart and destiny? The human being is nothing
but a toy in the hands of the Creator. She wiped her tears and said, “Why
should I cry? I have become old so my eyes and nose water. Don’t go and tell
your father about it. He will become unnecessarily worried.” She reproached
her, “Why are you running around in this hot afternoon? Go and take a nap.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After her granddaughter left, she took her clothes from
the clothes rack, quietly opened the door, and picked up some cow dung lying
outside the gate. She needed some oil and turmeric paste. But she did not want
to let anyone know about her from her yellow face tainted from the turmeric so
she quietly entered the bathroom. She did everything without a sound. No one
should come to know about what she had done. She did not leave her clothes in a
corner. Instead, she washed them and put them on the clothes line to dry. All
her rites and her habits had paled out. She got rid of her sense of sin based
on impurity with her menstrual period. God was now relegated to the background.
She now felt that living was the most important thing in this world. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">(Translated
by Gopa Nayak and e</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">dited
by Paul McKenna)</span></b></div>
Sarojini Sahoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06356168164108611237noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613632675367188848.post-41815679889422216802013-05-20T17:57:00.000-07:002013-05-21T06:14:55.079-07:00MY STORY SERIES - 10<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 20.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Proxy<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sarojini Sahoo<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">(In her book <i>Women’s
Madness: Misogyny or Mental illness?</i>, physiologist Jane Ussher argues:
“Psychology has developed as a singularly male enterprise…thus it is time to
redress the balance…I shall focus on women, with no apology!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Here is my effort to paint feminine psychology which
shows how the connection between patriarchal oppression and women’s psychic
melancholy is complex and alienation
is an inevitable outcome for women suffering under patriarchal constraints. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The original story
‘Bikalpa’ was written in 90’s and is included in my Odia anthology
<i>Srujani Sarojini</i> and so far has not
been translated in to any other language.) “<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It was almost 7 a.m. by the time Suparna got up from
her sleep. Although light from the window was trying to conquer her sleep, she
was not able to free herself from the grip of slumber. Jaydev’s thighs were
resting on her and she could feel the pain the weight was causing her. Slowly
she moved his thighs away from her. She wished she could get a cup of tea! This
was one of her longings. How she wished she could be greeted by a hot cup of tea
in the morning! After all, her mother used to do that. But that was twenty
years ago. Her mother was no more. Now she had her own life. Now she had her
own role of mother to play with her own family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It had been quite late by the time they went to bed
the night before. There was the <i>dandia</i>
dance programme in the club throughout the night. Of course she was back by
midnight but she was not at all used to this kind of culture since her
childhood. However, in this patent age, culture does not have anything patent.
She could not get sleep for a long time after her trip to the club. Whatever
little was left of the night was spent under the collage of dreams. Within no
time it was dawn and the sun had come out in full force. All the routine went topsy-turvy.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As the sweet cool breeze of the winter entered her lungs
she was reminded that it was <i>Dussehra</i>
that day. “Oh my God, it’s <i>Dussehra</i> and
I am still in bed?” The sun had come out since a long time. She got up in a
scurry. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jaydev still half asleep said, “What happened? Let us
sleep.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“No. I have been sleeping for too long and you are
asking me to go to sleep some more? It’s <i>Dussehra</i>
today.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“So what?” Jaydev muttered, still half asleep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Slowly, Suparna’s past was coming back to her... We
would get up early in the morning. We did not want to get up that early but we
had to. It was a town in the <i>princely
state</i> of India surrounded by hills and mountains from all sides and
engulfed in fog. All of us brothers and sisters would sleep under two blankets
clinging to each other like puppies of a litter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mother would shake us up from bed shouting, “Get up,
you have to see the inception. Get up.” I did not want to get up. Who would
like to get up that early in the morning in the cold month of November anyway? Mother
shook each of us by our hands and legs to wake us up. It would still be dark.
No one knows what time it would be nor did we care. We would come out to the
outside door still half asleep. Parama, an old man would be sitting with his
new basket.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There would be a clean towel covering the basket. He
would take off the towel and tell us “Children, see the fish?” Live fish would
be swimming inside a glass jar. There would a jewellery box next to the jar. He
would open the box and show us gold jewellery and other gold trinkets. Next to
it in small containers would be bright paddy, yoghurt, and a small water-filled
vessel with mango leaves on top as <i>kalash</i>.
He would show us everything one by one. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sleep vanished as we saw the fish but still we would
come back to cover ourselves under the blanket as it was still before sunrise. Father
would give him tips. Parama’s words would strike our ears, “I have come here
straight after the royal household. How can you give only ten rupees?” Like
this, one after another would come to show us the auspicious inception early in
the morning. We would get up to see each of them and again go back under the
warmth of the blanket.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mother used to say if <i>Dussehra</i> went off well then the whole year would go well. We would
finish our bath early in the morning. There would be gun salutes from the royal
household around ten in the morning. Mother would say, “The gun salutes can be
heard, let’s put the <i>saja</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“You’ve only talked about <i>saja</i> once. What is it? Jaydev inquired.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Wait. I will explain. Let me put water on for tea.”
She then left the place with those words.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Suparna came back to the present for a moment and explained,
“<i>Saja</i> means the measuring weights,
the balancing, and the other things. Actually the soldiers put their swords for
two days near the goddess <i>Durga </i>and
participated in the worshipping ceremony. After the <i>Dussehra pooja</i> was over, they would take their swords and kept away
from the site. But we didn’t have swords; business was the main activity in our
household. So we put our business-related things and decorated them near the
goddess. This was how <i>Dussehra</i> was
celebrated in our town. Whatever you say, the days of our childhood were the
best.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> “Do you realize
that the past is always pleasant?” commented Jaydev. The children had not yet
gotten up from their beds and both Suparna and Jaydev sat in the garden taking
their morning tea.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">”We used to have a feast on <i>Dussehra</i> day” said Suparna.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Why haven’t I ever been treated to such a feast?”
complained Jaydev, trying to make fun of her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Have you ever been to our house during<i> Dussehra</i>? I have no idea if there’s
still a feast nowadays. The situation is not the same as before” She became sad
as she spoke those words. Just then, the hawker threw the newspaper near the
gate. While Jaydev engrossed himself into the newspaper, Suparna drifted back
into her past again. There became a distance where none of them could
communicate with each other. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There were often a thousand errands to run in the
mornings. However, Suparna was unable to get out of the world of fish in a jar,
the gold in the box, and paddy in the small bowl. Were those days really that good,
not dull like now? Her mother’s face
flashed in front of the images Suparna saw from time to time. She remembered
her mother had some similarity with Singhali, the cow her mother got from her
parents’ house when it was only a calf. Like mother, Singhali was also very
short tempered and we were scared of entering the cowshed. When mother used to
get angry, she would throw and break everything that she could put her hands
on. Both of them also had glances which were quite similar, innocent yet full
of complaints. Singhali was also thin like my mother. There was also some similarity between
mother’s hanging breasts and the breasts of Singhali. Both of them appeared as
if sweet motherhood was dripping from them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">What happened to Singhali? Did she die a normal death?
Did they sell her or was she lost? Suparna did not remember. However, she still
remembered the angry and innocent faces of both her mother and Singhali.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There had been one of those <i>Dussehras</i> like the present one. Mother had been so angry she caused
a storm and it became very difficult to handle the situation that day. What
class had I been in then? Was I still in school? No, maybe I had already joined
college. Preparations for <i>Dussehra</i>
had begun the night before. The cleaning, the washing, the shopping; everything
was underway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Father used to get new clothes for all his workers and
servants during <i>Dussehra</i>. There would
be <i>dhoti kurta</i> for those who wore
them and shirts and trousers for those who wore those kinds of clothing. Father
would buy everyone’s clothes from the shop of Biranchi Seth. After everyone got
their choice of clothes, a <i>saree</i>
would be bought.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For many years that had become a tradition from the
time when father had started his shop with very little capital. That was
apparently <i>Dussehra</i> when he had
started his life as a shopkeeper. After the priest had performed all the
prayers and rituals, the first customer who came to the shop was a woman. She
was from the community of pot makers. What did she buy? Dal? Rice? Salt? Tea
leaves? Suparna didn’t know. However, the shop made a profit after that. Father’s
shop had actually been the forerunner to the modern-day department store. He
had gradually become a wholesaler. Every year before the<i> Dussehra</i>,<i> </i>someone would
go and give the message to the lady from the pots to do the first shopping on <i>Dussehra</i> day. What did she buy on <i>Dussehra</i> day? Soap? Notebooks? Perfume?
Ajinomoto? Hair oil? A pressure cooker? A bone china set? A kilo of rice? A
half-kilo of sugar? A quarter-kilo of pulses? What did she buy? The pot lady must
be very happy to receive her gift of the <i>saree</i>
that used to be bought for her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That was what had been going on for many years. There was nothing bad behind father’s
intention of giving this woman a <i>saree</i>.
It was not even a secret matter. However, mother was not aware of it. Maybe she
would have never been aware of it. Then there was the time where there was
the new servant -- Suparna thought his name was Nakula -- arranging everything
for the occasion on the verandah inside the house. He had to get mango leaves,
flowers, grass, and leaves of the winter berry tree. Mother was taking out the
big utensils from the store for the big feast and she asked him, “Nakula, what
kind of shirt and pants did your master give you?” Nakula was about sixteen or seventeen years
old and mother was very fond of him because he used to run errands for her. He
answered in a complaining tone, “I asked for a pair of trousers but <i>Babu</i>, the master, didn’t give me any; I
didn’t get what I wanted. Babu must have asked the shopkeeper to show him
clothes within a limited budget. Why would the shop keeper show him the good
clothes?” Then mother asked Nakula, “Show me what kind of pants and shirt you
have brought.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Nakula took out all the clothes, one by one, from the
bag. The piece of <i>saree </i>peeped
through the other clothes. The <i>saree</i>
was blue with a red border. Mother pulled out the <i>saree </i>from the lot and asked him, “Did your master buy this <i>saree</i> for me? But what kind of <i>saree</i> is this? This is a very old-fashioned
<i>saree.</i> He should have bought a
printed <i>saree </i>instead!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Nakul started laughing aloud when he heard the master’s
wife. “Ma, do you think this <i>saree </i>is
for you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mother was very irritated and asked, “Then for whom?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Ma, you do not know the woman who takes a <i>saree </i>every year?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Takes every year? Whom does your master dress up in a
<i>saree</i> every year?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“She is the potter woman, indeed!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Which potter woman?” my mother asked, becoming upset.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“I don’t know her but how is it that you don’t know? Everyone else does” Nakula commented.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After that, anger and suspicion had accumulated inside
mother. As soon as father reached home, she made him restless, attacking him
with her shooting questions. Not only that, she created chaos that day as well,
throwing and breaking things. “Who is that potter woman? Why do you give her <i>sarees</i>? Is she an epitome of <i>Laxmi</i>, the goddess of wealth and I am <i>Alaxmi</i>, the rival goddess of her? Never
have you given me a <i>saree </i>for<i> Dussehra</i>. Look at the audacity of the
woman, every year she wears a <i>saree </i>on
<i>Dussehra</i> for no reason. Why don’t you
live with the potter woman? Why have you kept me?” Gradually the situation
turned from bad to worse that day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Not only did Suparna’s mother not approve of this
tradition but Suparna did not approve of it either. She sympathized with her
mother but could not support her openly. She felt, ‘What is the point in giving
a <i>saree</i> to a person who was in no way
related to them?’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Father never found a suitable answer to calm mother
down that day either. He became very helpless. He went to the shop and returned
with a few <i>sarees </i>for mother. No one
could make out whether she did not like the <i>sarees
</i>or she did not want them out of anger. She did not even look at the <i>sarees</i>. At last Suparna went herself to
the shop and selected a beautiful <i>saree </i>and
got it for her mother. However, her mother did not put on the <i>saree</i> that day. As a result, Suparna also
felt sad for her father.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">No one was happy because such an incident happened on<i> Dussehra</i>. Indeed there was a feast in
the evening but neither her mother nor her father was happy. Mother’s jealousy
for the potter woman started increasing gradually from that day forward.
Whenever she wanted to hurt my father, she used this potter woman as a weapon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Suparna felt very sad. She could never understand why
her mother was so angry. Her father had no relation with the potter woman; he
only had a blind belief based on a folktale.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Suparna was making breakfast as her thoughts traveled
in her past. Suddenly the telephone rang, rousing her from her thoughts.
Suparna thought maybe Jaydev would answer the phone call. However, Jaydev did
not want to give up reading the newspaper and the children were still sleeping.
So she put the gas burner on slow and ran to pick up the phone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Hello.” There was no sound only complete silence from
the other side.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Hello, Hello, Hello,” Suparna made her presence felt
but there was still no response from the other side as if someone was trying to
test her patience. Finally she could hear the sound of the receiver being put
back. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the meantime the <i>paratha, </i>the hand-made butter-fried bread<i>,</i> had turned hard on the pan. Suparna turned it to the other side
and got involved in her chores. After ten minutes, the telephone rang again.
Suparna was walking through and answered the call.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Hello.” Even this time the receiver was kept away.
Suparna got irritated. Where were those blank calls coming from anyway? Suparna
kept the receiver back. Jaydev who was reading his newspaper asked, “Who is
there?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“How would I know?” Suparna replied quite irritated.
She quietly kept the receiver back without saying a word.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“It must have gotten cut. Maybe it was one-sided and
that could be reason why nothing could be heard,” Jaydev said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“No,” said Suparna with certainty. “I can understand
when it gets cut. I have heard the sound of the receiver being kept.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Why do you bother? It could be some wrong number,”
Jaydev replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Suparna returned to the kitchen. In the meantime, the
seeds in the pan had already burnt into smoke after spluttering. Now she was very irritated. She washed the
pan under the running water from the tap and started muttering to herself, “I
am the only one in this house who does everything. I have to cook, clean the
showcase, answer the phone, and serve tea a number of times each day. No one
wants to get up from their seats.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jaydev was used to these complaints. He did not pay
any heed to the words or maybe the words did not reach him. There was a phone
call maybe a blank call. Why was she so disturbed and irritated about that? Was
she becoming like her mother?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She knew a few things about Jaydev too. She had read
some of his mails without his knowledge.
She had read all the stuff Jaydev wrote to that girl. Jaydev chatted on
the net after everyone went to bed. She was aware of that too. Sometimes he
drafted the letters and kept them in a secret file to send them when he got a
chance. She hoped it was not that girl who was calling. Jaydev had once written
to her, “My dearest Sephali darling, your boobs are……..your…… your …..”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
###############</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jaydev and the children were sitting around the dining
table then and Suparna kept the breakfast for everyone on the table. Jaydev
enquired, “Why didn’t you have any for yourself?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> “I’ll have it
afterwards. I have to take a bath and do my <i>pooja</i>,
my prayers. I will have it after that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> “Do you think
God will not listen to your <i>pooja</i> if
you eat your breakfast first and then offer Him prayers second?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“How could you say such a thing?” said Suparna quite
irritated. “First of all, I got up late on <i>Dussehra</i>
day and on top of that, I will have my food without taking my bath and without
offering my prayers?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“All right then. You finish your <i>pooja</i>. We will have our breakfast together.” Jaydev got up from the
dining table and went into the other room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> A short while
later, Suparna suggested to Jaydev, “It will take a long time. Why don’t you go
ahead and eat?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> “How long can
you take? It’s a holiday today. I’m going to wait.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Suparna could not think of any response. She did not
want to get into an argument on <i>Dussehra</i>
day, afraid of picking a fight. She entered the bathroom in a hurry. She
finished her bath as soon as possible under the shower putting oil but without
any soap. Until that day, they had always had their breakfast together. There
was no exception to that unless there was any real inconvenience. They shared
the curry, the fries and the pickles; everything was shared. Jaydev would
quickly finish his food intentionally, leaving behind the best bits like pieces
of liver or cheese. He would eat a single piece of fish and leave three pieces
for Suparna. He would never listen to her even if she shouted at him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When Suparna came out of the bathroom, the children
had finished their breakfast and Jaydev was on the sofa reading the newspaper.
On the shelf, Suparna had kept all the idols of the gods and goddesses. Some
were in the form of pictures and some were in the form of sculptures; some were
made of terracotta and some were made from china clay; some were in silver and
some were made of aluminum. She put a flower on every one of them as they were
all different from each other. She put <i>chandan</i>
and <i>sindoor, </i>the sandal paste and
vermillion spots. She chanted different <i>mantras</i>
for each of them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When Suparna went to collect water for the <i>pooja</i> she saw that Jaydev had thrown
away the newspaper and switched on the TV. On the table, the food was still
lying in the same way as she had served them. Suparna was feeling uneasy because
Jaydev had got up from the breakfast table. Then she thought, ‘was Jaydev
trying to placate her? Was he able to understand why Suparna was so upset early
in the morning? Or maybe that was not the case at all. The phone call may have
been a wrong number. There was the possibility of a one-sided call as well. A
mere phone call should not shake her confidence. And the incident about the
incident, it could be ignored. Who does anything serious on the ‘net anyway?
That’s just play. How would anyone know whether it was really a man or a woman;
young or old? Whether it was a Sephali or Deepali? What guarantee was there
that a person with that name really existed?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">During <i>pooja</i>,
Suparna fell into a different prayer that day. “Do you realize, my Lord, how my
mind is getting filled with stupid things?” Suparna prayed as if trying to make
HIM a witness as she offered oblation in the brass plate. “I am also a human
being like Jaydev, no? Please let this life pass through without any calamity!
Otherwise like mother, I will never be able to understand the love Jaydev has
for me.” Suparna uttered these words as a soliloquy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Suparna thought back after mother’s funeral, on the
tenth day <i>sraddha</i> ceremony, the
priest who had performed the rites told Suparna, “Dear, there was tremendous
love between your parents.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“How would you know that?” Suparna had asked him in a
sad voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Would the fire burn so bright in the pot if there was
no love?” he had responded, looking at the fire.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Suparna was not aware of the relation between fire and
love. However, she could imagine her mother was always anxious to get the love
of her father throughout her life. Was it also possible her mother could never
understand the love of her husband either?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">No, Suparna would never let that happen to herself. She
and Jaydev would belong to each other throughout their entire lives, during happiness
and sorrow; when they were in the midst of emotions and imagination; and in all
adversity. Suparna smiled to herself and thought, “Oh my God! Am I praying or
indulging in something else?” She started ringing the bell vigorously while
performing <i>pooja </i>and prayed as if
trying to control her feelings. She realised it was already ten o’clock. By now
in her parents’ town, the guns must have been fired in the royal household.
There must have been shows of the soldiers fighting. Suparna said “Did you know
that during the <i>Dussehra</i> festival, the
<i>Kanaka Durga </i>deity, the golden idol
of mother goddess from the royal household, is taken around the town and then
the statue is installed in the temple. After that, the guns are fired and
soldiers fight with their rusted swords jumping around and instigating fights.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> “I have heard
these things almost three hundred times now,” Jaydev laughed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“I still listen to your stories even after hearing
them a thousand times,” Suparna responded in kind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The clouds which had hovered over her in the morning
had now disappeared from her mind. Suparna said, “We should go and get some
sweets. It is <i>Dussehra.</i> Someone may
come over.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jaydev replied “Let’s go to a restaurant for dinner
this evening.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“That’s not a bad idea. We have not been able to go
out for a long time.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As Jaydev was going out, the phone rang loudly. It was
not Suparna but Jaydev who picked up the call this time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Hello?” he asked and became quiet for a while. His
back was towards Suparna so he could not notice the way she was looking at him.
She could only hear Jaydev saying, “I’m busy now. I will call you back.” And he
replaced the receiver hurriedly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Suparna now realized, like her mother with her father,
it was totally impossible to understand the love Jaydev had possessed for her.
She imagined, after their deaths, people would say they were made for each
other just as they had said about her own parents.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">(<b>Translated by
Gopa Nayak<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Edited by Paul McKenna</span></b><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Sarojini Sahoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06356168164108611237noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613632675367188848.post-67742329865547946192013-04-30T04:31:00.000-07:002013-04-30T04:39:29.852-07:00MY STORY SERIES - 9<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; tab-stops: 186.55pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 22.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Conjugal Vignette <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sarojini
Sahoo<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">(The original story was written in 90’s and is
included in author’s Odia anthology <i>Deshantari
</i>(ISBN: 81-7412-147-0) under the title ‘Dampatya’ and so far has not been
translated in to any other language. The story may provide a self-assessment
test to help readers to determine psyche of a woman after her menopause.)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mrs. Chowdhury reminded me of my mother. It was not
that her face had the resemblance of my mother’s but it was her wild uncombed hair,
the loose knot, the smeared <i>sindoor</i>,
the vermilion spot which gave the colour of the sunseton the forehead, and the <i>saree</i> which she had on for the whole
night. All these things reminded me of my mother. This is all about her
appearance. Actually, I am not really focusing on the outside appearance. I
want to talk about those things which stirred my delicate sentiments as soon as
I saw her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When I looked at her, she appeared as if she had been
weeded-out like an unwanted plant of the garden or perhaps like a waste paper
shredded into pieces and thrown away.She appeared as if she would be blown away
or swept away if no one held her hands tightly. I had seen my mother like this
about twelve to fourteen years back. My mother, like her, also would have been
around fifty years old at that time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I had never seen her before. We had only known each
other over the phone. She used to call me at home to enquire about her husband.
Her husband had gotten transferred but sadly, she was stuck at the old place
because her son was in his final year of school in the science stream and her
daughter had paid a donation to get into a management course. But she often
worried about her husband. Was he getting his bed tea in the morning? Was he
boiling his drinking water? Would he suffer from chest pain if he became too
stressed? All these things worried her and she would talk about them when she
would call. I tried to console her over the phone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She would call up and would let me know when her
daughter had fever, or when her son was bitten by a dog, or when her neighbour
fought with her, or when the car was sent to the garage to be repaired. If her
husband did not call her for a long time or did not go home on holiday, she
used to cry and complain to me over the phone. Once or twice, she would even
ask me, “What is the attraction there that Mr.Chowdhury does not come home?”
Sometimes I would take her husband’s side and argue, “Maybe he is busy with
work. Why do you worry so much? All right, I will let him know that you were
worried.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I was not very close to her husband; on the other
hand, being a colleague there was a feeling of intolerance between us. He was
not my nearest neighbour. His living quarters werefour or maybe five quarters
away from me. Everyone had the inter connected phone given by the company but
no one else had taken the line for an outside connection except for me. So
people from the seven to eight quarters surrounding my quarters had expectedto
use my telephone to keep in touch with the outside world.Mrs. Ram Murthi was an
extrovert so no one went to her house. And Mrs. Ansari was so proud of her
status that no one dared to enterher gates either.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The newlywed Binay Panda’sfather-in-law, employed with
the police department, called up every other day to enquire about his
daughter’s well being. He used to send messages asking whether the washing
machine was working or the microwave oven would be sent within a few days.
Sometimes he would call up to consult with his son-in-law aboutbuying something
or getting him transferred. He would say, “I have urgent business. Could you
please call him?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I had to attend to these phone calls because I used to
be at home. I would send my maid to people’s houses to inform them their phone
call would come after ten minutes. As mobile phones were not commonly used at
that time, I would let them know by calling them on the company phone.Sometimes,
someone or the other had to wait for the phone in the drawing room. Samiran, my
husband, would ask me to tell those calling, “No, I can’t inform them” or just
tell them there is no one at home or their house was locked. Even though I was
fed up attending to the neighbours’ phone calls, I could not betray their trust
or lie to them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Within the last one-and-half years, there must have
been at least more than two hundred phone calls for Mr.Chowdhury. And every
time, Mrs.Chowdhury, the caller, would express her apologies for troubling us.
She maintained the formality of asking about my children’s well being and about
my visits to my parents’ place. Over time, we
had gotten to know each other probably better than other callers. Moreover, Mr.Chowdhury
was also treated to a cup of tea or coffee while waiting for the phone calls
from his wife. Perhaps to mitigate our irritation, he used to bring chocolates
or toffees for the children. Samiran kept the conversation with Mr. Chowdhury
to a minimum. I only sat and chatted with Mr. Chowdhury out of courtesy. I
tried to imagine his wife by listening to his conversations.But perhaps that
imaginary person had no resemblance with the real Mrs.Chowdhury.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As I had never seen her before, I would have never
guessed she was the real Mrs. Chowdhury and that she too was in a distressed
state.Even though I never asked her, she must have seen the amazement and the
questioning look on my face, so she introduced herself. “I am Mrs.Chowdhury.”
After introducing herself, she nervously looked behind her and said, “He must
be following me.” And before I could understand and say anything else, she
said, “Please tell me, what I should do.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“About what?” I asked, even though I knew a bit about
the possible answers. During these few months there had beengossip about her
husband. Even I had to come to know about an affair between her husband and Mrs.Gomej.
Maybe she wanted to ask me,“All these things happened and yet you never informed
it to me, even though I called you so many times over the phone?” I had decided
to tell her it is better to think twice before commenting on anyone’s
character. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I looked at her face. I felt as if my mother was
sitting in front of me and asking “Can you tell me my dear daughter, will your
father really be able to leave her?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mrs. Chowdhury showed me both her hands and said “Can
you see how he has hit me?” The skin had been cut by the glass from broken
bangles and some places had stains of blood. “See, he was pressing my neck to
kill me.” She showed me her neck. There were marks of fingers on top of the
necklace <i>mangalsutra</i>.Once he brought
cold water from the refrigerator and poured it into my ears.” As she was
describing her physical agony, she was trembling with fear like a scared deer.
She would get up in between her monologue and look around, checking to see if Mr.
Chowdhury was coming there. She said, “He has no decency. Who knows, he may
come here and create trouble.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“He will not come here. You can be sure of that,” I
consoled her. I ordered my maid to get some water and a cup of tea for her and
told her, “In the meantime, Mr.Chowdhury and my husband Samiran have had a big
fight in the office. Their relation is so bitter that even in the club they had
thrown glasses at each other over an argument. So don’t worry, Mr.Chowdhury
will not come to our place.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After she felt a bit more at ease, she opened up to me.
“What should I do? He is saying that he will divorce me and marry her. Our
daughter is twenty-two years old. Instead of thinking of getting her married,
he is thinking about his own marriage. He is not giving a single penny to the
household. I heard that he was riding around with Mrs. Gomej in his car. He has
even givenhera <i>saree</i> worth 1,600
rupees. And Mrs. Das saw them both in a jewelry shop. And you know what is most
pathetic of all? The other day he took me to hotel called ‘The Dream Bar’ just
to placate me. But really, the love is not there anymore. You know when he had
gone out for a few minutes, the hotel boy came up to me and asked me about my
relationship with him. I enquired why he was asking me and I told him that I
was his wife. He replied that another lady came regularly with him. Does that
mean he has two wives?I immediately asked Mr. Chowdhury about this when he came
back. After that, he created so much trouble in the hotel. He almost thrashed
that boy.” After a pause, she continued. “Tell me the truth, haven’t you seen
them together?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I did not know how to answer this direct question from
her so I said, “See? I have not seen anything; I have only heard about it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“You are trying to cover up for him”, she smiled and
said, “Many incidents have happened in the office. Your husband did not tell
you anything?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“My husband belongs to another section. He has not
seen anything either. The real truth is no one has seen anything. We have just
heard things. However, my husband had seen them once going out in the car
together. Everyone also knows about the photos he took during the picnic.
Everyone talks about their disappearance during the moonlit night picnic.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She started crying when she heard these things from
me. I was repenting like a criminal. I hated myself for it. I should not have
said them. But the fact was she confronted me and I could not help myself. Perhaps
it would have been better to avoid this by resorting to a little lie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It was fifteen days since she had come to this place and
sinceshe had come to my house and narrated her own sad story and took out all
information from me. When she arrived there was a lot of gossip going on about
her husband but who dared to inform her about her husband?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As if she could read my mind, she wiped her tears and
said, “He said, ‘the womenfolk here are really bad. They are instigating me.’ But
I could imagine that something like this must have happened here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“When he came home during the holidays as soon as he
put his bags down, he started talking to his daughter praising the woman. And then later, my daughter came up and
excitedly told me, ‘Mama, thataunty is really nice. She has good looks as well
as a very good nature. She has sent this orange cake for you. You cannot forget
the taste of her <i>Chilli chicken</i> and <i>Gobi kebab</i>.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“And he used to tell me, ‘She has saved my life. But
for her, I would have lost my life during that heart attack.’ Then he would ask
our daughter, ‘My dear, please write a letter to Aunty.’ He even forced our daughter
to write a letter.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“One time, when he stayed with us for a month, I got
hold of a letter from that woman. She had written a love letter saying she was missing
him. As if the whole department was going to collapse without Mr. Chowdhury, as
soon as he got the letter, he left, even though our son’s final examinations
were coming up. What magic she has! What has she got in her flesh that I don’t
have?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Your children are grown up. Why don’t they talk to
their father?” I tried to reason.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“What will they say? She responded.“If they say
anything, he gets angry and attempts to hit them. He tells them, ‘I will just feed
you like I feed the dog.’And that’s it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She was perturbed when she heard our gate opening. I
immediately got up and saw that the milkman had come. I came back with two
packets of milk. She regained her calm after she saw me return with the milk.
Gradually she became comfortable with me. She got up from the sofa and came
over to me and held my hands and said “You are like my younger sister; that’s
why I am telling you all this. Please, can you advise me on what I need to do?”
Sheappeared as if she had found some hope even though her face still looked
pale and helpless. In fact, I could not understand what kind of help she was
expecting from me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Her helplessness took me back to a time when I was
about nineteen or twenty years old. The fights between my parents had been
increasing then. I was in my final year of my B.A. degree and there was the
pressure of the honours syllabus. There had been a similar incident between my
parents over domestic help. Initially, I was very cross with my mother.
Sometimes they would fight over dinner; sometimes there would be fights in the
middle of the night and my father would leave the house. These things had
become a regular occurrence. As the eldest in the family, I had to take care of
my younger siblings. Two of my youngest siblings could not understand what was
going on and would look at me with shock. ‘Extramarital affair’ did not exist in
their vocabularies. I could understand but never believed; I never wanted to
believe. My mother had become anemic after giving birth to six children. Her veins
appeared like blues rivers and canals under her bright fair skin. She had gone
through menopause.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I had come to know about menopause from a book. This
event happens after forty-five to fifty years old in the lives of women and it makes
them feel worthless for their husbands and they suffered from a complex. So I
used to think that my mother was just being suspicious of my father without any
reason.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My mother didn’t want the maid servant working for us
anymore. But we were not ready to get rid of her. In fact, we all had become so
dependent on her we thought we could not manage without her. There was no pump
in the well and the cooking was done by burning wood. The maid would cook and
fill up about fifty buckets of water in the tanks in the bathroom, kitchen, and
even for the dishwashing. She would wash the clothes and the dishes, fry rice,
and even comb our hair. She would massage our bodies with mustard oil. She
would stitch buttons and quilts. She would water the plants in the garden. She
would sometimes cut wood into small pieces to be burnt for cooking. She was
like a machine ready to work as soon as you switched it on. Yet my mother didn’t see her in that light.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My mother knew the reason behind our desire not to
throw her out. She knew her children would not agree with her. Sometimes, she
would fight with our father and leave the house and go to her sister’s who
lived in the other corner of the town. She would stay at her sister’s place for
the whole morning or sometimes the whole afternoon and then her sister and her
husband, my uncle and aunt, would console her and bring her back to our house.
Once she locked herself in a room. My father was so angry that he punched the
door hard enough for the nails to come out and half of the door was hanging
out. I was not at home when that incident happened but my younger brother, who
was in seventh grade during that time,who could not ride a bicycle properly, pedaled
it to my college that day. He waited for a full forty minutes until my class
finished. I was scared to see him because my mother was always threatening she
would take poison. My younger brother told me about my mother’s brooding and my
father breaking the door. I immediately took a rickshaw and came home. When I
came home, my mother was eating her wet rice in a corner and my father was
reading the newspaper on his bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After that, many unpleasant incidents took place. Once
I was awoken by the sound of glass bangles. At three in the morning my mother
was filling up the tanks in the bathroom and the tank for dishwashing with the
water from the well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“What are you doing?” I had asked her. “Why are you filling up the tanks at three in
the morning? Are you mad? Who wants you to do this?” I took away the bucket and
the jug from her hand. She would not give them to me. She did not lose her
temper; neither did she cry. On the other hand, she told me, “None of you
really listens to me because you have to fill up the tanks, wash the dishes,
and mop the house.”There was a strange wetness in her voice; more than the
tears in her eyes. I sat down with my hands on my head. I could not understand
what had to be done.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My mother would talk about her misery to all our
neighbours just like Mrs.Chowdhury did. She could never understand she should
not be talking about her private life in public. She could not understand everyone
was laughing at her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Once, she was shouting at my father at the top of her
voice. I could not tolerate anymore and tried to put my hand in front of her
mouth and stop her. She pushed my hand from her mouth and saidto my father, “Go
ahead. You can hit me.” My father’s image was slowly and steadily getting
tarnished and we could not do anything about it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">One day, I realized why should there be so much fuss
over a maid. Someone else can be employed in her place. I called the maid and
told her to go back to her village. We would pay you all that we owed her and
on top of that, we would give hera hundred rupees more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Aunty is just creating a mountain out of a mole hill,”
she said and started crying out loud.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“No one wants you to worry about that,” I said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It was my final year before Igraduated from graduate
school. My younger sister was doing her undergraduate workand my younger
brother was doing his secondary school finals.I asked myself then, why do such strange
incidents take place? Why does a smooth simple life suddenly become complicated?
Why does it all get changed in a span of a few seconds? Why does trust,built
over years, suddenly dissolve? Why does a person who was so dear suddenlybecomes
a stranger? These questions came back tohaunt me when I thought of my mother
and saw Mrs.Chowdhury in front of me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I freed my hands from Mrs.Chowdhury’s grip and said,
“I am connecting you to the General Manager. You tell him everything. He is
your husband’s superior so he can drive some sense into your husband.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She agreed to my proposal. It appeared as if she had
become impatient to share her children’s problems over the dinner table; to
enjoy the timeless pleasures of bed like the autumn rain; or maybe to live
again the conjugal life that had started some twenty-five years back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As soon as the phone rang on the other side, I handed
her the receiver. She narrated her misery from beginning to end. When she put
the receiver back, her face appeared clear like the sky without a single cloud.
I asked her, “What did the General Manager say?” She stood up intending to
leave. “He told me that he will talk to Mr.Chowdhury today.” I consoled her not
to worry and everything would be all right.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Later on, we realized it did not benefit Mrs.Chowdhuryby
asking for the General Manager’s help. That evening, she came to meet me
secretly. She told me talking to the GM over the phone did not serve any
purpose. On the other hand, he called me up in the internal line and explained
to me, “Don’t irritate your husband. Don’t fight with him all the time. It is
not good to suspect your husband. He may have lost his temper and said
something. In real life, how can one divorce one’s wife?” She appeared very
tired and helpless. She asked me, “Could you please tell me, is it possible,
that the GM does not know about his affairs? Everyone knows yet why doesn’t
anyone want to admit it? Why is everyone taking it so casually? Don’t they find
it indecent?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“I got paid back by complaining to the GM. ‘How will I
describe his atrocities?’ He questioned me. ‘You have gone to the GM and
complained about me, isn’t it? I will marry her. I will see what you will do.
If you want to stay here, just keep quiet and live. Otherwise leave this place.’”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Tell me, is it possible to remove this woman from
this place?” she asked me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I replied, “MrsGomej has been here for a long time.
Her father was an old hand in this company. She was born here. Not only Mr. Chowdhurybut
many people pine for her even today,” I smiled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She spread her lips and said, “She indulges in style;
we don’t otherwise...”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I replied, “No, it’s not really that. Her genes have
made her different from us. Her golden hair, blue eyes, and bright complexion
do not belong to this place.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“She can be transferred. Tell me, who should I ask?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I tried to make her understand. “Everyone has a boss.
Why are you so worried?”I could not help her much that day. I could only
promise her I would give her the necessary telephone numbers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This was my first experience in fighting for someone.
Let alone fighting, I did not even participate in the college strike because my
father had a very bad temper. Whenever there was a strike in the college,
Iwould stay at home and enjoy my meals. I did not get to see the effigy being
burnt nor did I see the buses set on fire. I just heard about the stories of black
flags on top of the court buildings. Again, when the schools and college came
back to normal, I would listen to the stories of bravery and their stories of
food in jail. I felt as if they had participated in the struggle for
independence. From that point of view, my life was really colourless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The next day also she came to our place without the
knowledge of her husband. As soon as she came, she was eager to go back. “He knows
that I’m visiting you. Did you get the director’s number?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I had written the number on a small piece of paper.
After looking around for a while, I found it and gave it to her. She was
nervous to phone the director; in fact, I was a bit nervous as well. She asked
me to connect and I did so. As soon as there was the ring from the other side I
quickly gave the phone to her. She asked me, “What should I say?” In the meantime
she had to talk to the director. She was repeatedly narrating her misery to
him. She had exhausted herself painting herself as helpless as she could. She
asked whether Mrs.Gomej could be transferred and when she put the receiver down
she was almost in the verge of crying.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Like a person who has lost confidence, she had lost
her capability to gather herself and said “Nothingelse can be done.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“What do you mean?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“He told me, ‘Why are you washing dirty linen in
public? Try to explain everything to your husband and help him get back to
track.’”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“What did he say about the transfer?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“He said, ‘a transfer is not as easy as you think. It
cannot be done according to your whims and fancies. Try to adjust to your
family.’”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“What does he mean by ‘adjust?’” I inquired.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“I don’t really understand what he meant by ‘adjust’
either. He asked me what evidence did I haveabout my husband’s relations with
her. Is this a movie or a detective novel? Is it a court that I will have to
provide evidence? I have seen lipstick marks on his chest, arms and thighs.
These marks don’t stay for long time where I could show them? But they were
there; I’ve seen them.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Don’t lose your confidence. Have faith in God. He is
the mightiest of all,” I said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In fact, I had lost my own confidence. I had never
been addicted to sports. During my school days, I used to sit in one corner of
the school field offering one excuse after another. I was never affected by
winning or losing a game. But now, this was the first time I experienced the
pain of losing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As soon as she heard God’s name, she took out a<i>tabeez</i> , a talismanic locket she had
been wearing under her blouse. “Someone has given this tome. If I put on this
one, I will get him back.” I tried to remember if my mother had also put on
some kind of magical <i>tabeez</i> to get
back my father.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Suddenly she asked me, “Do you know who his enemies
are?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Enemies?” I asked with surprise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“I will ask help from his enemies,” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Even though I did not approve of her plan, I couldn’t
help but appreciate her intelligence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then she asked me, “Who is Avidutt? Did he ever have a
fight with Avidutt?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I was surprised to hear Avidutt’s name.I knew Avidutt
but he never comes to our place. I had never spoken to him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I explained, “He had had a fight with MrChowdhury a
long time back. He is from a famous mafia gang. At that time, he had threatened
to defame Mr.Chowdhury and Mrs.Gomej by writing their names on the walls.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hearing this information, she was very pleased and
asked me, “Do you have his phone number?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“I can look in the directory.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> “Please can you
find it and keep it for me, I will come by tomorrow.” And with that she left.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For sometime there had not been a normal routine in my
house. The first day when Mrs. Chowdhury came to my house and shared her
sorrows with me, I could not give my children breakfast; seeing the stranger in
the house they quietly took their chairs to the garden and sat there. By the
time she left, it was time for school. Most of the days she would arrive around
the time the children would be coming from school. I could not help the
children in taking off their school uniforms. I could not put jam on their
toasts or give them their afternoon milk. They took their food as they could. I
could not water the plants in the garden nor could I finish my novel. All my
chores were getting delayed as well, yet I could not say no to her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The next day, she came back to plead with Avidutt
about her misery. Avidutt was not at home. I was thinking there was still time
to keep her out of that. But she started talking about Mrs.Gomej and the
discussion took another turn. She said, “I am insulting her in streets wherever
I encounter her. I shouted at her in the club by calling her a whore.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“And Mrs. Gomej did not say anything back to you?” I
asked. “When did you say that? Where was I?” I felt as if she was just
imagining saying it. Can anyone really say such things to a woman’s face? Has
she started fighting and shouting in her imagination?The next day, she came to
phone Avidutt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Is Mr.Chowdhury not at home? How could you come?” I
asked politely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She replied, “The old man was going out for a walk. I
thought he was going to her place and followed him for sometime.Half way
through, I realized he was going towards the stadium so I returned. I will make
the call and leave quickly.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After her conversation with Avidutt that day, I saw
her smile for the first time. She was very happy and commented, “We call these
people hooligans but when it comes to helping someone, these people will give
their lives.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Somehow I felt whatever she was saying could be true.
The well-placed people are very selfish. Really, she had narrated her misery to
everyone but no one had come forward to help her thus far.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After speaking to Avidutt, she did not come to our
place for a few days. I thought maybe the man threatened someone and set things
straight. But I was wrong. She came again to me and said, “I am really
troubling you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Not really”, I said trying to conceal my feelings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Do you know what MrChowdhury is up to? He has been
taking that wicked Avidutt to drink for the last three days. He is coming home
at midnight. I was thinking he had been going to Mrs.Gomej’s place. Gradually I
came to know the truth during our quarreling. The other day he hit me and said,
‘You have employed hooligans to come after me. The hooligan whom you had
approached is drinking with me for the last three days.’”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“There is another way,” I offered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“What, are you referring to? The union? The old fellow
has also got them all on his side” she said with a sense of hopelessness in her
voice. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I replied, “No, I know a journalist. We will talk to
him. You will see he will be back on track.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Strange”, she said. “Everyone knows they have a close
relationship. Yet how could everyone pretend as if there is nothing going on?Everyone
is blaming me that I am suspicious; that I am trying to defame him. What kind
of wife will defame her husband unless she feels insecure?Am I mad? Don’t I
have a daughter to give in marriage? Don’t I love my family? No one is coming
forward to solve the problem. On the other hand, everyone is arguing that there
can be no breakdown in such a strong household. Is anyone able to understand
why I am having sleepless nights?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As I pondered the situation, I then realized my mother
must not have gotten up at three in the morning too, as I had thought. She must
not have been sleeping at all at night. It is not easy for one person to seal
the cracks in any household.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mrs. Chowdhury left our house very unhappy that day
but I tried to put my ideas into action. I spoke by phone with the journalist
whom I knew. I asked him what could be done about such cases. The journalist
listened with great attention to everything very sympathetically. He also did
not fail to condemn Mr. Chowdhury.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then he asked “Do you have any proof? Any letters or
pictures? We cannot publish anything without proof. A defamation suit could be
filed against us.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I promised the journalist I will discuss these things
with Mrs. Chowdhury and inform him at another time, even though I knew it was
not possible to get those things.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mrs. Chowdhury never came back to our house after that
day when she had left our house so very unhappy. In the meantime, a week had
passed. One day I was sitting on a chair outside when I saw her going past our
house avoiding looking towards the house. I had this desire to run and ask her,
“Do you have any letters or pictures?” The next moment it occurred to me, she
had walked past our house smiling; she had not even bothered to look towards
our house.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As days passed, I started getting more and more
interested in her. Yet I never went to her place to find out what was going on.
How could this person who came to my house everyday suddenly become so quiet
and ignore me? I had helped her without any motive. Isn’t it proper on her part
to at least let me know what happened?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I asked her nieghbours about her just out of curiosity.
I heard these days she was going out with her husband. She was going out from
evening until midnight all decked out with <i>kajaal</i>
in her eyes, big earrings, lipstick, sleeveless blouses, and dark nail polish.
Still people did hear her shouting from their respective quarters at night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I was trying to remember what had happened in my
house, how had peace come back.I could not remember anything clearly now. For a
few days, the maid had sat down as if she had lost her sense. Our maid had
blamed my mother. We were fed up with all that was happening and had lost
interest. How the maid got out of our lives we did not even realize. One day, she just wasn’t there anymore,
either physically or in our minds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Somehow I came to realize that life does not end like
a fiction story where the culprit gets punishment and the innocent goes to
heaven. Perhaps life is always like this. I was assured, after all, everything
would become all right in time.But would it be?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">(<b>Translated by Gopa Naik<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Edited by Paul McKenna</span></b><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
Sarojini Sahoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06356168164108611237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613632675367188848.post-20068037935457561962013-04-06T09:00:00.001-07:002013-04-06T18:33:31.164-07:00MY STORY SERIES - 8<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 20.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hide
& Seek<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sarojini
Sahoo<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">(This
is one of my fresh stories and has not been included in any of my collections.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s
a story about a hypothetical relationship developed between a mother and her
young son. Mother is a careerist and her son is an introverted alien soul. Son
has a sense of being a right soul in a wrong body, but he can’t open his
feelings to mother.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
total story is based on an online chat between mother and her son. Their
relationship, the lack of warmth in feelings, and their confinement to their
own world, all appear through their conversation. They always feel they were
moving on two parallel linear paths and it was not possible to traverse each
other. Still, whenever they felt their hearts heavy with any saddened moment,
they used to call each other.)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Dear, please listen to this song,” she wrote to her
son. It was a song in English about the feelings of an eight-year-old boy who
lost his parents in a plane crash. She attached the file and sent it, and
waited in anticipation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The text of the message said, “This was written and
composed by one of my friends.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Well, let me listen to it first,” he wrote back to his
mother.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The son started melting slowly as if a pain had been
igniting in his heart and all his sorrows started to melt. The image of melted candle wax flowing down
over the candle holder described what happened inside him. Whoever the singer
was he did not know but the tone was sufficient to make him refrain from
comment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In that song, the little boy was searching for his
parents within the clouds; searching over the mountains; through the forest;
beyond the waves on the beach. He was searching for his parents behind the
smoke rising from burning leaves; among rushing springs; in a framed photograph;
in the starry sky and from the dark night. The little boy was searching for his
parents in every room of the house in which he lived. He was even searching for them in the snow
which fell from the sky. He was
searching everywhere.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Her son was getting sentimental. Unmindfully he typed,
“Uf!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Tell me dear, I’m waiting. Did you listen?” she wrote
back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In the song, the little boy sang: “Come to me from the
clouds, from herbs; come down to me in the snow. Come to my binocular. I’m
waiting for you near my windows. We will go to beach if you come; we will play
on the plateau.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The chat screen remained open with half-written
messages. Five minutes had passed. It seemed to her, her son had left his seat
on other side but he had not signed out or turned off his computer. The song
was only of three minutes duration yet five minutes had passed. What was her
son doing there? Mother could not guess what was going on other side. Her
patience was breaking down and after ten minutes of waiting, she chatted, “Are
you there?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He chatted back, “Yes mom! I’m still here. But I've got
to go. I’ll catch you later.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“But you haven’t told me about the song. Did you like it? It’s composed by...” At that point, she
noticed he had signed out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Her questions remained unreachable to her son. She got
upset. Had her son become sad? Was it
proper for her to send a sad song to a boy who was living alone thousands of
miles away from his parents? Why did he sign out so suddenly? Both mother and
son had not met each other for one-and-a-half years. Since their separation,
the mother couldn't reach him after several attempts. Her research (as part of
her fellowship) still remained incomplete and she was unable to be closer to
him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She was feeling quite restless to continue her research
coping with the unknown and uncomfortable customs, culture, and environment of
the Western world. She wanted to complete her three-year course in only two
years. She didn’t have any leisure or rest days. It was all work and no play.
She wanted to be home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Every day, when she arose from her bed and submitted to
her daily busy routine life, she would remember her son. She missed her son,
her home, and her family. But she couldn’t adjust her times to interact with
any of them. Her time didn’t match her son’s. She was at Oxford and her son was
in Bangalore. It was impossible to find one another at any common time during
the day. But was the distance of thousands of kilometers the only thing keeping
them so far and so away?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mother was happy her son was self-sufficient. But
still, she could not imagine him beyond a child of eight years old and she
couldn’t convey her concerns for him any day. She was incapable of building a
bridge between them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Many times, she would receive her son’s phone calls
when she was in a classroom or with her professors or in a library or in
reading room, and she couldn't talk freely with him. He might be angry with her
so when she would call her son, he didn't pick up his phone or avoided her
saying “I’m busy” or “We’ll talk later.” But he wouldn't call back again and
she would also fail to contact him later.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In past days, when her son was a child, he would often
be in bad temper. She would try to calm him down but would often fail. So when
she was feeling helpless, her son refused to listen to her and would remark,
“I’m used to this, mom. The loneliness is not new for me. I can cope with it.
Now when I find myself in a crowd, I’m uncomfortable. I can’t get by the
situations. I feel comfortable with my loneliness.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mother said, “You are a mad. Loneliness is only a state
of mind. There are billions of people, uncountable different species of
animals, birds, and insects; so many rivers, mountains, and forests. And there
are also sounds, lights and air. How can anyone feel alone?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“You don’t understand, mom.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Why can’t I understand?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“You go outside to share your loneliness and I go home
to share my loneliness.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Oh my son!” She seemed to be more worried.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She now returned from her memories and found herself
lying on her bed waiting for her son’s appearance on the chat application. She
didn’t know why but her heart told that it was not proper to send the audio
file to him. In her son’s childhood, he had a strange habit of drawing
moustaches and beards under the nose of every picture of a female -- from
models to Bollywood heroines. First she was thinking this attempt to make all
females males by pen was his stupidity. Sometime she even rebuked him, “Do you
think you’re doing justice to those photos? Don’t you think you’re making them
vulgar and ruining them?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“They deserved it. That was their fate,” he replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mother was astonished. Had he become a misogynist? But
why? She had always tried to present herself as softer, kinder, more sincere,
and more motherly to her son.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But where did she have time? She had to manage both the
inner and outer world of her family. She had a busy schedule and though
everything day-to-day was running smoothly, there remained the usual challenges
on both fronts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One day the son told her, “I’ll create a mutant.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“A mutant? What does that mean?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Don’t you know what mutant is? He is a super creature
and has super energy. He can do everything which an animal can’t. I’ll create a
mutant human.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Since then, it was known to mother that God was the
only super power. This was the first time she came to know a mutant is also a
super power. But what does this mutant look like?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Once her son showed a mutant from a movie in their TV. He was fighting with Arnold, a Hollywood
hero. The character neither looked human nor robotic. But no matter what it
looked like, it was difficult to kill it. When its wings got separated from its
body, new wings started to grow again. Its walking styles, its steps, and even
its activities seemed very strange. It seemed to her that the mutant might have
no heart. So she asked to her son, “Do you think these mutants have any
hearts?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“What are humans doing with their hearts? Their hearts
are the weakest part of them,” he argued.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mother was saddened with his words. Her conscience said
you can’t measure all the wealth of the world with a heart. But her son would
say these things knowing full well it would hurt her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">For her, it was his childish activities. He would
change with age; these adolescence acts would vanish with time. But she couldn’t
forget that mutant. So, when she got an opportunity, she argued God is the only
super power. To her, human or Satan, mutants or aliens – all seem powerless in
comparison to Him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She wanted to her son to get rid of these thoughts of
mutants from his head. And time passed.
Both were involved succeeding in their respective paths; he, with his education and she, with her career.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Her son got admitted to I.I.T, one of most prestigious
engineering colleges of the country. Mother was so busy with her promotions and
transfers in her job and with her refresher courses that she couldn’t have any
time to make herself available to her son.
But was she alone with this? Was
she the only career woman who had the same issues? But still she felt her son
resided in her heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It seemed both mother and son were going on two
parallel paths which would never meet. Still, whenever they felt their heart
heavy with any saddened moment, they would call each other. They would extend
their hands to touch each other whenever they found themselves in trouble.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One day, he called his mother and said, “I need three
lakhs rupees.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Three lakhs? What will you do with so much money?” His
request came during the last year in engineering college.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Mom, I want to help a needy person.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“To help? Are you crazy?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">No response.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“So much of money?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">No response.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Who are you going to help? What’s his name? Why does
he need so much money? What’s he going
to use it for? Has he none to help him?” Mother could feel her words were
becoming irritable to her son.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Tell me straight if you could help me or not. I’m not
forcing it on you. I will have a job after few months and I can return back all
the money you lend to me,” he said in an irritated and impatient tone of voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mother could not say anything for a while. He was
telling her he could repay her in a few months as he would have a job. Up until
now, all her efforts were meant for her son.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But it was unknown to her from which date he was
starting to think himself as more of a daughter than a son to his mother. He
found no words to be able to express it.
But did his mother really know?
Would she want to know? Was it
better to make up reasons for the money he so desperately wanted to make
himself right? These were all questions
he would ask himself rather than his mother asking them. She just had no way of knowing. She would keep thinking it was another woman;
another person whom he was trying to help.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Her son always showed apathy for her. He could have
told her, “Mom, there is no need of your job when I could arrange some one for
me. You can resign from your job. I’ll look after you.” As much as she would
have liked this to happen, she ever dreamed of it or even gave it more than
just a passing thought. But over time, they had developed a distance between
them, much more than a geographical distance. There were so many gaps between
them that now after trying, they couldn’t even touch themselves. For a whole
night, mother was thinking about the person for whom her son was so soft? Was
her son in love with anyone? If he had a lover, would she use him for only
money and break his heart?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And for a long time after that, they didn't have any
contact. During the first few days, mother thought perhaps someone was trying
to deceive her son for his simplicity and good-natured and childish heart.
Again such thoughts also entered in her mind her son might be involved in some
anti-social faction. But still, she continued her depositing money in his bank
account and waited to see when he would return back to her, forgetting his old
anguish. But with passing times, she was breaking down into pieces. The two
leaves of hope budding out from seeds might look fresh, but does the tree look
so fresh when it grows towards the sky with raising its branches?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In the meantime, her son completed his studies and
arranged a job for himself. Before joining, he came to his mother but didn’t
ask for those three lakhs of rupees and his mother also didn’t raise the matter
either. He stayed with her for only 24 hours.
Mother had arranged cakes and pastries for him which he never took with
him. Mother could mark her son was looking more serious than earlier and was
remaining unmindful most of the time, as if he had a hidden world -- his own
world -- where no one outside of him could enter. She tried to open his heart
but failed, and the son returned back after only 24 hours, leaving mother in
dismay.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After that, they tried to reside as if they were
walking along two sides of a canal which had no connecting bridge. Still she
was proud of her son for his genius character, which helped him to get a job
just after completing his graduation in engineering. She expected her son
should also feel proud for his mother but that was never forthcoming.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One day, she told him, “My son, I’ve been awarded with
a fellowship from Oxford University and have to leave within a few weeks.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Okay,” he replied, without adding any extra warmth in
his response.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Are you not happy?” asked mother. She asked and braced
herself for another harsh reply. What would she answer, if her son would ask,
“Fellowship? How many days you will continue such study avoiding to your role
as a mother? Is there any meaning of such study?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She was afraid her son would blame her for running
after a career and overlooking the needs of her family, though she knew she was
working for the wellbeing of her family. She was afraid her son would challenge
her and ask, “What have you done for me since my childhood? I agree you have
spent a lot of money on me. Every parent outlays such money on their children.
Does that favour everything for a child?
Remember those days when you were out of home for your job, leaving me
with a crèche nurse? Did you imagine any day how that nurse would feed me? What
pain I got in swallowing those dried breads with jam or jelly? When I did
vomit, I searched for a hand on my back, a hand of solace, a hand of love and
concern, a hand of mother. Did you give that hand to me? Have you imagined, how
I would have digested those abusive languages which that nurse was chucking to
me every time? You were never any day with me. How would you expect me to feel
proud of you now?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">No, the son never did vomit such poison. He neither
showed any interest nor responded; he even did not meet her personally. She
came to Oxford with the consolation she could meet her son on webcam. But it was not possible for her to catch him.
Sometimes, their available times did not match; sometimes, the net connection
was not available; sometimes, their webcams wouldn’t work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mother’s friend Paul once sent her an audio file. It
was a song sung in English. Paul had composed its music. She got impressed with
the music and the lyric was also so heartening and comforting. So she sent the
audio file to her son but would he listen to it and like it? To know her son’s
response, mother asked him, “You haven’t told me about the audio file I have
sent. Did you like it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He didn’t respond, even though the chat screen showed
he was still signed on and had received the message. Perhaps he had left the
chat without signing out. But mother waited and waited and after a long time,
suddenly he sent a welcoming chat: “Hi!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Hi!!” She chatted back, “I will buy a new headphone to
hear your voice. I want to hear you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Instead of replying to her eagerness, he wrote, “Listen
to this song from this link.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It was a link to YouTube. When she clicked the link, a
favourite Bollywood movie song appeared. It was a song in Hindi “Lukachhipi
bahut hui” ... “we had so much of a hide and seek game”... the singer sang so
there. It was a song of a child in that Hindi movie, who sang it for his mother.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Her eyes filled with tears. The song had a pathetic,
sad tone. It was about a mother who was searching for her son. She was
searching in lanes, by-lanes, parks, and roadsides, as if her eyes were turned
to stone in waiting. “Son, where are you? Your mother is searching for you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But mother found her son in a coffin. There was a pyre;
there was smoke. She could hear her son’s voice, “How can I say where I am? How
can I?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The movie song ended in YouTube and just then, her son
chatted her, “Mummy!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mother’s eyes were now more full of tears. She wished
to hug her son. It’s too hard for her to imagine. Her son’s pyre? No, never.
Whatever misunderstandings might have been existed between them, her son was
the air she breathed, the reason for her existence. He was her soul.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A chat appeared in her son’s pane. She wiped her tears
so she could see clearly. It read: “I
want to kill myself.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As if she was falling down from heights way above her,
she typed with trembling fingers, “Why you are talking like this, my son?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He didn’t answer his mother’s question but wrote, “I
had been trying to hide it from you Mom, but I couldn’t bear it anymore. I’m
tired of hiding this truth. I couldn’t play this hide and seek game anymore.
Mummy, I don’t like my body.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Are you mad? Are you conscious about what you are
saying? What happened to you? Anything
wrong with you? Do you think death is the only solution for all these things?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He wrote, “I swear, Mummy, I’ve kept everything near my
laptop which will bring me to death.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I want to see you. Please switch on your webcam. And watch me. I’m sure, you will get
relieved. Wipe out such thoughts from your mind, my son! Please let me see you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Don’t call me as your son.” He wrote in anguish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He had switched his mobile off. She never reached him
after numerous dialing. Finally, he wrote in the chat box wall, “Your words
would have no impact on me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Though her camera was ready, he didn’t accept her
request. She tried again to send a webcam request but it was ignored. They sat
in front of their computers silently, each in their own place. She felt as if
her sky was dried of air. Her life was losing it luster. Why had her son
written so?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After some agonizing moments, the son chatted, “The
body of your son is a wrong body, mummy. Have you marked the soft heart which
has been hidden in this masculine six foot body? Yes, the heart is soft.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He continued, “Not everyone’s like you, mummy. My
colleagues have no such soft heart as I have. They are strong and masculine and
carefree. They are not emotional. But I can’t resist my heart from emotions.
Every time I feel myself insecure, I find myself in a depressed mood every
time.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“You are that type of boy from your childhood,” the
mother chatted back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Yes Mom, I am that type. Then, is it not a right soul
in a wrong body? Tell me, how can I cope with a soul and body which aren’t
matched up? I can’t kill my soul, Mummy, so I have to kill my body instead. It
will only take five minutes....”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She was speechless. Her mind had gone blank. She was a
student of English; she was a teacher of English yet she still couldn’t
understand a single word her son was chatting. She wrote, “I can’t understand
you my son.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Why don’t you try to understand me, Mom? Don’t you
have `any idea `about gender?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Yes, I have.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Can you remember, once I asked for three lakhs rupees?
Do you know, why I asked for it? So I could get a body I liked and felt
comfortable in.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“What you are telling me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“That it is possible.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“No dear. You are very much perfect. Don’t go in for
any crazy fashion.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“You hadn’t any time to look at me any day. Why should you care now?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She remained silent.
It seemed as though a sharp object had penetrated right through her
heart. Though she had not spent that much time as a mother, hadn’t she at least
marked her son? Now she recalled her son from childhood to youth. No, she
didn’t recollect any change. It’s false...false. It might have a false
conception for her son. Why was he hypnotized with such ideas? How could she
return her son back from this wrong conception and belief? She wrote: “Dear.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Though he was online, he didn’t respond.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She typed, “My dear. Are you there?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Her son didn’t reply. Mother could remember the song:
“Lukachhipi bahut hui” ... “we had so much of hide and seek game.” She could
feel she was tired of it. How had she never detected her son was melting from
inside? Melting very slowly. And now, he is totally empty, empty as if there
remains nothing inside him beneath the frame of his outer body -- as if the
body would crash if she would touch him, like dust. Poof. He’s gone. She kept seeing a vision of a
pyre, some smoke, and a coffin. This
made her weep in despair and guilt. She couldn’t think any more. The image was too strong. It was taking over her very existence. She
typed:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Dear!” And
continued...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“My child!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“My son!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“You have played a lot. Look, your mother is tired.
Please come to your mother’s arm. I want to hug you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Babu!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Bubani.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Where are you, my Kuna?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“My Lulu!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“kuknu!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Butu, my Butu!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Are you there, Beta!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“My Darling!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“My Son!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“My Sunu!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“My Lunu!”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">"Where are you, my Pupuli. Write once."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">“My old guy!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Tiki, my Tiki!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Micky!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“My dear, why are not you typing? Write something.
Write my dear. Write something for me. Write for your mother, for your
Dear.......”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">(Edited
by Paul McKenna)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
Sarojini Sahoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06356168164108611237noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613632675367188848.post-63200931113910912602013-02-21T19:21:00.004-08:002013-02-22T07:30:21.918-08:00MY STORY SERIES - 7<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 20.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Volcano<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sarojini
Sahoo<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">(The original story was written in 90’s and is included
in author’s Odia anthology <i>Deshantari </i>(ISBN:
81-7412-147-0) under the title ‘Agneya Giri’ and English version of this story
was first published in August 2010 issue of ‘New Fiction Journal’ (ISSN:
0976-6863). Arita Bhowmik has translated it into Bengali and it has been
included in author’s short stories collection <i>Dukha Aparimit </i>(ISBN 978 984 404 243-8), published from Bangladesh
by Anupam Prakashani, Dhaka. For Western readers, this story may torch light on
the Eastern milieu of socialization for girls in society.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There was not much of a difference between us. She was
only five years older than me. We were brought up in the same environment. As
children, we used to fight at times. I used to pull her long-braided hair and
as soon as she tried to hit me back, I used to run and stand in the middle of
the road. The road was always crowded with people and all kinds of vehicles. I
knew she would never come outside the gate.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I was seven then and she was twelve. She had already
reached puberty and I had not. Then, I did not know the mystery behind a mature
and an immature girl. My mother was very sad and hugged her and cried when she
reached her puberty so early. But she knew that she could not come out of the
gate. When I was giggling away showing my teeth outside the gate, she was
standing helplessly waiting for me to go inside so that she can hit me. If she
tried to step outside the gate, I would threaten her, “Wait, I will tell
mother, you went outside the gate.” She had no choice then but to go back. That
was my victory and her failure.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mother had a tribal belief that the horse turns mad
when it becomes aware of a menstruating woman and eats her up. That’s why she
was so scared for her for two to three days a month and why she couldn’t go
outside the gate. She used to wait for her to come back from school in those
days.</span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Proposals for marriage began to arrive when she was
just in the eighth grade. Once when my mother had been to the temple, people
came in a jeep to see her as a proposed bride with the intention of marriage.
Half of the people in the jeep were women. Before we could decide what we could
do or not to do, they had opened her hair and started exploring whether her
hair was natural or artificial. They had lifted her <i>salwar</i> and were inspecting her legs. I was standing quietly because
I did not know how to treat the guests. They were harassing her with all sorts
of questions. Then they went back before mother was back from the temple.
Afterwards, they sent the message that the girl was very thin.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We were both brought up in the same environment. I had
wings and she didn’t. I roamed around in all nooks and crannies of the town but
she used to know only the way from home to the girls’ school and back
again. I imagined when I grew up, I
would buy a white car and roam everywhere; she had no interest in that.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She knew a lot of things. She knew how to make rice and
chapattis, wash the house, arrange the shelves, and wash clothes. She used to
get up at three in the morning, along with mother, and participate in the
Thursday rituals. She used to feed us and look after us; she used to do
everything. I never heeded to any request to do any errands. Maybe she was
always there to take the responsibility so I did not have to do anything.
Instead, I used to read crime stories lying on the easy chair.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You must be thinking I am really inhumane or maybe my
mother indulged in preferential treatment. But I have told you earlier I was
different from her. She silently obeyed everyone; I never listened to anyone.
When I was a young girl, if mother sent me to get salt from the shop, I used to
spend the money on getting a haircut at the hair salon. I got beaten for that
but I was never really scared of beatings.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After I reached puberty, I was supposed to undergo the
same kind of rules and regulations but I never did. Of course, there were a few
attempts, as well, for good measure. Like once I was woken up early in the
morning and was locked up in a dormant. I don’t remember clearly mother and
other ladies of our joint family touched me with a branch from the drumstick
tree and some mustard seeds. They told me to stay inside and to call when I
needed to go to the toilet. I was also advised to shut the door from the inside
and to stay in, and that I would be sent food. I used to feel terrible. I could
hear the noise from the games of carom from outside of the room. I felt like
taking a piece of iron and making a hole in the wall and go to the other side.
During one’s menstruation, a woman is not supposed to look at any man’s face.
The man is not to be blamed but it is believed the girl would be an unchaste
one in her future life if she was looked at by a man during her period. Instead
of thinking all about the stresses of menstruation, I was thinking instead
America is just on the opposite side of India and that maybe I could reach
America by digging a hole through the earth. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One afternoon when there was no more noise on the other
side of the wall, I slowly opened the door and crept out and sat on the
verandah outside. I had felt suffocated inside the dark room. Just at that
time, my maternal uncle arrived. “Where is your mother?” he asked. “Maybe she
is sleeping,” I replied and went back inside the room and shut the door. I was
not afraid of being blamed; I was not even afraid of being rebuked. I rushed
inside fearing he would know everything about my condition.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My sister wanted to take revenge on me. When I stepped
out of the gate, she used to threaten me “Wait, I will tell mother
everything.”But I was not at all scared
of her and did not enjoy running and playing around anymore. I started giving
more and more thought and importance to fashion. I started visiting the homes
of my friends from school in the afternoons and during holidays. More and more,
I would spend time in front of the mirror and would take notice of my full lips
and my fleeting and deep eyebrows. I would also take notice of my womanly
shape. I used to wear skirts above the knee. I was healthy and full of life.
Unlike me, my sister never bothered to dress up. She had to put on <i>salwar kameez</i> all the time. She was also alarmingly thin. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A very sad incident happened to her when I was doing my
matriculation. Mother used to get angry with my sister if she put on <i>kajal</i> in her eyes and <i>kumkum</i> on her forehead even though
mother herself put <i>Afghan Snow</i>, a
branded face cream on her face. I used to get that face cream for mother from
the market. Once mother also scolded me saying I was always putting on <i>kajal </i>and <i>kumkum </i>like a prostitute. I wept that day but never give up using
them.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Once, my sister’s friends tied her hair into a nice bun
with a ring inside and decorated it with coloured hairpins. She was looking
very pretty, draped in a <i>saree </i>with <i>kajal </i>on her eyes, <i>kumkum</i> on her forehead and bangles on her wrists. But as soon as
she reached home, she had to face mother’s ferocious wrath. Mother just burst
out all of a sudden. She dragged my sister and pulled out the ball and the
hairpins from my sister’s hair and threw them away. She hit her so hard that
all the bangles broke into pieces. My sister’s <i>kumkum</i> got smudged. I felt very bad. I could not say anything when
I saw mother shouting with such rage. You must be thinking my mother is a real
sadist. But my mother thought these things would lead to more disastrous
consequences for her unmarried daughters. She was just being our mother.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But I would dress myself up just as usual. I used to
put on jeans with tops and shirts; everything. My sister used to get scared
when she saw my dresses. She used to ask me why I got all those types of
things. Mother would be very angry if she saw them. I used to wear those
dresses with great courage. If there were any dirty comments from passerby on
the road, I used to brush them aside like dirt. Once mother was so angry she
burnt one of my dresses in the kitchen fire. A short time later, I got another
dress in exactly the same design during next <i>Dasserah </i>festival.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When I was making pen friends from magazines, sister
was drilling her theories of economics and waiting to get married. As it was,
she was tall and thin and she never wore any fashions which suited her. She
would look dull, just like gold which has not yet been burnt in fire. My
parents were worried because they had problems arranging a marriage for her. On
the other hand, during that period, I was getting letters everyday from people
without any secrecy. The letters bore the senders’ names written clearly on
top. I would put the pictures my friends gave or sent to me in my album. Some
of my friends even came to my home as well. I did not care if my mother showed
her anger with the banging of the utensils, her irritated face; I did not care
about my father’s seriousness. They would never face my friends.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I moved away from these things when I was admitted into
the science stream in college and slowly, I went in a different direction.
Then, I had an intense desire to become an architect, even though by this time,
my mind had already seen the birth and death of many career choices which
involved becoming a private detective, lawyer, and astronaut. No, I never
wanted to become a physician or a teacher even though I had gotten an excellent
result in my final exam. And because of
this, everyone at home wanted me to study medicine but I insisted on studying
engineering instead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When I was studying science, some man who had come to
see her wanted to marry me instead. I had made it very clear that I wasn’t
interested in marrying him but still, he kept in touch with me through letters
for two years. Maybe he thought one day, I would agree to his proposal for
marriage. He was stupid enough and didn’t seem to know I was only flirting with
him.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I used to show my sister all the letters he wrote to
me. She used to get very sad when she would read them. I should have realized
she must be getting hurt every time she read them but why couldn’t her sorrow
and helplessness reach me? Why was I not
picking it up? Actually, I never thought from her point of view which may be
why I never realized I was hurting her. Instead, I was thinking – let’s see how
long I can play around with this man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He married when I was in the first year of my
engineering studies. And my sister also married a better person. I thought to
myself thank goodness; at least that chapter was over. Why only a chapter?
After all, sister’s life would be wonderful now; she would finally lead her
life as she wanted.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But in reality, my sister could not lead her life as
she had wanted even though her husband was in a better job. He would stay away
from onions, garlic, fish, and meat because he had accepted the teachings of
some <i>guruji</i>. He used to get up at
three in the morning and chant hymns while clapping. He also wanted her to
accompany him and shine under the glory of womanhood just like <i>Sita</i>, <i>Savitri</i> and <i>Lakhmi</i>. He
did not approve of borderless <i>sarees </i>or
sleeveless blouses which showed her naked arms.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Initially her life seemed bright. But eventually, all
the dreams she had once nurtured now seemed lifeless and meaningless; she came
to accept that as reality. She lost her voice to complain. When her husband
started insulting her as dark and ugly, she stopped thinking about complaining.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Slowly and steadily, her voice changed. Perhaps she had
no voice left. For everything, she would say, “He does not like all these
things.” She could never say that <i>she</i>
didn’t like these things; it was always <i>he</i>.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The reason behind her becoming so spineless was even
though she had done her Bachelors of Education, she never had taken up any job
and this was another reason for her husband’s dissatisfaction. Her husband
thought teaching profession was the only suitable job for women where they
could remain chaste and could earn something for their family. But why my
sister did not want to take up a job. She believed the real beauty of married
life would be spoilt if she took up a job. Her children would be neglected.
Maybe she was so disciplined that she wanted to live a peaceful life or maybe
she was scared of the outside world. But there was a nice saying which always
accompanied her “<i>Lakhmivanti</i>” This
was her only pride and treasure.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Maybe that’s why her husband thrust all the household
responsibility on her in order to take revenge. Her husband neither came out
when the gangsters demanded donations nor when civilized people paid a visit to
their drawing room. She was forced to deal with everyone no matter what their
lot in life was or what their purpose of visiting was. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Her husband used to insult her by saying she was ugly
and dark, and he used to establish, always in front of others, that he had
saved her by their marriage. In spite of everything, she never neglected her
duties as the devoted and dedicated wife. Every morning, she used to cook five
dishes and iron his shirts and trousers properly. She also would provide him
with his medicines starting from digestive pills to the medicines for his heart
disease. She accepted him as a lord. You could say she wore him like a crown.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I have not told you much about myself. Even though I
have not told you too much, by now, you must be aware that I was studying
engineering; therefore, I must have been an engineer. Every year, about ten
thousand engineering students graduate in India. One year, I was among them but
I was well aware this was not the achievement of a lifetime. But I am not
talking about myself as I am a verso to my sister so you can better understand <i>her.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Whatever she had imagined never happened. She thought since
she married an Administrative Officer, he would definitely buy a car one day.
Her children would definitely go to <i>Doon </i>school,
a best school of India. She dreamed, just like every girl dreams of such
beautiful things for their lives after
marriage. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Her husband was
honest and perhaps simple and quite outdated for the time in which they lived
so her family was always lagging behind. It was ridiculous to dream of <i>Doon</i> school if you were a government
servant and did not take any bribes. On the other hand, she could not even send
them to any English-medium private school because they were constantly being
transferred to different places. I am not saying if they had been admitted to
an English-medium school, their lives would have been worthwhile. But I don’t
know what went wrong. None of her children were good in studies. She would
constantly change their tutors and get upset when doing so.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">They had a house but they hadn’t built it. Instead,
they had bought the house in installments from the house building society.
Within a few years, all the houses around theirs were turned into palatial
dwellings whereas their house stood in the midst of the others like a depressed
woman condemned to the vagaries of destiny. The house had become filthier with
time; it could not even be decorated with mosaic, granite or ornamented balcony.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Her children got upset when they compared their own
house with the others and when they compared themselves to the children of
other officer colleagues of their father. She tried to make her children
understand there is nothing more valuable than honesty. Sometime her children
could understand but most times, they thought their father was insufficient. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Her husband’s contemporaries all had gotten promotions
and were in senior positions compared to him. It was not that he was not
unhappy about it; but he had his answer ready for that. Nowadays, no one gets a
promotion through fair means. The usual ways were a briefcase and sex. What was
the point in indulging in these things anyway? Would anyone take these things
to the grave? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A working wife got more importance everywhere, be it
getting a seat on the bus; getting blood tested in the hospital; or buying
things from shops in installments. Even if you had countless degrees, if you
spend your time cooking in the corner of your house, no one was ready to
acknowledge that you were educated. She had come to realize that “mid-twentieth
century” belonged to a bygone era. She understood the girl who went to work had
to put on a smile on her lips. She was already in a fake world; a world of
amazing glamour. Almost everywhere, she used to identify herself as a working
woman. Depending on the situation, she used to say that once she was working
but now she had given it up. She used to resort to these lies without any
hesitation, even in front of all us. And we had accepted her false world as
well. What else was there to do?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Once I had proposed my sister to open a shop with
ladies accessories. I suggested, “It
would be nice if you can set up a KG school. You can look after your home and
work outside at the same time if you open a milk selling counter or a telephone
booth.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But she had turned a deaf ear to my advice and
responded, “I am not keeping well due to asthma. I can’t do those things.” Yes,
we had been born with some maladies such as asthma. But I always ignored that
pain of asthma in my busy life. When I got an asthma attack, I tried to strive
through it. I could never understand why my sister made that excuse.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">To avoid the topic, she would say, “Nowadays, people
don’t get jobs. I know my son won’t get a job. He can do some business if we
build a house here.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Maybe she could not understand the purpose of my
suggestions. I did not want her to earn money; I wanted her to get recognition.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Slowly, her hair was turning grey and her skin becoming
loose. She had accepted that she was getting old. Once I had told her, “These
days, people start their lives when they are forty.” She got very upset with me
when I said that. I don’t know why but she had the belief she would die very
soon, that her days were numbered. Of course there was no reason behind her
belief of which I knew.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">By now, you must be thinking why I have told all this
to you. Yes, that day, I had encountered a volcano. Before this, I used to notice
only the carpets of green meadows, bushes laden with flowers, wet ground and
three charred stones from the picnic, and half-burnt wood. Suddenly, I was
scared to see so much lava, hot tears, and the fire of anger burning in her
heart.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now we will return to her again. That day, her son
asked me in some context, “Why didn’t you ever become an architect?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I replied, “I couldn’t.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“You can become one if you want to,” he continued.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I am not young enough anymore to take up studies,”
trying my best to make an excuse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Why? How old are you? You are only……,” he pressed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Suddenly she reacted to her son’s words. “Yeah, yeah,
tell her that she is very young. She is only five years younger than me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Is it true? It never appears so,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She got angry when she heard her son say this and burst
into tears. I was dumbfounded. She suddenly erupted in anger. “All these people
have unanimously spoilt my life. They never let me do anything. My life has been wasted. I am the dirt of
everyone’s feet. They never allowed me to do fashion. They never let me go
anywhere. My first enemy was my mother and second...” She was suddenly quiet.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Who does she think is her second enemy? Myself or her
husband? Who is it? I felt like saying, “Speak out. Speak out all your agony in
this moment. Open yourself up. Let it all out.” But no. Once again, she wiped
her tears with the corner of her <i>saree </i>and
like a sleeping volcano, became dormant -- completely silent. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">(Translated by Gopa Naik<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Edited by Paul McKenna)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Sarojini Sahoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06356168164108611237noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613632675367188848.post-43744941682832404362013-01-15T23:31:00.001-08:002013-01-17T18:41:47.778-08:00MY STORY SERIES - 6<br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 20pt;">Fog<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 20pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">(The original story was written in 90’s and is included in
my Odia anthology <i>Deshantari</i> (ISBN:81-7412-147-0) under the title
‘Kuhudi’ and is first time translated into English. Unlike my other stories,
this story has not been translated into other languages so far.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">The guests who were invited from the town had had their dinner and
left. All the relatives had also finished their dinner in two batches and some
of them were looking for a place to sleep; some were dozing in their places as
there were not enough beds for everyone; and some had just crawled up and had
started yawning. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Outside, some of them were talking about the <i>besan bada</i> curry which they thought had
gone bad. Some of them were suggesting that had a little more money been spent,
a fish or a mutton dish could have been possible. A fish or a mutton dish could
have been served to the guests from the bridegroom’s side. Some were worried
about losing face with the bridegroom’s guests.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">A relatively big room was decorated with utensils, mattresses,
and all kinds of big and small dowries for Jema, the bride. The respected
members of the town and the people who were close to the family were being
shown the dowries given to Jema. Her father and her
older sister Ruma were showing each and every piece to them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">When the bridegroom and his family did not arrive by
eight o’clock that evening, a vehicle was rented and some people were sent to
find out about the matter to <i>Narasinghapur</i>,
the village of Jema’s in-laws-to-be. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Meanwhile, Jema was sitting silently in the corner of
the large room where the dowries were being shown with her younger sister Soma
and Purnima, one of her close friends and a few others. Her mother was very
worried because the bridegroom had not yet arrived.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">The band of musicians was waiting outside to go to the
deity for the initial rites. They could not proceed with the ceremony because the
bridegroom had not yet arrived and they were afraid to do the rites because
then the girl may remain unmarried.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">As the night slowly progressed, the laughter and joy
of the house was slowly and steadily diminishing. The elders of the family were
going out to the street and returning again in expectation of the bridegroom’s
arrival but here disappointed several times. There was an unknown fear that was
gripping everybody yet no one expressed anything.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">It was not that Jema was not aware of it either. She,
herself, was feeling very exhausted but it was a strange kind of exhaustion.
Her eyes were closing and she wanted to go off to sleep in her seat. This
exhaustion was not from today but had its roots in the distant past. Today
there would be an end to that...hopefully.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">You see, Jema had failed to be promoted from the
eighth grade, even after several attempts. It was not that she was very weak in
her studies but the circumstances in her life then put various hardships and
barriers for her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Her elder sister Ruma had gotten married by then. Ruma
did not like to stay with her in-laws so she would go and live with her husband
who was a teacher in <i>Panikoili.</i> In a
year, she would stay for three months with her husband in <i>Panikoili </i>and then for the other nine months, she would stay at her
parents’ place.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jema would take care of the cooking at her parents’
place then. But when Jema<span style="color: red;"> </span>was in the eighth grade,
Ruma’s husband got transferred to Cuttack and Ruma then went and lived with him
in Cuttack and never returned. So Jema failed in the eighth grade for three
times.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">She and Soma were in the same grade since childhood.
They went for tuitions together. Even though Soma was one and half years
younger than Jema, she was very clever. No one could compete with her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">One day when Jema was in grade two or grade three, her
teacher was in a mood to read the palms of all the children whom he taught.
Jema’s father was also present there that day. The teacher read everyone’s palm
and predicted their future. Soma had the best things written on her palm. He
predicted that she would gain name and fame; she would be very successful; she
would make her parents proud. But her teacher told for Jema’s palm nothing was
written about her career there. Is it
all written in the hand? Then, why does not she have these bright letters on
her hand? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">After she failed in the eighth grade, Jema’s life
changed. She was ashamed to be with the younger students. Even at home, Jema never
had as much importance as Soma. After Ruma went to live in Cuttack with her
husband, Jema had to do all the household chores. While someone wanted watery <i>pulses, </i>someone else wanted thick <i>pulses</i>. While someone wanted vegetable
curry, someone else wanted fish curry. While someone wanted to eat white rice, someone
else wanted hot chapattis. Mother never did anything; Jema had to take care of
everything.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Maybe that’s why when she failed for the first time, though
it was a surprise, there was nothing really anything surprising about it at all.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">The next year was even worse. Even the familiar
letters appeared unfamiliar. Algebra and geometry were just too difficult, as
if they threatened her, tormented her and laughed at her incapability; as if
they were not algebra or geometry but rather, people from an elite class. There
seemed to be a great distance between Jema and them. As soon as she sat down to
take an examination, her head would start reeling. Everything appeared dark and
the letters seemed as if they were a net in the darkness. She confronted the
examinations for two or three times like that.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">That was the reason why Jema stopped going to school
and unconditionally welcomed the responsibility of feeding everyone their
favorite dishes. Some would teach her to cook and some would learn from her.
She took to embroidery and stitched pictures of tigers, flower pots, welcome signs,
and wedding notes in coloured threads and hung them all over the wall of the house.
Her afternoons were occupied with making baskets and hats from sticks; pictures
of peacocks and <i>Lord Jaganath</i> from glittering
stickers; and purses from beads.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">She would never compare herself with Soma, though.
Soma was appearing for her matriculation examination then. Jema would do
everything for her, giving her food at her table; making her bed; washing her
clothes; and combing her hair -- some out of her choice, some out of
resentment. Although she had no competition with Soma, whenever there were guests,
her father would introduce her to them very proudly. Jema would feel a strange
kind of torture as she passed on the cup of tea from behind the door. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jema often thought, ‘Why is that I never suffer from
anything? No tummy ache, no fever or headache; not even vomiting or diarrhea.
At least I would get some attention if I suffered.’ She was just a burden on
the family because she was dark and unattractive.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">This drama of such a bride interview must have
happened countless times with her:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">What is you name?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">What are your qualifications?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Can you read this?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Can you please walk there?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Can you please lift your <i>saree</i> and show your feet?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Can you let your hair loose? Your hair is long, but
why is it so thin.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">All these handicrafts, you have done?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">What are these marks? Did you have some skin disease
in childhood?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">We have mud house. It needs to be painted and mopped
every day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">We have a big family. We cook in big pots.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Do you know how to sing? Can you sing a line? Have you
read the <i>Ramayan</i> and <i>Mahabharat</i>?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Do you know
about the past life of <i>Sikhandi</i>?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">What are all the dishes you can prepare?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Do you know how to make <i>bundi Ladoo?<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Can you fry rice?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Who is your favorite hero?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Many did not like her because she was dark. <span style="color: red;"> </span>Her parents rejected many prospects as well. Some
were rejected because they didn’t have any property and some because their
grandfather was a labourer, of no or lower class. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">That day, Jema could not put the thread into the
needle. Her vision was blurred. It was as if there were thousands of holes in the
needles. The darkness of the examination hall was coming over to her like a
bunch of clouds or like a thick fog. Her eyes were as if she had taken in years
of smoke from the wet wood in the kitchen. She could only see a smoky face and
nothing beyond that. Suddenly when she got up from the place where she sat, her
head started reeling. If she had not fallen down and injured her head on the
door no one would have bothered to look at her. After that, she went to see the
doctor and the doctor found out she had low blood pressure. “Are you not
getting proper sleep? Are you worried about something? Anyway, take these
medicines and you will be all right.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jema would rest for two days but she had to bear
accusations along with her rest. <span style="color: red;"> </span>Her mother<span style="color: red;"> </span>could not look after the big household all by
herself. So whenever she had to do the work, she would shout at her. Her aunt
would come and cook for them. Jema’s mother did not get along at all with that lady , although she
had wanted to adopt Jema as her daughter because none of her own children had
survived. But Jema’s mother had refused to give her daughter for adoption and
had proudly questioned that lady, “Can you feed my daughter? Can’t you see my
children don’t like to eat all those traditional cakes? How can she live in
your house?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Yet her father had
said, “It is all the same. Our daughter is your daughter. She is sleeping here
only you want her to sleep there. She is playing in the common courtyard.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">After that, the aunt bore three children. At that
point, she forgot all about Jema and concentrated on her own children. She even did not attend the wedding ceremony when
Jema got married. Jema’s mother and aunt had fought six months back over the
rope used in the well. Her mother did not invite her aunt and her aunt did not
bother to come either. She did not even feel like having a look at Jema – the
same Jema for whom she had once begged to adopt as her daughter.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jema’s life was very sad and lonely just like the
shadow of the tree. Her sister Soma, of course, had gone on to school. Some of Jema’s
friends went on to school as well while some had gotten married. But once or
twice in a month, Jema would be less lonely and sad when her cousin Niranjan,
who studied in Bhubaneswar, would visit.
As soon as she saw him, Jema would become elated and would feel a
strange shiver all over her. Happiness? Excitement? Fear? She loved to talk to
him. There was warmth in his light jokes. He used to get sweet <i>paan</i>. There was a certain pleasure in
munching that sweet <i>paan </i>after food.
She felt as if she was getting wet in the water of the stream when he looked at
her. Was that love or infatuation or both? Jema used to give him beautiful
embroidered handkerchiefs before he left to return to school.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">During Jema’s wedding ceremony, Niranjan was the one running
around and working the most, right from decorating the altar, fixing the tents,
looking after the cooking and serving the food. He was the most worried when
the bridegroom did not arrive till one o’ clock in the morning. He consulted
with the elders to arrange for a vehicle to go and find out the whereabouts of
the bridegroom and in between came inside and checked the well being of Jema. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">By then, both of Jema’s younger brothers had become
too tired sitting on the chair placed next to the altar. The womenfolk, who included the paternal and
maternal aunts from the village, had started getting suspicious and the
speculation began. “Is there any trouble in this marriage over dowry?” They
were whispering from their seats on the floor of the house. However, Jema could
hear everything clearly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">She understood her father had promised to give 20<i> grams </i>of gold and a huge amount as a
dowry, even though Jema knew that twenty gram<i>s</i> of gold was not there in their house. After they had lost
everything in the sales tax case, all her mother’s jewelry had been mortgaged,
one by one, to stay afloat. Uncle had sold all his property he had in his share
and all that he got as the eldest son. He had mortgaged a big plot of land in
the city with the bank and arranged for the marriage of Jema. She had come to
realize that she was not being given twenty <i>grams
</i>of gold. However, that could not be the reason for the delay in the
bridegroom’s arrival.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jema’s mother had started sobbing in the kitchen. A neighbor
lady sat next to her and consoled her, “Take a sip of water; you have been
fasting throughout the day. Your throat must be dry. We have nothing to lose.
The initial rites have not taken place. Some girls can’t even marry after the
initiation of the rites. Why do you worry? There are so many marriages taking
place. They may not have been able to get vehicles to come or they may have had
some other problem. They must be on their way. Don’t worry. They have gone with
a vehicle. They must be coming back with news. You don’t cry.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Her mother could not stop crying. “I was telling they
are not up to our mark. Don’t arrange there. My own daughter has brought me to
this state. She said that I was dreaming. Now I must keep dreaming.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jema had had a strange dream at night. The dark yet
handsome man was sitting on a chair in her brother’s room. A voice said, “He is
your man; he is.” They looked like <i>Siva</i>
and <i>Parvati</i>. Jema shared the strange
dream with Soma the morning of her wedding day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Her brother came back with news around three in the
morning. It seems the bridegroom did not get leave. He did not get along with
his senior. He reached his home from <i>Raigada</i>
at ten in the night. He will finish the rites and come along with a few of his
family members.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Suddenly there was life in the household! Outside, the
musicians who had gone to sleep under the makeshift hut were woken up. <i>Hulahuli,</i> the pious sound made through the
tongue, came out all together from four or five female voices.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jema was sitting lifeless for a long time. She could
not understand anything. They lifted her like a machine and started performing
the rites. Someone was putting turmeric on her; someone else was giving her a
bath; someone was joking; and someone came running and announced that the bridegroom
had arrived.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">It was the monsoon months now. The sky filled up with
lightning and constantly reverberated with the sounds of thunder. It had
started to drizzle and the wet ground was very slippery. It must have been sometime
before the break of dawn but occasionally, the caws of the crows could be
heard. Somehow Jema’s marriage rituals came to an end. But the bridegroom did
not come over to have his dinner. He wanted money. The sky was getting brighter
now and they were adamant to go back.
One of the elders shouted, “We don’t want anything. Take out the
ornaments and keep them with you. Just put a <i>saree </i>on her and we will take our daughter-in-law and go. If you
cannot keep your words we don’t think you deserve to be our relative. Let’s
depart.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">The bridegroom was not saying anything. Silence was
perhaps the language of his mind. He did not eat or drink anything either, not
even <span style="color: #1f497d;">a </span>glass of sweetened water. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">However, Jema who was inside the house got all the
news. The gold necklace from neighbour’s family was borrowed for a few days
with the promise that it would be returned when the girl came back. Even then,
the gold ornaments were not weighing twenty grams<i>.</i> Father went and got a few thousand rupees from somewhere in an
effort to come good on the deal.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jema lay flat on the mat. After coming from the altar,
she had not eaten a single grain. Was it her dream or a hallucination now? She
somehow came to realize her married life would never be happy -- never. She was
constantly getting up to vomit and crying. Suddenly, she was covered with vomit
and tears. Someone was pouring water on her head and someone was making her
drink lemon water. They got her and made her sleep on the mat. Someone brought
the table fan and fixed it next to her head.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">After she regained her consciousness a bit, she waved
her hand at Soma and asked her to come to her. She whispered into Soma’s ears- “Soma,
I did not see this person I think I saw tonight in my dream. He was another
person with a fair complexion and short hair. He had very calm eyes. But I
can’t remember how his nose...was…How...?”</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: 24.1pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Before Soma could answer, Jema</span><span style="font-family: , serif, , serif; font-size: large;"> swam
back to foggy smoke. T</span><span style="font-size: large;">here e</span><span style="font-family: , serif, , serif; font-size: large; text-indent: 24.1pt;">verything was
obscure. She could see only an unclear
conjugal prospect behind the murkiness, where the groom was parked with all
possessions with wedding costume but there was no subsistence of herself
anywhere around him. It was as if she was there like an article among the belongings.
Did she ever </span><span style="font-family: serif, serif; font-size: large; text-indent: 24.1pt;">dream</span><span style="font-family: , serif, , serif; font-size: large; text-indent: 24.1pt;"> of this man? Jema
could feel, there was much scarce of air in this world.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">(Translated by Gopa Naik<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Edited by Paul McKenna)</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Sarojini Sahoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06356168164108611237noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613632675367188848.post-58429056648745394632012-11-10T23:47:00.000-08:002012-11-10T23:58:22.087-08:00MY STORY SERIES - 5<br />
<h2>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Time to Fly</span></h2>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">(The original
story was written in 90’s and is
included in author’s Odia anthology
<i>Sabuja Upatyaka</i> (ISBN: 978-
81-906605-3-7) under the title ‘Udibar Bela’ and is first
time translated into English.
For Western readers, this story may torch light on the Eastern milieu of
socialization for girls in society.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That was the first letter ever addressed to Suparna.
Before that, a greeting card with the picture of a boot house in Mumbai had
come to her from her cousin who studied in Bhubaneswar. He had sent cards to
all the children and one of those was for Suparna.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Her anxiety was swinging in the hands of her father’s
elder brother. Who has sent her the letter? Her contact was confined to her
home and her school which was a girls-only school. There was no chance of any
letter from anyone. Her uncle, without his glasses, was taking time to read the
name on the envelope, “Who, Jay……….Jay”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Jayanti?” Suparna muttered, unable to control her
anxiety. She had come to know about this girl called Jayanti only15 days ago.
An excursion bus had stopped in front of their house on its way from a girl’s school
near Rourkela. It was between seven-thirty and eight o’clock in the evening.
The bus had stopped so the girls could go to the washroom and there had been a
power cut in the town. Some young guys roaming around in the <i>paan</i> shops started loitering around the
bus. The teachers of the girl’s school were scared and wanted to leave as soon
as possible. She had met Jayanti just for a moment when she had come to her
house to use the toilet and they had exchanged addresses in her brother’s room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Uncle said, “No, not Jayanti; it is Jaydev.” Jaydev?
No, she was not at all familiar with this name. She was in eighth grade in a
girl’s school. Before this, even in the co-educational school she attended, she
did not know anyone called Jaydev.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Uncle had a tinge of sarcasm in his tone. “Your father
was asking Soma, ‘Why her college friends are coming home?’” Suparna could not
listen to all the other comments he was making. She was shaking with fear and
shame.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She had felt a new kind of attraction looking at the
boys but there were always restrictions. She could not go out to the market at
will; cycling around was unimaginable; she could not even jump around on the
rooftop or climb on the <i>guava</i> trees;
she could not laugh loudly or sit in front of an open window. She remembered
clearly that she had to sit for seven days in a room where no men could come --
that first experience of puberty, that feeling of meaninglessness. Why this?
Why that? The questions kept changing her appearance. When she came out from
the dark, she had <i>kajal</i> in her eyes,
red <i>bindi</i> on her forehead, and blushing
cheeks -- a beautywith heavy feet that could not be touched by the torments of the
heat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Finally uncle gave her the letter. As soon as she got
the letter she ran to the place behind the new stationary shop set up by her uncle.
The letter had been from Jaydev who had come to Cuttack to do his diploma in engineering.
He had found her name in the penpal column of a monthly magazine and sent the
letter as a courtesy. He had extended his hand in friendship.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Somebody had given her the postal stamp with a picture
of the moon and the Apollo spaceship. Suparna had been very excited to see the stamp
and had kept it with her as she really liked it. As she kept thinking what she
could do with the stamp, she kept it inside the novel she was reading. And then
she used the stamp to send her details to the penpal column of a monthly
magazine. She never imagined that the Apollo stamp would be instrumental for a
new relationship.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This was the first time she was thinking a lot about
the relation with the boy. Since childhood, she was always more friendly with
boys than with girls. When she was born, no one in her family or her uncle’s
family had any daughter for three or four years. And even after her birth, no
girl was born in the household for several years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Her mother always talked about amazing things about
Suparna’s birth and how she had only one thing in her mind: the birth of a son
-- her own son. It was a winter night. Even the severe cold could not disturb
her mother. On the other hand, she kept on putting all her strength to open the
door so that Suparna could come out but she would not. She was beating and
hammering from inside to come out from the closed cave. Her mother narrated the
incident in a strange way. Maybe it was laziness or maybe it was the excitement
of having lived through the time -- the time when her mother was really
unhappy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“I must have prayed for a son to all the gods and
goddesses I could remember. You know your father, right? He was upset because I
had two daughters previously, one after the other. You were born at three in
the morning. Your father had been to Kharagpur on business. I had cried
throughout the night. I prayed to all gods. ‘Oh God, make this girl into a boy
by the end of this night.’ I must have opened the cloth to check whether you
had turned to a boy. Old Sadhua had been to fetch the nurse. He kept on
consoling me throughout the night when he saw me in that state. In the morning
your aunt came and kept on smiling behind the corner of her <i>saree</i>. Your father did not look at my
face for almost 15 days. Your grandmother had come to cook special food but she
also, along with your aunts, did not stop to spare a word or two. Special food
to the mother for this girl child! As if a mound of gold has dropped from
heaven!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Suparna
was never a mound of gold for her family. But she became a way for a mound of
gold as a male child had been born two years after her birth. Grandmother was
patting her back while combing hair and was saying, “Yours is really a golden
back, who carried a boy for your mother.” She was telling to her mother, “Remember,
you will give her a sufficient quantity of gold jewelries during her marriage
as dowry.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There was no science behind it but certain events were
attached to it. Suparna’s mother said that her granny had fed her mother a worm
from Suparna’s shit putting it inside a banana, with a hope that the next one
would be a male child. How horrible! Suparna felt like vomiting when she
thought about it. She felt sad for her mother’s destiny; for the destiny of all
women. Why did such things happen to women?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Since childhood, she had been dressed up like a boy.
Her hair was cut in a boyish style, so much so that they used to shave her on
the neck and around the ears. Her nick name also sounded like a boy’s nick name.
Even for a long time after her younger brother was born, she was always dressed
like a boy. Moreover, there were no girls in the family when she was growing
up; so her childhood was spent with boys playing with swords made from stems of
plants or iron rods and throwing stones at piles of cigarettes boxes. After she
was a bit older, her cousins started learning how to ride bicycles; she followed
suit. She sharpened the thread for kite flying and roamed around with a kite.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sometimes Suparna had to take charge of their shop
which had a dealership in controlled commodities. Her father used to entrust
her with the responsibility of the shop when the manager of the shop went home
on leave. The shop was attached to the godown so some servants were always
around. When her father was not there, some of the servants would come and
mutter a few words of film songs near Suparna who would sit near the cash box.
The older servants would sometimes shout at the younger ones or take them away
from the area. Suparna never liked all those pranks of those young boys but even
then, she never complained to her father. Under the garb of the boy, a girl was
always a girl. Some people would look at her with excitement while others would
give her dirty looks. She had to bear this. Otherwise, how could a bold girl
like Suparna tolerate all this? Or maybe she just shrugged it off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But Jaydev’s letter had brought for her a bit of fear,
a bit of hesitation. She had pondered over whether she should reply to the
letter and then suddenly, she sat down to reply. Before that, she had written essays
and letters on notebooks but never on the envelope. How would she address him?
Dear friend? Jaydev? Or, Brother Jaydev ?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After the exchange of three to four letters, she felt
more and more comfortable. This was a bold step for Suparna in their family.
Her father used to be so busy with his business, he did not know who was
studying in which class nor did he know when anyone was sick with diarrhea or
typhoid. By that time, Suparna had three more brothers and sisters. In spite of
all his busy schedules, his family was expanding. When the children were to be
born, he would stay at home; he would be sad if the baby was a girl and happy
if the baby was a boy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But Suparna’s mother no longer tolerated this kind of
reaction from her father. Plus, her mother and father were not always on good
terms anymore. Suparna’s mother believed her father gave more importance to
Suparna’s aunt compared to her. No one knew how much truth there was but
Suparna’s mother said those things when she talked about the past. “What can I
say, my dear daughter? All three of you girls were born one after the other.
Your father is not so good afterall. Your aunt was persuading him to marry
again. Your aunts would not look at my face in the morning because I was
condemned for not bearing a son.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Even after her two brothers were born, there were occasionally
misunderstandings between her parents over her uncle’s household. Uncle was
without work for a long time after his huge shop had to be shut down because of
a case over sales tax. Some money was being spent on the case. In the meantime,
Somani, her cousin, was studying medicine so money could not be sent regularly.
So Suparna’s father sometimes sent money. Apart from this, uncle had a habit of
inviting the rich and famous to dinner. By that time, he had gotten into the
habit of borrowing money and spending it. He used to sell property which
belonged to all the brothers. Sometimes he would mortgage the common property
and get a loan from the bank. There was always a lack of money in uncle’s
household. The harvest from his land would not last for a year. The land was
simply not enough. He had to buy rice and this was an unusual thing for the
family. Suparna’s father used to help him at times. And this was the reason
behind the fights between her parents. Suparna’s mother used to be very angry.
She used to say, “Who helped me when I was in need? How much they have
tormented me? How they had ridiculed me? This man does not have any brain. I
hope I have seven daughters so that my children would get the money and there
would be nothing left to give his brother.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">One day, Jaydev came over to their place. Her uncle’s
younger son came and informed her that somebody was looking for her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">‘Who will look for me?’ Suparna thought. Her friends
from school always came straight into the house. Who is this person standing at
the gate looking for her? Until today, everyone used to request Suparna to
please go and inform her father. Who is looking for her now? Suparna came out
hurriedly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He must have been 18 or 19 years old with a thin and
tall figure. As soon as he saw her he asked, “Can you recognize me?” There was
no chance of recognizing him; they had never exchanged pictures. Nonetheless
they could each figure out that they were Jaydev and Suparna. Suparna was
dwarfed in the presence of Jaydev. Suparna had put on a red frock printed with
flowers. She lifted her face and looked at the boy. He smiled and said “I am
Jaydev.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A shiver ran through Suparna -- the same Suparna who
could cross crowded streets with her bike; who ravaged through the town; who
could rebut anyone without hesitation. Will she say Namsakar? What would she
talk about? Jaydev was standing at the gate, the same place where Somani’s
friends used to come and gossip for hours.
But this was different.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Suparna never felt uncomfortable when Somani was
standing and gossiping with her friends but some people in the household were
uncomfortable. Some approved of it while others criticized it. It was not exactly
approval but they had to come to accept the fact that without this gossiping
with boys, Somani could not get on with her education. For the first time, they
had seen the sight of the dissection of a frog which lay on a tray and Somani
expertly cut it through with scissors. While she was still doing her ISc,
everyone in the household accepted she would study medicine. So no one ever complained
about boys coming over to the house.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">By that time Somani’s cousin brother had started
working in the nearby subdivision. He used to come home sometimes on Sundays or
during some holidays. He and Suparna’s uncle never got along because uncle
wanted to sell him at a heavy price in the marriage market. But he always found
some fault or other with each and every girl who was shown to him. According to
him, some girls were squint-eyed; some were limping; some were stammering.
Everyone was talking behind his back that he had had an affair with someone.
But her brother got along quite well with Suparna’s father, who consulted her cousin
brother on everything.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Once an unpleasant incident happened with Somani when
her brother was visiting home during his holidays. It seemed like it was
election time. Some students from the college came home to do some election
propaganda around ten o’clock at night. Before they could meet Somani, they
came across her brother. No one knew why matters became serious but there were
some attacks. Suparna’s father, who came home a few minutes after the incident,
had supported her brother. More than her brother’s attacks, her father’s
support for him created a different kind of situation at home. Uncle was angry.
And so was Somani. The sights of Somani gossiping with boys at the gate were
not seen after she left for medical school.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After a long time after his first visit, Jaydev was
once again appeared at the gate. Wondering where she could have him sit, she
took him to her brother’s room. That room used to be vacant after her brother had
left home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In front of her brother’s room was her uncle’s newly
opened stationery shop. Her uncle had mortgaged their home and got a loan from
the bank with which he got his daughter married and set up the shop. Somani’s
elder sister was dark and had to be given a lot of dowry for her to get
married. Even though the shop was kept open throughout the day, uncle never
used to be in the shop. Instead, he would spend his days at the card club. Apart
from the shelves on both sides of the room, uncle’s shop and brother’s room had
only the curtain as a partition. So whenever any customer came to the shop, one
of the children would go and sell the goods at a price of their choice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Suparna had no choice but to take Jaydev to that room
and got him seated because at that time, her grandfather’s old house was being
rebuilt. Everything was gone except for a bedroom and the kitchen. Suparna left
Jaydev sitting in that room and went into another room. Her father was
suffering from malaria at that time and shivering very badly from high
fever.Her mother was pressing his legs on top of the blanket. Suparna went and
stood nearby. Her father’s shirt was hanging on the bed poles. She was scared
to ask; but she had no choice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Baba, may I have two rupees?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Why?” he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“A pen friend is here. I want to get some snacks for
him.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Pen friend?” both the parents questioned at the same
time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Suparna could not say anything. Baba was perha<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=5613632675367188848" name="_GoBack"></a>ps irritable because of his illness and with an irritating
tone said, “Take it.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Suparna put her hand inside his pocket, took two
rupees, and fled to the nearby shop to buy some snacks for Jaydev. Even after
he ate the snacks, Jaydev kept on sitting there. Suparna had thought that she
could get him to go after the snack but this thought proved to be wrong. When
Jaydev showed no sign of leaving, Suparna asked him, “Do you have any work to
attend to here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Not really” said Jaydev. “I just came to see you
again. Do you know when the next bus to go back to Cuttack is?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Suparna felt blood draining out from her face when she
heard those words from Jaydev. She became pale. That meant Jaydev was not
leaving just then because from their place, the bus to Cuttack left around
three-thirty and the train was at four o’clock. So will he sit here all this
time?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the meantime, the aunts had peeped into the room. A
few of them had already asked, “Who is he? Why is he here? How does he know
you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Suparna was unable to explain the concept of ‘pen
friends’ to her aunts. Apart from that, what could she talk about with this boy
whom she had just come to know?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Suparna left Jaydev in her brother’s room and went
inside the kitchen in the pretense of doing some household chores. Since her
father’s illness, her mother could not fully attend to the kitchen. That’s why
she had to help her sister in grinding the spices and cutting the vegetables.
But of course, she went and checked on Jaydev to see what he was doing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jaydev was sitting in the empty room. No one went
inside the room and he didn’t come out of the room. That was when it all
happened. Uncle had come back from the card club to take his lunch. He may have
asked Jaydev something when he saw him sitting in her brother’s room. Aunt or
someone may have complained to him. During that time Suparna’s elder sister
Minani was arranging food on a plate for Jaydev. Suparna was getting the salt
and the water. Uncle got into Suparna’s bedroom. When Suparna’s mother saw him,
she covered her head with saree and left the room. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Uncle was saying “Just come and see. You were accusing
my Soma, now come and see what your daughter is doing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She was dumbstruck with the words of her uncle. These
were perhaps the final words; these were perhaps the ultimate secret -- to
bring an end to the long anxiety welling up inside Suparna. The clouds that
were hovering for a long time had at last rained. The girl who had not gotten
over her childhood innocence suddenly became old with those words. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Minani was numb for a moment as she was serving rice.
But her father never got up. He didn’t shout at Suparna. He did not say, “Throw
the boy out.” Uncle kept on hoping her father would say something but her father
never uttered a single word. In the other room, Suparna could feel her father’s
helplessness. There was a difference of eight years between Somani and Suparna.
A small question was perhaps haunting him -- the helplessness of a father
perhaps?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">(Translated by Gaurav Nayak<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Edited by Paul McKenna)</span><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
Sarojini Sahoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06356168164108611237noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613632675367188848.post-83356014107478158372012-09-04T07:33:00.003-07:002012-09-05T04:13:25.850-07:00MY STORY SERIES - 4<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Reflection </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sarojini Sahoo<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> (The
original story is included in author’s
Odia anthology <i>DUKHA
APRAMIT</i> (ISBN: 978- 81-7411-483-1) under the title ‘PRATIBIMBA’ and is
translated by Arita Bhowmik and
Dinesh Kumar Mali in Bengali and Hindi
respectively with same title and
have been included in
author’s short story collection <i>Dukha
Aparimit</i> (ISBN 978 984 404 243-8), published from Bangladesh by Anupam
Prakashani, Dhaka and <i>Rape Tatha Anya Kahaniyan</i> (ISBN:
978-81-7028-921-0) published by Rajpal & Sons, Delhi.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Nipa was otherwise occupied when the familiar stranger appeared. In one
hand, she held some toast and in the other hand, a glass of water. Whilst
standing around the dining table, she gobbled down the toast and gulped down
the water.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Generally, after Nipa finished her morning chores, she took her sandals
from the shoe stand, strapped on her watch, told the maid a few tasks she
wanted done, locked the bedroom door, and left the house. Her mind always
seemed to be racing ahead of her body in these moments. When her body actually
kept pace with her mind, any sort of outside disturbance like a shout or the
telephone ringing would set her off. Normally, she asked the maid to answer the
phone and left, but if ever she answered it herself, incongruent answers would
spout out; the conversation would end; and she would leave. But this time, she
saw him standing in the doorway, and she couldn’t leave. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Namaste,” she took her bag off her shoulders and beckoned him inside. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He asked, somewhat disappointed, “Are you going to work?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She replied respectfully, “Yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Isn’t Diwakar at home?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“No. He left for his office about15 minutes ago,” she replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“I hope I’m not disturbing you. You said it’s time for you to go to work
as well, right?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Not really,” she laughed. She wondered what her “not really” actually
meant. Did it mean she hadn’t made a mistake? Or he hadn’t caused her any
trouble? Or was it just politeness? He wasn’t really a relative of hers nor was
he really her superior, or Diwakar’s superior for that matter. Their family
didn’t even really have any sort of ties with him. But still, he would
sometimes come around, talk for a bit, have a cup of tea, and then leave. This
had been occurring on and off for about 15 years now. So would today be any different?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Nipa asked him, “Would you like to have some tea?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> “Are you going to make tea? But I
thought you were leaving.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Yeah, it’s all right. I’ll make some,” Nipa responded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She then went to the kitchen and boiled water for the tea. As quickly as
possible, she put a heated mixture of tea leaves, milk and sugar along with a
few biscuits, and placed them on the centre table. He left the tea on the table
for it to cool. Nipa sat on the sofa and impatiently waited thinking of all the
things she had to do and where she had to be. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Are your kids not here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“They went to school. How are you today?” Just as soon as she said it,
she realized she had made a mistake and shouldn’t have tried to extend the
conversation. It was getting very late and she needed him to go right after he
had finished his tea. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Same old, same old. My left side has pins and needles all round.” His
lips moved lazily and words couldn’t really be clearly heard or understood when
he spoke. “I’ve left the town.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Yeah, your brother told me,” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He sat up, surprised. “Really? He phoned you from our village? What did
he say?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“He said to make your kids understand.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Who are you to make them understand?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Yeah, something like that. That’s what Diwakar was saying, anyway.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He laughed and dipped his biscuit in the tea, ate it, and then took a
sip of the tea. Nipa nervously looked at the clock on the wall. After looking
at it and noticing the time, she got up and thought to herself, ‘By the time, I
get to the office, I’m definitely going to be late and I’m sure Mr. Swain will
have a few words to say to me. He would
say, “It’s not just about asking for a promotion, Mrs. Mohanty. You need to be
more punctual and on top of things.”’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He had lifted up his cup and was drinking his tea. She could see,
as he was drinking his tea, his hands were shaking and as a result, the cup out
of which he was drinking seemed to tremble in concert with his shaking hands. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Nipa really felt quite bad. She opened up her bag and wiped to face with
her handkerchief. She retreated into the kitchen, under the pretense of some
work, and then came back after a while. He had finished his tea by now;
however, he still hadn’t moved. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She said, “You must be tired. Why don’t you take some rest? I’ve got some important assignments to do at
office. Some work needs to be finished and sent to the managing director
today.” She paused, then asked, “Shall I
go?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Yeah, I’ll get up as well,” He said in response.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Where are you going, if you don’t mind me asking?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He laughed. “I don’t know where I have to go.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Then why don’t you stay? Diwakar comes home at lunchtime. You can meet
him, have some food, and then go. I need to go though, okay?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He nodded and picked up a newspaper and started glancing over it. She
took out her moped and got ready to go. He still didn’t get up. Nipa felt there
was something strange about the situation but there really wasn’t anything she
could do at this point; she had to go. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She thought, ‘Soon the maid will finish her chores and leave. She can’t
lock the house since He was at their home. All alone, in the house, what
would he do by himself?’<i> </i>She began
imagining him sitting alone in the house.
She saw him turning the same pages of the newspaper, time and time
again. He didn’t even venture out or turn on the TV. She wondered, ‘When she
and Diwakar get to be His age, what would they think about? Just time;
nothing but time in their hands.’ She continued wondering, ‘would they just
basically start thinking about death and beyond in these times? Like a cow
chewing its cud, would they basically start chewing over their experiences and
incidents in their life?’ However, Diwakar will come back in the afternoon;
they’ll heat the food up and they’ll eat. After they eat, they’ll probably engage
themselves in conversation but Diwakar probably won’t have anything to say.
He’ll just sit there and be a sympathetic listener.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">To be fair, He didn’t really come around to Nipa’s house that much
anymore. He would come once or twice in a year, talk about his infirmity, and
then leave. She remembered though, when she was first married, he used to come
at least once or twice a week. It was the same ritual every time: he’d drink a
cup of tea and talk for at least one or two hours. However, his family or
domestic matters were never mentioned in these talks. Politics was his
favourite topic, and as such, he used to know quite a lot about famous
politicians. Sometimes, Nipa would come around and listen to his and
Diwakar’s conversations. And even though he had such an interest in politics, he never stood in an election himself and never used his connections with
leaders to gain anything for himself either.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On the other hand, when Nipa would visit his home, the only
possessions of his she could see were a few pieces of furniture and a couple of
beds with some bed sheets thrown over them. A middle-aged woman would sit like
a stone in the house, her face reflecting neither happiness nor grief. She
would be listless, sitting almost as if she was meditating or in a trance.<span style="color: red;"> </span>She was his wife. Their three children, ranging
in ages 16 to ten, would go about their tasks. One of them would always break
from his tasks and serve them with two cups of tea. Nipa later found out that
for the treatment of his wife’s mental condition, she had to take medicines
whose after-effects seemed to leave her in this perpetually listless condition.
Half the time, the children would survive on snacks such as <i>aloo chops </i>and <i>boda. </i>The situation seemed to demand such measures. They hardly saw
their father; their mother rarely moved. His two oldest children had grown up,
each doing some sort of job or running some sort of business. Each of them had
married to partners of their own choosing from advertisements in the papers.
Then there was the youngest son.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Four or five years ago, one of
the sons had demolished their ancestral property and rebuilt it a new. During
that time, hehad been living in the MLA quarters in Bhubaneswar.
Therefore, there hadn’t been much opportunity for them to meet. During the
times of the elections, he often came back to their neighbourhood. In those times however, he was usually so
busy that even if a chance meeting did occur on the streets, she wouldn’t
usually get to say more than a few words. Almost always, he would be surrounded
by people. Moreover, he was not a really a friend of Diwakar and therefore,
courtesy calls seemed to be out of the question. After the representative from
his party had lost his seat in the local election, however, he didn’t visit
Bhubaneswar anymore but stayed within the small confines of his town. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> His youngest son had grown
up and had become quite unruly and undisciplined. Midway through college, he
had stopped attending lectures and could usually be found in the company of <i>paan</i> vendors.He had tried
counseling his son and had even persuaded the principal to let his son back in
to the college. However, the situation didn’t improve much. Even though his son
attended school this time, he soon fell into bad company again and got addicted
to alcohol and soft drugs. So whenever he would meet Diwakar on the
streets, he would only talk and complain about his youngest son’s behaviour.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Diwakar used to try and console him. “All your life, you haven’t worried
about your children. Why are you getting
so worried now?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He had laughed, saying “Everyone else has matured and done something.
It’s just the youngest that can’t seem to get it together. Sad, you know? What else
can I do but worry?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">His youngest son had once demanded, “Give me money and I’ll go to
Dubai.” He, the son, kept saying that visas and passports were not the problem;
it could be arranged any how. At that point, He was fed up of succumbing to his
son’s daily demands of 25-50 rupees. His son would just tarnish himself in the
pursuit of drugs and alcohol. He thought to himself, ‘if this child wants
to go out and do something better, let him go rather than keep him cooped up
here. Anyway the guy has to fend for himself someday.’<i> <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">However, the problem was the fact he didn’t have such a large sum of
money to give his youngest son. So he figured he might ask for money from his
other sons and help his youngest son on his way, but it never was going to be as
easy as it sounded. For instance, the two elder sons hadn’t replied to his
letters, and when he called them up, their responses left him despondent. His
eldest son proposed that instead of Dubai, he should ask his youngest son to
set up a coffee shop on the crossroads. His second eldest son had suggested
“Why does he need to go to Dubai? Just let him go and farm.” In the end, he sold a bit of his land and
gave his youngest son 50,000 rupees. Taking the money, his son disappeared for
a while and reappeared after one or two months. He seemed to have fallen on
hard times. His clothes were dirty; his hair was a mess; and he had lost a lot
of weight -- you could see it in his cheekbones. And if he asked about his
son’s time in Dubai, he got a different answer each time. If you asked about
the money that had been given to him, he’d fly into a rage and instigate a
quarrel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After these incidents, misery overtook him whilst his youngest son
couldn’t care less. Every day, he would threaten his father and take more money
from him. If he didn’t give him any money, his youngest son would take anything
-- watches, cycles, tape recorders. One of his brothers who was still living
with them got so irritated that he left the house to live in rented
accommodations. Now left in his house were one lifeless woman, one old
man, and one unruly son. The son, would roam around during the day and then in
the evening, would come home quietly and go to sleep. They never had the
courage to ask about what he had eaten or taken during the day, if anything.
His father would feel sorry for him and leave some food and water for him to
eat in his room. Then the parents would worry about how their son would be
going to sleep in such heat since he had sold the room fan long time ago. In
real distress, he bought a ceiling fan for that room only to discover a
few weeks later, the new ceiling fan had disappeared.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He then queried his son, “Look here son, who did you sell the fan to?
How much did you get for it? I had bought the fan thinking you’d be feeling hot
and that the fan might alleviate it. It didn’t even last the month.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The son angrily replied, “You’re not giving me any money. What do you
expect me to do? I need to get money somehow.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Upon hearing his son’s answer, he became very irritated, swallowed
it, and then went away. He didn’t even pay any attention to his youngest son
for the next two days. But after the two days, he again started to feel
restless and worried seeing his son’s way of life. This time, he placed a hand
fan in his son’s room. When he looked
around, the only other thing in his son’s room was a rope bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">One day, he saw his son with a shovel digging out the divots for the
window. “Why are you digging at the window?” the father asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“I’m going to sell it,” the son replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“What? Has prosperity left you, or something? Why the hell are you
selling the window? Tell me how much money you need.” But the son didn’t
listen. The father, left with no option, went to the police. He thought to
himself, ‘if the police were to threaten his son, he’d stop digging at the
window.’ The police, after having consoled the father sent him back saying they
couldn’t come. Upon returning home, Namaste discovered the window had been
removed, leaving an unprotected hole in its place. He locked the room from the
outside so the entire house would not become vulnerable. After this, his son
would enter and exit the room through the open window.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">One day, he had a huge fight with his son and fainted, falling as
if dead on the floor. The son leapt out of the window, saying as he leapt,
“Stop pretending.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Their close neighbour took him to hospital. All of his sons were
told that their father had fainted but none of them responded. When Namaste
came home from hospital, the son who was still living in the same town as his
parents, fearing for social stigma, came for a few days and looked after his
father.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He had come back from death’s door, it seemed, just to face even
more miserable times; fate just wasn’t with him. If he had died, it would have
been a respite but alas, it was not to be. He was stuck between two states of
being; he couldn’t come back but he couldn’t go all the way either -- kind of
like navigating the river Styx. Now in the winter of his life, he was literally
waiting for death to come and take him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">One day, he had come to Nipa’s house and was shivering. His face looked
like a worn-out coin. His words were not coming out clearly as he told his woes
to Diwakar. Nipa was busy in the kitchen, and she was thinking to herself,
‘Doesn’t he have anyone to talk to that he feels compelled to come all the way
here to tell about his sorrows? Moreover, Diwakar has never offered any help to
him, at any time. So I wonder why he comes?’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He lamented, “In this world, we’re all alone. I was planning to go
live with my eldest son but he said I wouldn’t be able to live there as the way
of life here is very different. I stayed for five days at my second-eldest
son’s place and it was like I wasn’t even there. No one spoke to me. I felt
very bad and came back. And you know what my youngest son said when I returned?
He said, ‘if you die, a burden would be lifted up from us.’ And the youngest
son continued, ‘if I would kill you, the police would be after me.’ He could
employ a person that could crush him under a vehicle of some sort,
but sadly he’d have to pay 10,000 to 15,000 rupees to accomplish, money he
didn’t have, he further told his father. Please tell me, Diwakar, have I really
become a burden for the world? I want to die and death won’t come to me, and I
don’t have the courage to commit suicide.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Nipa’s heart had been thundering inside her chest when he said this.
Depression overtook her. A few days after that, they had met Namaste’s
second-eldest son who was doing some business in the market. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Diwakar asked him, “Why don’t you keep your father around? He’s
wandering around without a place to live. Your youngest brother is misbehaving
and is worthless. Where will he go if you don’t keep him in his old age?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The son had replied, “He can’t live with me; he doesn’t appreciate my
wife”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Why?” Diwaker asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“He must be knowing,” the son replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“But surely, you’re there. How is this connected with your wife? You
should bring him in and try make your wife understand.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> The second-eldest son responded
to Diwakar, “Others don’t have duties or what? My eldest brother seems to be
avoiding the situation. Why can’t he keep him then? He has quarters in the
town. Why can’t he keep my father? When my father went to hospital, nobody even
bothered to visit him. Instead, they farcically advised how to take care of my
father over the phone. He’s not just my father to me. What’s he ever given me?
My childhood was spent in the care of a half-mad mother. Half of the time, I
had to go to school with snacks from the shops. Once the principal had asked my
father to come and see him, and my father didn’t get there for a month.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Forget it, why talk about it?
What difference does it make now?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The second-eldest son continued, “Once, someone came to our house and
asked my father, pointing at me, what’s is your son’s name, and right in front
of that person, my father asked me, what is your name? That day, I had felt I
had been slapped; he didn’t even know my name. The person who used to supply
tea and <i>paan </i>in his office had
arranged a highly favourable loan for me. That was how I started my business,
my shop. With a lot of difficulty, I had to pay off my loan and try to enlarge
my shop.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> The son was saying all this in
such a tone that his complaint, his hurt, and his anger all seemed to be
flowing in a river filled with sorrow. Diwakar didn’t really have the courage
to say anything further. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">_________<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After this long time, he had now come back to their house just as it
was time for Nipa to go to work. What could he do? What did he want? To recite
new stories of woe? She wondered was it right to have left him alone in the
drawing room? Shouldn’t he have left along with her? Then, finally she decided
that he was not as busy as she was, so he shouldn’t mind waiting for Diwakar
while glancing over the newspapers, or perhaps dozing off, thinking about his
past. Both of them could have lunch together and talk over things. And perhaps
on his way back to the office, Diwakar could see him off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It was pretty late by the time Nipa reached the office. Shiva, the
messenger boy, met her on the way and told her Mr. Pani was waiting for her in
his office.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“All right,” she said, almost resigned to the fate which awaited
her. What did Mr. Pani want this
time? Once she reached his office, Mr.
Pani rose, greeted her, and got right to the point. He greeted her with
humility and smiled as if seeing her was the crowing glory of his day. He then
extended his hand towards her, gesturing her to take the envelope that he held
in his hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Madam, will you please take back your money because I’ll spend it if I
keep it with me,” Mr. Pani stated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“What money?” she responded in surprise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Have you forgotten?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Look, I don’t have much time. What money?” Nipa asked impatiently.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Don’t you remember? In October, you had given me a loan.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“I had forgotten” Nipa replied, a bit embarrassed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Well, don’t worry, Madam. You may have forgotten the loan since you
have so much money anyway, but us poor people never forget loans.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Look here, Mr. Pani, you know from before, I don’t deal with these
kinds of things. So please take the envelope and give it in the right place.”
After this, Nipa went to her work area and opened up her computer to start the
day’s work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mr. Pani came to her work area a short time later. “Here, I entrust it
to you.” After saying these words, Mr. Pani left the envelope on her desk and
left. “Have a good day,” he said just as he was leaving the immediate area.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After Mr. Pani left, Nipa opened a file and got lost in her work. Junior
associates had been watching from the other side of the room as the drama had
unfolded. As they watched, she called her messenger boy and shouted at him. She
then walked quietly to the Mr. Swain’s office.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At the meeting, she got burdened even further with additional problems
and responsibilities. She then guessed that her wish to take leave in the
coming week was not possible any more. At this, she got distraught, and thus
the entire lunch hour got spent in shouting at her computer, cursing her
destiny, and wondering what kind of job she was in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The onlookers in her office had returned to their respective places. Absentmindedly,
she put her hand into her bag, started looking for something, and was soon
greeted by the fact that she hadn’t brought her tiffin box today. She called
the messenger boy and asked him get her lunch from a local fast food joint with
which he returned shortly thereafter. Whilst she was eating lunch, she got
interrupted twice by Mr. Swain’s office. He wanted her to go on an official
tour. When Nipa heard of this, she immediately tried to decline, her
housekeeping duties at the forefront of her mind. Mr. Swain, of course, knew
about these difficulties and for the very same reason, would always try and
make her go on tour. He used to make such a big deal of her capabilities that
she would have no choice but to go. As she returned from Mr. Swain’s office,
she was alternating between rage and misery. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As soon as Nipa re-entered her work area, Nandita came over and
questioned her. Nandita was the office
snoop and queen of gossip and...Nipa’s supervisor. Nipa was sure Nandita had
found out something about the meeting and would smirk at her situation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“What? Have you not brought your lunch today? Did you order this from
the outside? Why didn’t you come over at the lunch hour? Was there an argument
or something?” The questions seemed endless. “When I saw how angrily you walked
out of Mr. Swain’s office, I thought to myself, ‘let me go and see, what kind
of stuff Mr. Swain must have said to you to make you so angry.’”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In such a short time, Nandita had, in that small speech, been able to
capture Nipa’s life. Nipa thought, ‘Why can’t I be as smart as her?’ She then
crunched up the ‘chow’ packet and threw it in the bin, and said, “I really was
in a hurry today and forgot to pack my food.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Did you throw it away because I came?” Nandita queried. “Was it egg or
chicken?” she continued, twirling a paperweight which had been on Nipa’s desk.
“He’s not a good person, Mr. Swain. He shows off a lot. He really likes
inflicting pain on others and then laughing about it afterwards. There are these
kinds of people who once they’ve got hold of someone, don’t let them go.” Nipa
didn’t respond, suspecting that Nandita was trying to trap her into saying
something which could be used against her in the future. Nandita, not finding
anything else to say, offered, “You know, in front of the office, there’s an
exhibition going on with all sorts of electronics goods and more. Want to go
there today with me after work?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> “Yeah, I had look in there
earlier but didn’t go inside. If it’s convenient, we’ll go,” Nipa replied,
still not really focused on the conversation. Nandrita then left and Nipa
returned to her work: preparing an estimate for the branch office. She got
engrossed in her work and lost track of time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Later on, Nandita returned to Nipa’s work area. “How much more work will
you do? It’s already three-thirty. I’m telling you, everyone’s going to start
leaving now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“So sorry. I lost track of time.
I’ve got fifteen minutes more work to do,” Nipa replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“All right, after finishing your work, come to my work area, and then
we’ll go, okay?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Nandita had gone away and Nipa again immersed herself in her work. She
knew because she was doing her work well, that Mr. Swain still thought well of
her. Otherwise, he would have gotten rid of her to some remote place within the
interiors. It had taken about 20 minutes for Nipa’s work to be completed and
Nandita had been waiting for her. Nipa picked up the envelope Mr. Pani had
given her earlier and put it in her bag. They took care of any formalities and
then left the office. Nipa looked at her watch and marked it was ten of four
when they left the office and came out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For some reason, Nipa was not feeling very well and felt like going
straight home but she went with Nandita to the exhibition all the same. Among
the many different things she saw at the exhibition, she was attracted to a
certain electronic wristwatch. She examined its many features and then played
with it for a while. You could tell she
was particularly fond of it. Nandita then said, “Why don’t you buy it? It looks
very nice.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Realizing she didn’t have much cash with her, Nipa responded, “Maybe
another time.” Then she remembered she had the money Mr. Pani had given to her,
She could have bought the watch but then decided not to. She figured the money
could be better spent buying a scientific calculator for her son. She
remembered her son had been wishing for a scientific calculator for quite some
time now. She knew he would be really happy if she purchased the calculator for
him. After all, she could manage with her old watch; what would she do with a
new watch? Making her decision, Nipa then put the watch down, and bought the
calculator from another counter. For her daughter, she bought a
battery-operated dancing doll. Suddenly, there were many possibilities.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After coming out of the exhibition, Nipa and Nandita both walked with
their mopeds together for a while but soon reached a crossroads where they both
mounted their mopeds and parted ways. When Nipa arrived home, she was surprised
to see Namaste still there in the drawing room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Oh, you haven’t gone yet?” she questioned, a bit surprised. He looked
uncomfortable when he heard Nipa’s words, and then he stood up straight. Had
she said something wrong?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He responded, “The house was open. I couldn’t leave it without locking
it. I could have locked the house and gone but I didn’t know where to leave the
key.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“What do you mean? Didn’t you meet Diwakar?” Nipa responded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“No, he hasn’t come home yet,” the old man replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Oh God! So you mean to say...sorry, extremely sorry. It must have been
really hard for you staying here by yourself. You must have been really bored.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Nipa’s guest sighed, “My lifestyle is like this, you know.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Why don’t you sit down and eat something? I’ll make you some snacks and
you can eat them and go,” Nipa offered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“No, don’t worry. I’ll leave”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“I’m sure you must be hungry. You haven’t eaten anything since morning?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Nowadays, I don’t really feel that hungry”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Diwakar must have gotten lost in his work or gone somewhere because of
his work, because usually he comes home at lunchtime. Did he call?” Nipa asked,
a little worried.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Not really. I’ll leave now,” He insisted, then got up and made his way out of the
home where he had taken refuge for that day. He closed the gate and departed.
And Nipa really couldn’t stop him. She felt guilty and didn’t know what to do,
never having been in this situation before. She sat down with a sense of guilt
flowing through her. The children then came home and changed out of their
school clothes, but Nipa still sat there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Her daughter asked, “Mama, won’t you give us food today?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A bit lost in thought, she said, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Go sit down. I’ll be
with you in a minute.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then she remembered the things she had purchased for her children at the
exhibition. Before showing them to her children, she asked them to close their
eyes and said they she bought one gift for each of them. “Let’s see, let’s
see,” they clamored, gathering around her in anticipation. Nipa gave her
daughter her present first, and before her son could grab the doll out of his
sister’s hands, she gave him the scientific calculator. They seemed to forget
all about being hungry and were playing with their presents.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Nipa took out the food and served it to the children. “All right, that’s
enough now. Come sit down and eat.” Nipa then went upstairs and changed her
clothes. When she came back down after
changing, the children were still busy with their presents. After she called them
five more times, they finally came to the table.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As soon as everyone sat down, her son got up from the table and
announced, “The same food again? I don’t think I can eat this stuff again. I’m sick of it.” Then her daughter got up
from the table following her brother with much the same commentary.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Nipa had called them, tried to bribe them, shouted at them, and then
said at the end, “What did you want me to do? What things should I have given
you to eat then?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Her daughter said, “I haven’t eaten my tiffin mama.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Why not?” Nipa questioned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Her daughter responded, “Every day, I can’t eat the same tiffin, the
same biscuits, and the same mixture. Why can’t you ever give me something
different? My friends get new snacks every day. They always
get something different like </span><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 19px; text-indent: 0.3in;"> <i>i</i></span><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 19px; text-indent: 0.3in;"><i>dli, paratha and upma</i></span><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 19px; text-indent: 0.3in;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"> from their house.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“When do I have the time? Don’t you guys know that I’m working?” Nipa
responded, a little hurt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Whose telling you to work?” her daughter questioned in response.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Nipa had gone quiet. She was used to hearing these kinds of remarks from
her children and sometimes, if she was in the right mood, she could make them
understand that if she worked, more money would come through, and then they’d
live better. But today, Nipa was tired and a bit cranky. It had been a
frustrating day. Then she became lost in
thought...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Even though she thought she had done a lot for her children, sometimes
her lack of attention and care to them was very obvious. In their rough notes
and their twisted letters, this lack of attention seemed to scream from the
pages. And just like this, age will take over.
Her children will grow up; her hair will whiten; and she’ll become old
and incapable. What will become of her? What will become of Diwakar? Maybe her
children would grow up to be something great, but still her children will
remember those rough notes and twisted letters, and same boring food. Maybe
they’ll say, “What have you ever done for us, mama? We don’t know the warmth of
our mother’s lap in winters. During our holidays, we have to have locked doors
to protect ourselves from thieves and dacoits as well as from snakes and
scorpions. But still, what about ghosts? They could pass through the walls and
come through, na? How we must have spent those moments, those moments where we
felt like we were about to suffocate in these quiet locked quarters. Those were
some hard times, you know. Most of the days used to be spent in waiting. When
will you come? When will you reach here? What if you have an accident on the
road, what would we do? Who would we run to? Who will we phone? Was it right on
your part to leave hours and hours outside, leaving us alone to suffocate in
those childhood days?” Then the image of that old fellow, the guest in the morning, blazed into view, abandoned
and on his way to nowhere.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">‘When will Diwakar arrive home?’ she wondered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">(Translated by Gaurav Nayak<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Edited by Paul McKenna)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Sarojini Sahoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06356168164108611237noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613632675367188848.post-51515613296246177492012-07-27T17:35:00.001-07:002012-07-29T19:32:34.845-07:00MY STORY SERIES - 3<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 20pt;">Hatred<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Sarojini Sahoo<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">(The
original story is included in author’s
Odia anthology <i>DUKHA
APRAMIT</i> (ISBN: 978- 81-7411-483-1) under the title ‘CHHI’ and is
translated by Arita Bhowmik and
Dinesh Kumar Mali in Bengali and Hindi
respectively with same title and
have been included in
author’s short story collection <i>Dukha
Aparimit</i> (ISBN 978 984 404 243-8), published from Bangladesh by Anupam
Prakashani, Dhaka and <i>Rape Tatha Anya Kahaniyan (ISBN: 978-81-7028-921-0) </i>published by
Rajpal & Sons, Delhi.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Part I<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">No one had the
capability to put her curly hair under control. Her hair was swinging like
flowers over the eyes, ears and nose. When Granny came home, she used to get
castor oil<i> </i>along with other tidbits.
She sat on the rope stool and put the sticky castor<i> </i>oil and combed her hair with the comb made from a horn. She felt
she would die from pain. But Granny
would pat her back and repeat the saying, “castor oil sets the fur of the ships
well.” She had seen one or two sheep amidst the herd of goats in Muslim’s lane.
They were not like the sheep found in Australia or in the Himalayas; they were
the sheep from the coastal regions of Orissa. The one-and-a-half-inch knotted
fur looked real ugly on the dirty yellowish colour of the sheep. She felt sad
thinking of her hair; because she could understand the meaning of her Granny’s
words. Of course the hair got stuck together with the castor<i> </i>oil.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">In the class, their teacher told them
that they all must have heard stories about <i>Dhruv,
Prahalad </i>and<i> Shravan kumar </i>from
their grannies. This was not true in her case, though. First of all, Granny
never told old stories. Secondly, not while she was going to sleep but while Granny
sat down to comb her hair, and those stories made a mark on her innocent mind.
Two of the stories she has never been able to forget. The first one was like
this:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">When <i>marhattas</i> invaded the Odisha, they came and plundered the whole
place entering every house stealing and raping. Granny remained silent for a
while. After a few seconds she would start, I was in the backyard. Someone
shouted, “The <i>marhattas</i> are coming
towards the village.” Within a few seconds the whole village was deserted.
Everyone fled up to whatever place and hill they found. The cattle were still
bound to their sheds. Rice and paddy, dal such as moong and black dal, money,
and everything else was left unattended. Even the seventy-year-old <i>Naliamma</i> climbed up the mountain with a
stick. The only person who could not go was the daughter-in-law of the <i>sweet maker </i>household. How could she go?
She had completed nine months. As soon as she heard about the <i>marhatta</i> invasion her pain started. Her
parents-in-law, her husband, and his brothers and sisters all left her to save
their lives. No one cared for anyone or bothered to listen to anyone at that
time. She had no time to cry; the child inside her was restless. She said, “Go.
Why should you all give your life for me? When the <i>marhattas</i> come they will be satisfied with me.” In spite of saying
such words, she gave birth to the child when she heard the tapping of the
horses at the corner of the village. Tears were dripping down. Pregnant for the
first time she cut the cord with a shell. As she wiped the child and put him
in her lap and was trying to sleep, hordes of soldiers rushed into the village.
The whole village was deserted. They banged the dishes in some houses and they
pulled the thatch from others. Within a few seconds, they were all around the
daughter-in-law of the <i>sweet maker</i>
household.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Eight to ten heavily-built young men
came and asked her, “Tell us where everyone has gone?” She was not able to
utter a single word. Her whole body was shivering. She looked at them with wide
open eyes. The leader of the group said, “What are you staring at? Put the fire
on; we are hungry. Put oil in the pan. Fry the baby in your lap and feed us.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">The daughter-in-law of the<i> sweet maker </i>household had just given
birth to a son. She had not even held the child for a few hours. The child
hadn’t taken to the mother’s breast yet. How the mother’s heart must have been
beating? She had lot of patience and lot of strength. She said, “If you want to
eat the child, sit quietly.” She held the child in her lap and lit the fire in
a wood burning oven. Soon the oil was hot. She stood up and with a ladle in her
hand started spooning the hot oil from the pan onto the face of the soldiers.
The soldiers fled the place screaming for their life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Granny used to say this happened when
she was young. Had Parijat been a little older, she could have understood that
this incident was never possible because the atrocities of the <i>marhattas</i> occurred before granny’s
birth. She did not have any clear idea about the <i>marhattas</i> then. She imagined that they must be like elephants,
horses, tigers, lions or perhaps demons. Why else would they ask for human
meat? She could not disbelieve this story of Granny but the other story made
her very sad. Her mind was full of disgust.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">As Granny combed her hair with the
sticky oil, she would massage her back and say this back is a golden back which
has a son for the family. After her birth, the much desired son had been born
in this family so Granny thought her back was the golden back. She also used to
narrate a short story about this. After praying for a son to various gods and
goddesses, when her mother had lost all her hope of getting a son, Granny heard
of a tested formula for begetting a son and applied it on her mother. Once she
picked up the worms from Parijat’s stool and hid them in a banana and gave it
to her mother to eat. In the course of events, her mother gave birth to the
much awaited son and Parijat got a brother. The day she heard this story from
Granny, her mind was full of disgust. She did not want to sit with Granny to
get her hair combed anymore. She looked at Granny with a sense of disbelief.
She felt her mother was betrayed. She really felt pity for her mother.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Part II<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Two eyes wet with tears had haunted
her since childhood. At dusk, when the dirty bulbs emblaze, she remembers those
eyes. Then slowly, the lady in her forties adorning a white <i>saree</i> with a white blouse appeared in
front of her. The lady’s voice disturbed her Parajit’s. The voice of the lady
was so deep; it sounded as if it was drowned in deep water. She was very
desperately saying, “Please give me something, oh Nuni, my children have been
starving. They have not had a morsel since morning.” She had a cloth bag in her
hand. Her pleadings never reached Parajit’s mother’s ears. The lady would sit
on the ground and wipe her tears. After a while, mother would twitch her nose
in disgust and say, “How can I give you every day? You come over every evening
begging. What do you think? No one has any work but to listen to you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">The lady never got up or left. In a
rage, mother would bang the utensils or throw the broom she held. She used to
leave the place thumping her feet without giving anything to the lady. She
would roam across the house and come back to the lady and say, “Are you still
there? Didn’t I say, there is no rice in the house? Where will I get rice?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Please give. Please, please give me
something Nuni; my children will die from hunger,” the woman pleaded. She would
hold mother’s hand and plead. Still mother never gave in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Parijat could not accept her mother as
her own. She wished she could go and get two to three cups of rice from the
metal drum of rice and give it to the lady, who was actually Sabita’s mother.
She did not have the opportunity to know whether her classmate Sabita’s family
was poor. Both Sabita’s mother and aunt were widows. They looked more
aristocratic than her own mother because they were from the family of the<i> karan</i> caste and always wore white <i>sarees</i> with white blouses. The sight of
their pleadings for rice before her mother was really pathetic. She felt her
mother should give rice to the lady. They had sacs and sacs full of rice. They
would not be short of rice if she gave one or two kilograms of rice to the
woman. Every year, one-fourth of the rice from the sacs went into the holes for
rats. Pots and pots of cooked and leftover rice went into the cattle’s feed
every day. When she thought how the lack of a pot of rice can bring tears to a
human, she used to ask her mother, “Why don’t you give a kilogram<i> </i>of rice to Sabita’s mother? I did not
like her mother leaving our house wiping her tears.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">My mother amazed me shouting out suddenly
with her cracking voice, “What for? Is everything free here? I have five
members in my own family. I am hoarding rice because I cannot boil paddy to
make rice during the monsoon seasons. Why should I give to any one?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">It’s not that my mother did not give
anything to anyone. The man named Giriya from the out caste <i>(paan)</i> came over to beg for rice twice
every week. As soon as he called at the gate, her mother would send the bowl of
rice with them, “Go fast and make sure that he leaves this place as soon as
possible” His eyes used to blaze like fire but his body looked as if the huge
figure has lost its lustre with age. When she put rice into his bag, he asked
about everything; about her mother, her father, whether they were getting
adequate sleep because their house was in the town and there were too many
vehicles on the road. Mother never used to come out of the house. She used to
say from inside, “Uncle, please leave now. Why are you gossiping so much?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">The man, whose name was Giriya, would
then get up lifting his long bamboo pole. As soon as she went inside the house,mother
would ask Parajit, “What was Giriya asking?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Nothing in particular; he was asking
about you and father and stuff.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Mother would get scared and ask, “Did
you tell him that your father is not at home for the last two days?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Mother was really scared of Giriya <i>paan</i>. She had the belief that Giriya <i>paan</i> is coming under the pretense of
begging alms and noticing all the nooks and corners of their house. He knew
where the gold, silver and money were kept, and when he got an opportunity, he
would come and steal everything.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Giriya was from Parijat’s maternal
uncle’s village. That’s why her mother used to address him as uncle. There was
no fondness in that ‘uncle’ address. Rather, there was a sense of fear and persuasion,
“Uncle, look I am your niece. We are born in the same village. Spare my family
from your evil intentions,” Parajit’s mother would often say.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Parijat was amused. How can a beggar
be a dacoit? If he was a thief, why would he beg for alms at every door? When
she said this, her mother narrated the story which sounded like a crime story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">____<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">In his youth Giriya was a very
ferocious dacoit. His terror was felt not only in his village but spread to the
surrounding villages. Those were the days, under British colonial rules, when
kings ruled over the place. Kings competed with each other over both good and
bad deeds. Once, the king invited Giriya to the fort. Being a dacoit, Giriya
was scared to accept the king’s invitation and tried to hide. So the king sent
messengers with gifts and presents to Giriya’s place. Giriya was amazed. He
went over to the king and pleaded, “Please forgive me, sire”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">The white-skinned sahibs were frequent
visitors to the king’s palace. The king took Giriya inside and said, “Look
Giriya, if you are a true son of a <i>paan, </i>then
show your capability.” Giriya was restless. He could not imagine what the king
wanted him to do. The king said, “If you can go to the fort of Madhupur and get
the clothes from the queen’s bathroom, then you will be considered the son of a
brave man. You will be known as a true dacoit.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Giriya boasted, “Is that so?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">True to his words, Giriya entered
through the drains into the bathroom of the queen of Madhupur and with all
cleverness, got the queen’s clothes from her bathroom safely tucked inside a
bamboo pole. He was aware of everything that was happening. He kept his eyes
and ears open to everything. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">____<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Even in that young age, Parijat had
the intelligence to point out to her mother, “You give Giriya rice because you
are scared of him. When it is Giriya, you forget about finishing rice during
the monsoon season but when it comes to giving rice to Sabita’s mother you are
always short of rice. You are not a good person.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Mother screamed out in her cracking
voice, “What did you say?” Afraid of being hit by her mother; she ran out of
the house and sat on the bench placed at the roadside stall. Parijat’s mind was
revolting; her mind was full of hatred. Who was she revolting against? Why was
there hatred? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Part III <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Drops of blood fell into the toilet
pan. The red blood on the white pan was creating amazing colours of dawn. The
sight brought back that popular story to Parijat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">____<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">The queen was absent-mindedly making
embroidery in the handkerchief. She was unhappy because she did not have any
children; no princesses or princes. The king was getting older now. She was so
upset about not having any children that the thought of it made tears fall from
her eyes. Not only did the tears drip down but she pricked her finger with the
needle due to her absent-mindedness. She squeezed her finger with an ‘ooh’
sound. A red spot of blood shone on her fingertip. Slowly, she let the drop of
blood fall outside the window. It was winter and the whole palace was covered
with snow looking like soft cotton wool. The drop of blood fell from the finger
tip. As soon as it touched the snow a wonderful colour emerged from the
combination of red and milky white colour. The queen thought, ‘I wish I had a
daughter whose skin colour was like this.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Just at that time, a very kind angel
was flying by. She flew down and said to the queen, “I am aware of your desire.
You can have a daughter with the skin of this colour; but as soon as you give
birth to her, you will be dead. Do you agree to this condition?” The queen was
delighted. The beautiful girl will roam around in the palace like a small
butterfly. What can be happier than having a beautiful daughter in exchange for
a single life? And some time later, a beautiful girl was born to this earth in
exchange for the queen’s life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">____<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Unlike the queen, Parijat was not
enchanted to see the blood drops on the pan; she was not disturbed either. For
some months now, she was discharging blood. It had become a normal practice
with her. She started avoiding the toilet because of this. Once Aravind told
her, enough is enough; you must go and see a doctor. It is not right to let any
illness last long for any reason. Aravind was so influenced with an article
written in the newspaper by a doctor that he landed up at that doctor’s door
with Parijat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">The doctor could write very
complicated theories in simple words which could be easily understood by
laypeople. He proved with arguments that every illness was half physical and
half mental. Adding these to his qualifications, they arrived at his house in
the afternoon. The doctor was taking rest at that time. That day, the doctor
had already finished his schedule to meet patients.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Aravind said, “There is no time limit
for doctors. I have bunked the office today. It won’t be possible to bunk it
again tomorrow.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Aravind pressed the calling bell.
After a while the doctor himself came out of the door. He was a huge middle-aged
man. He looked at Parijit and Aaravind with a questioning glance and before he
could ask anything of them, Aravind said, “Are you Doctor Mishra?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Yes,” the doctor replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Aravind continued. “She is my wife.” Then
he described about her illness from beginning to end. The doctor and his guests
went inside and sat down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Now it was the doctor’s turn to ask
questions. “What did you say? Pain in the under abdomen? Pain in the back?
Blood all over the pan? All right. Let me check.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Aravind was told to sit while Parijat
went inside the doctor’s examining room. The doctor lit the room and Parijat
lay down on the patient’s examination bed after climbing over the two-stepped
ladder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Yes, a little towards the top. Don’t
sleep. Kneel down.” Parijit knelt down. “No not like that; on your knees like a
four-legged animal,” the doctor corrected.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">This time she went down on her kneels
like a four-legged animal and Dr. Mishra began checking her. Her muscles
started stiffening out. Afterwards she thought, ‘She is a patient, which means
she is an object of research. The patient’s caste, religion, sex, and age does
not matter; the doctor didn’t have any caste, religion, sex, or age either.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Dr. Mishra moved his hand towards the
switchboard and the light above the inspection table was turned off. Parijat’s
intuition informed her Dr. Mishra was not God. He was also a slave to the
senses of eyes, ears and nose. His hunger and thirst were immense. There was no
element of discretion in his choice, just like a wayward cow. She stood up before any unpleasant incident
could occur and walked towards the room where Aravind was patiently sitting and
pushed open the slightly closed door with force.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Aravind asked her, “So did the doctor
check you?” The doctor turned on all the lights of the room and opened the door
wide as he sat down at his table. Aravind had no choice but to ask the doctor
about Parijat’s health.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">The doctor replied, “The patient is
very sensitive.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Aravind smiled and said, “She is a woman.
That’s why.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">The doctor then replied with disgust, “Yes,
woman or something else.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Aravind was surprised and looked at Dr.
Mishra -- the stomach with six inches of fat; the dyed hair smeared with oil;
the clean and clear feminine cheeks. <i>This</i> appearance prompted the word “disgusting,”
not Parijit; NEVER Parijit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Parijit stuffed her mouth with the end
of her <i>saree</i> and grew impatient to
leave. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Part IV<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">As it is, the children turn into
caterpillars during that time. There is no question of choice or preference. No
mention about hunger or the absence of it. They can eat everything.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">As soon as the bus stops, they get
down with their water bottles and go straight into the restaurant. After
washing their hands in the wash basin, they occupy a table and order food. Both
she and Aravind sit as nonentities. They order food according to their choice.
They get different kinds of food such as chicken, and <i>naan </i>(bread and peas with cheese). The restaurant is inside the bus
stand. A dusky boy with a dirty uniform pours water onto the greasy steal
glasses from a dirty plastic jug and puts them on the table. The water bottles
brought from home lie beside the children. They drink the water from the
restaurant with pleasure. Drops of sweat accumulate on the tips of their noses.
Their noses start running. They eat with utmost contentment. They keep on
eating even if they are full and not in a condition to eat anymore. At last,
they get out of the restaurant with handful of <i>paanmahuri, </i>the aniseed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">No sooner have they taken a round or
two about the bus stand, they insist on buying cold drinks. By that time, there
is no space left in their stomachs. They take a sip or two from the bottle and
leave the rest in the shop. After that, they search the magazine stand in the
bookshop. As they return from the book store with all kinds of magazines ranging
from movies to sports, the chocolate and toffee displayed in the plastic jars
attracts them. They never forget to buy a few toffees.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Every time the same routine is
followed. Whenever the children go to the native place they become like
caterpillars. The doors of the bus don’t open even after all the demands of the
children are met. The bus keeps on standing like a dumb king. The driver,
cleaner, and conductor of the bus let every passenger off the bus, one by one,
and then they lock the bus and disappear. Eating and drinking comes to end.
Going to the toilet is over. Roaming around also comes to a stop. Still the
door of the bus does not open. The passengers roam around the bus like flies
because there is no place to sit. Legs start hurting. Bodies are in pain. Still,
the bus stands still like a lifeless statue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">On that occasion, all the mischief of
the children has come to an end; the eating, drinking, and buying of magazines.
Nothing is left to do. They roam around like flies as an old man appears. I
don’t remember who the aged beggar turns to first. I don’t remember who among
them nods his head and says “no.” The aged beggar does not leave their side.
Aravind moves slightly and everyone follows, even the old man. Aravind says in
a loud voice, “Go away from here.” The old man does not go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">The son says, “Papa, please give to him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Aravind does not put his hand into his
pocket. Parijat does not open her purse. The old man’s thin hand keeps on
pointing towards them like a stubborn child as if it would create a hole in
their world comprising of four lives. Aravind is irritated. He now angrily shouts, “Can’t you hear? I
told you get out of here. Get lost.” Aravind moves further ahead. Everyone
followed him, even the old man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">The old man appears very sick. His
hair is curly and looks like jute. His legs are black with blood vessels
protruding. His eyes look as if they belong to a dead fish. His feet are hard
like the cow’s hoof. The son says, “Please give to him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">The pleadings of the son give some incentive
to the old man and he continues nagging, “Babu, please give me, please give me,”
and touches Aravind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">At that moment, Aravind screams, “Get
lost you scoundrel” and lifts his leg as if he wants to kick the old man.
Instead of being afraid of the ferocious look of Aravind, everyone is full of
shame thinking, perhaps, all the people present at the bus stand have come to
know of his meanness. First the son slips away to a distance; the daughter
follows him. The old man, who is in the verge of crying, challenges Aravind, “Want
to hit me? All right, hit me, hit me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Aravind does not repent for his actions.
Parijat is also embarrassed and wants to leave. “Disgusting” spews out from her
mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Aravind asks her with concern, “What
happened?” Parijat does not answer. The look in her eyes expresses her
hatred. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">PART V<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">After science has solved every mystery
as simple child’s play, questions still remain like: why do the raindrops drizzle
from the sky? Why do waves beat every moment? Why do countless sperms run down
through dark alleys?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">She kept on pondering. Why do living
beings die? Why does the sun rise? Why do desires control your life like grass
even after they are rooted out? Does God ever tire out? Why does the wind never
rest? Why does the mother never forget the loss of her son till her death?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Sometimes these things happen. When
she sits alone, she gets drowned in fog? Does not know if it is cloud or fog?
Everything looks hazy. At a distance, a blue <i>safari</i> is seen. She forwards her hand. Her hand swims in the clouds
and fog.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">She can’t touch the blue <i>safari</i> suit. Gradually, she notices the
man who has put on the blue <i>safari</i>
suit to be Aravind. Just like a drowning person holds on to a straw, she wants
to cling to Aravind. Two drops of tears have already gone into her ears. Her
hand that swims in emptiness clutches onto Aravind. She wipes her tears and
asks, “What happened?” Two other people were standing next to the bed. Aravind
asked Parajit, “Have you got back your senses? Are you in severe pain?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">By that time she had come back from
the world of clouds and fog. She was able to understand now she was lying in
one of the beds of a nursing home]. On a bed nearby, a girl of 14 or 15 years
old quietly slept in a frock. She had an IV line in her. Aravind asked the man
next to him, “What has happened to the girl?” The woman sitting next to the
feet of the girl started crying aloud. Both Aravind and Parijat were shocked to
hear her cry. Aravind tried to maintain decency and did not ask anything else. But
the matter does not end there. Aravind collected information about the girl
from somewhere else. A short time later, he bent down and whispered to Parijat,
“The girl was pregnant at just fourteen years of age. One of her distant
maternal uncles made her pregnant. The father had threatened to kill him. In
the process of aborting the pregnancy using native herbs, the child had died
and had begun to decompose inside the young girl’s womb. After the girl became
seriously ill, they had brought her here.
She has been discharging pieces of rotten flesh for three days now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Parijat closed her eyes out of fear.
She felt pain in her stomach and wanted to vomit. In fact, she got up from the
bed two to three times intending to vomit but it never happened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Aravind moved his glance from the girl
and set his eyes on Parijat. He patted her back. He moved his fingers on her
hair and worriedly ran to the doctor. Tears from Parijat eyes had once again entered
into her ears. A nurse came and asked her if she was suffering from any pain.
Aravind came back with some capsules for alleviating the pain in her stomach.
She was supposed to remain in bed for only two hours. Time flew in the fog with
the pain in her stomach and the curiosity about the girl. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Before leaving the nursing home, she
wanted to use the toilet. When Aravind wanted to hold her hand and take her to
the toilet she said, “I’m all right. I’m feeling better now. I can walk on my
own. You wait.” Aravind let her hand go and waited for her outside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;"> As she came out of the toilet, her gaze went to
the basin of the commode. On a white tray, there lay soaked in blood, a fetus maybe
four to five inches [10 to 13 centimeters] in length. It was sleeping like a
godchild. Eyes, ears, nose, legs, hands
not even its sex was clear. Even then,
it looked as if it had just come out of an egg. The fetus was silent. Parijat
didn’t know why but her heart started to burn in pain as she saw the fetus. She
wanted to lift it from the tray and clasp it to her heart. She did not want to
leave it on that tray and go home. Someone was knocking on the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">As she opened the door of the toilet
and came out, she was met by Rukmani, an old maid of the nursing home who her,
“Babu sent me to check on you, fearing you have fallen down in the toilet.” Then
the old woman changed the context and said condedcendingly, “Disgusting. What
are you doing? Get an operation done soon.” After she heard the old lady’s
advice uttered in an irritating tone like a superior, Parijat did not have the
courage to ask, “This godchild lying on the tray, is that my creation?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Parijat left the place before she
could hold the godchild next to her heart and address it as “my dear.” She left
without asking for forgiveness with her head down. She started hating herself
for this unforgivable sin of her life. She condemned herself and thought
‘Disgusting. What are you doing?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">PART VI<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Thin green hair under the nose, eyes
bright, and nose sharp. This was how her son appeared at that time when he
moved away from her and said, “Disgusting. Your body stinks.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Stinks?” Parijat smiled. “Or smells
good?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Disgusting. Please just leave,” her
son ordered. She looked at her son and realized he was not joking. But why did
she smell so bad? It was winter, so there was no question of sweat. As it was,
she did not not sweat much even during summer either. Until today, she was
under the impression that even her sweat did not smell that much. According to
Aravind, a sweet aroma emanated from her body. Aravind was often enchanted with
her sweet fragrance no matter whether she was awakened from her sleep or whether
just had come out of the kitchen. Parijat often tried to smell herself but
never seemed to experience that sweet aroma about which Aravind always
commented. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Her son’s complaints were gradually
increasing. It had become so bad that when he saw Parijat approach, he would
slip away to a safe distance. It was then Parijat started putting on powder and
perfume but still her son never came near her. She started feeling sad about
it. This led to frustration and subsequently to fights. She could not fathom
how everything had changed. From then on, when she saw her son, she would
squeeze herself and stand in a corner. At the dining table, she avoided sitting
next to her son and sat far away from him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">The more she constricted the more she
felt angry and sad. She would cry and plead to him, “You are a part of my body;
you have been made from my bones and blood. Look, your nose is exactly like
mine. Your smile is like mine too. We are similar. I feel so sad when you
despise me. You will never understand how disturbed I feel when I come in front
of you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Seeing her tears, her son would then
soften his tone and say, “Please don’t cry. Please don’t feel sad.” But he would not change his attitude and would
maintain his distance as usual.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Aravind used to say, “This is a new
drama. Let me see.” He would then sniff all around her like a dog and say,
“Where’s the stench?” Parijat thought Aravind would say, “There is a sweet
scent coming out of your body.” But now, he did not say that. She used to feel
sad but she now realized her body no longer smelt nice. She thought, ‘Does the
bad smell mean old age?’ She remembered her maternal grandfather used to smell
funny. She could not really describe how it was like but knew it was not
pleasant. So was this an old-age thing? The same smell came out when you entered
the <i>Kedargauri</i> temple.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Grandpa’s body was getting old. Grandpa used to walk four kilometers to come
to their house. His toes used to look red and swollen just like the nerves in
his legs. He was unlike the grandpa’s found in storybooks. He never told them
stories. Far from telling stories, he never even spoke to anyone. His eyes
looked starchy and innocent. He was so thin that when he sat, his skeleton would
bend and looked just like the English letter ‘G.’ Almost every time he came to
Parijat’s house, she would be getting ready to leave for school. Her mother
would be busy with the household chores. Without making any sound, Grandpa
would sit in their drawing room after taking out the slippers made by the
cobbler from tyres. Parijat’s brothers and sisters would be neither happy nor
sad when Grandpa visited them. Only they used to scream so that their mother
could know that Grandpa was there. But her mother never left her work and run
to meet him. Grandpa used to sit and read whatever he laid his hand on, be it
newspaper or paper bags. He could read the small English letters in the
newspaper even without glasses. As Parijat braided her hair, she would go and
put the kettle on the fire of the mud oven for morning tea. By the time she
finished braiding her hair on both sides, the tea was usually boiled. Parijat
would go and place a cup of black tea in front of Grandpa without uttering a
single word. He would be reading the paper bags without uttering a single word.
Eventually, Grandpa would gulp the bitter tea without making a face. Since it
was not yet time to leave for school, Parijat would tell her mother, “Maa,
Grandpa is here.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Let him be there,” her mother would
respond without any interest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Parijat used to get angry with her
mother and say, “Why are you answering like that? He is your father.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Mother used to mutter angrily, “If he
runs to my house time and again because he wants to take his opium pills, where
will I get money to give him?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Parijat would get irritated with her
mother and say, “Talk softly. He can hear you.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Mother would suddenly scream and say, “Why
are you showing off? Go and fetch the five rupees coin tied to the corner of my
wet <i>saree</i> drying on the rooftop and
give it to him.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">It would soon be time for Parijat’s school.
She would run to the rooftop with heavy steps. She would get the five-rupees
coin tied to a corner of her mother’s wet saree and give it to Grandpa. Grandpa
would not say a word. He would put the money into his pocket, sit for a while
longer and then would leave, putting on his slippers made from tyres. Parijat
would feel like revolting against her mother; her mother appeared so heartless.
But she could do nothing. She would leave for school, resting her books on her
chest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Parijit’s mother used to say that
Grandpa was an irresponsible man. He had done nothing in his life except maybe
for being involved in the fight for freedom of the country. Grandma used to do
everything right from looking after the lands and the men working there to
collecting the rents from the tenants. When the country got freedom from
British rule, Grandpa did not do anything; neither service nor business.
Neither did he look after his lands nor did he take part in politics. Instead,
he spent most of his time drinking. He used to ask Grandma for the money
received from rents and then blow it away drinking. Even though he used to
drink, he was never ill-mannered. He would drink and come back and sit with
Grandma in the kitchen. Even the members of the extended family sharing the
same courtyard never used to know when Grandpa came into the house or when he
left.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Gradually as Grandma was not able to
move, she could not look after the field or manage the labourers working in the
fields. She could not collect rents from the tenants and all the houses in the
town had to be locked. At that point, Grandpa
gave up drinking and began using opium. Grandma died. As a result of her death,
Grandpa did not have money for opium.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Parijat was not aware of when Grandpa
had started asking for money from her mother. But whenever he came to their
house, both Parijat and her mother could understand that he needed money. As
soon as she saw Grandpa her mother would start getting irritated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">In a similar way, Parijat’s son did
not like many things about her; her rounded and healthy arms, her way of giving
opinions on everything like a wise person, her habit of murmuring songs to
herself in the bathroom and kitchen. Parijat could not please her son by
putting on an ordinary saree; she could not feed on stale food; she could not
pretend to be an innocent country woman from the village. Perhaps he preferred
a mother like Yasoda .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Had Grandpa been as worthless to her
mother as Parijat was to her son? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">PART VII<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Parijat was getting pulled without
being aware – just like a dry piece of wood being washed away by the force of a
wave or maybe like a flower falling off from the tree and being taken aimlessly
by the wind. She was thinking about right and wrong, virtue and vice. Under what circumstances, under what
pretense, and whether it was an auspicious day or a dreadful one, she could not
fathom how it all happened. She was swimming further and further away from her
place of origin. When she was in the middle of the river, she realized she had
a family, had children, had dreams, and had happiness as well as miseries. How
could she give up her world at this time? She was against her world without even
realizing it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Parijat was absentminded, as if she
didn’t exist in this world. When her son would come back with a bruise on his
knee after falling off his bicycle, she would not say, “oh” out of pity;
neither was she upset nor did she run hither thither. It was as if this
accident had a place in the list of events that details the good and bad things
of life. When Aravind would come back from office with a fight with his boss,
she would not go to him to offer any consolation. When her daughter would fail
her literature exam, Parijat would not give any long lectures on the importance
of the mother tongue and the motherland.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">She was thinking of something and
getting excited. She wet her eyes out of frustration. She had something which
was her very own, very secretive which no one else could get any trace of. She
felt she was getting younger. She loved watching herself in the mirror.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">She said, “There is no difference at
all between love and spirituality. Both of these things make you disenchanted
towards the world. Both these things rest on intense madness. The desire to
become one is prevalent in both these things. The road leading to both these
things is crooked and never straight. Both these things embody similar entities
and experiences.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Aravind would laugh at her words and
questioned, “Are you in love? Are you thinking about doing research on ‘love
and spirituality?’ Are your limits only till love or are you up to any execution?
You may become the second <i>Osho</i>, who
knows?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Parijat did not give any response to
him. But Aravind did not keep quiet. Once he observed, “Your cheeks are looking
pink these days.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Parijat replied, “What rubbish! At
this age, the skin dries and starts shrinking.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">At another time, Aravind observed, “How
amazing. You don’t have your irritating habits anymore. Surely something has
happened…….”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Parijat used to get scared. Is Aravind
suspecting anything? But why would he? Parijat is spinning around like a top
for his family. She looks after everyone. She does not even have a moment for
herself. When she used to analyze all these things, she felt this secret
liaison was even more meaningful and valuable. She wanted to treasure this
relationship with care.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">One day, Aravind appeared very
romantic. He touched her everywhere lovingly. Parijat looked at him with
surprise. As he talked about many things that had happened between them, he
said, “Don’t think that I don’t trust you or don’t feel bad that I am asking
you this. Everything is possible in this life. Can anyone control incidents? We
have become dependent on each other after living together in a family for such
a long time. Is it possible for anyone to leave? So even if something has
happened, never ever contemplate the idea that we will leave each other. I am
only curious to know, do you have anyone other than me ……….. I mean, have you
been with someone?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">It would have been different had Aravind
asked me straight instead with all these words. As Aravind was trying to show
that he was a gentleman, she was wondering whether it was right to tell him the
truth or not. At this moment, the door bell rang and Parijat left where they
were to open the door -- just like it happens in the climax of a drama. The neighbour
had come and was sitting in the drawing room. The children had started arriving
one after the other as well. That day that incident ended with that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">The love of that day was not there the
next day. Aravind had changed his countenance to gather information much like
loving a small child at one moment and slapping him in the next. The stored
suspicion inside him took the shape of irritation. They started fighting over
trivial things. Parijat tried to make her presence as insignificant as
possible, as if she had become an untouchable and despicable prostitute.
Sometimes she thought she would tell him everything. But she did not know what
to say, how to say it, or where to start from.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Should she say that as soon as night
falls, her mind gets excited and she gets perturbed? After everyone goes to
bed, he comes in the depth of the night with soft footsteps. The scent of his
body enchanted Parijat. The whole house starts smelling. He comes and stands near her. He kneels down
near her bed and caresses her lips. As if entranced, Parijat lends her face,
hands, and feet and then submits herself completely to him. She would expand
herself in a loving way. The beat of the wall clock reverberates to her rhythm.
Her mind and body go from a state of sheer pleasure to a state of intense
pleasure. She has never experienced such pleasure in all her long married life.
She feels as if her life is now worthless without him. Before he leaves, she
clasps her lips to his pushing her tongue inside them. She sucks in the thin lips.
And then...night gives in to dawn and another day begins.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Sometimes her mind got disturbed even
before it got dark. She felt maybe he would not come that day. And when she
thought about that, tears started welling up in her eyes. She remembered the events
of the night before and her love area would begin to quiver and moisten in
anticipation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">But would Aravind have the patience to
listen to all this? A few days passed as Parijat was pondering over whether she
should let Aravind know these things. All of a sudden, one day she felt that
there was no need to hide it from Aravind any longer; she should tell him. At
least then, she would get some reprieve from the tension and anxiousness. As
she told him, Aravind laughed as he listened to everything. The next moment he
became serious and said, “Psychic!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">They used to say the same thing about
Rina Mahanty when they were in college. Rina was one of her roommates in room
23 in the ladies hostel. She was not like Parijat or her friends. For example,
she used to remain quiet and serious all the time. She never sat at the table
when she studied; she always studied on the bed. On her bed, She would spread a
white sheet. On that clean bed with the white sheet, she used to keep a
one-and-half-foot (46 cm) statue of lord Krishna fixed in his three-dimensional
leaning posture. At night, she would sleep next to the statue of Krishna. She would
never say anything about her relationship with Krishna. The girls used to
address her as <i>Meera</i> behind her back.
The girls from other rooms in the hostel would ask Parijat, “Please tell us,
does she <i>really</i> sleep with the statue
of Krishna?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Further, Rina never went to the dining
hall preferring to take her meals in her room where she would spread a sheet of
plastic on the bed and eat as if she and her Krishna were eating together.
Rina’s love for the lifeless statue gave her pleasure and it surprised her as
well. This love affair with a lifeless statue was ridiculous when compared to
watching the lively couples in front of the ladies hostel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Rina had only shared a few secrets
with Parajit during her two-year stay with her at the hostel. One of those
secrets was that she would never get married. She claimed she had everything that
one gets from marriage so she could not see any reason to get married.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Parajit used to think Rina was
psychic. Other girls thought she was half-mad. And now, just like after
listening to everything, Aravind told Parajit <i>she</i> was psychic. She did not
know exactly what Aravind thought of her but now, he wanted to know more and
more about her lover. Every morning he would ask, “Did you dream last night?
What happened? Tell me all the details.”
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Generally, her lover would not come
every night. So often, Parijat would reply, “No, he did not come last night” to
Aravind’s queries. He would ask things like, “What does her lover look like?
What would they talk about? What things does he prefer?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Apart from Aravind, there was now another
man in Parijat’s life. Both Aravind and her accepted this new relationship as a
very natural arrangement and embraced it. Nothing unusual happened. On the
contrary, Aravind was incarnated as her lover and Parijat got excited to accept
the ‘new’ Aravind in this state.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">When everything appeared normal,
Aravind’s satirical remarks, or his undertone words between them, or maybe the
youth-like attitude of Parijat caused her daughter to be become suspicious and
sense the presence of someone else in their family of four. She was always
vigilant to know about him. When the postman delivered letters, she would
examine the address to check if the handwriting belonged to any man. When the
phone rang, she would secretly pick up the other line and try to listen in on
the conversation. In spite of everything, she never seemed to be able to find
out who the fifth person was, who breathed in the house, and who had the right
to freely enter her parents’ bedroom.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">One day, Parijat noticed there was
water in her moisturizer bottle. Someone had squeezed the face pack tube; the
lipstick had been smudged and spoilt. One by one, strange incidents occurred.
She could not find her pearl necklace after looking everywhere; she noticed someone
had cut a big piece from her pure silk <i>saree</i>. She was upset and cried; but still could not
find the culprit. She also did not
understand why but she suspected her daughter was behind all these actions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">The reason behind this suspicion was
her daughter’s behaviour. The attitude
of her daughter towards her was slowly changing. Her daughter had blunt answers
for everything; she defied every instruction; she would knowingly do things of
which Parijat did not approve; she would get irritated for no rhyme or reason. She
had already used improper words on more than one occasion. This made Parajit
realize her daughter was very angry with her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">One day, her daughter announced, “You
think I don’t know anything? Do you realize, I know everything about you?” These
questions used to scare Parijat. There were many secrets in a human being’s
life; things that cannot be shared with anyone; that have to remain secret until
death. Those secrets get buried or get burnt with the body after death. What
secrets does her daughter know? She wondered.
Now, Parijat felt a little subdued.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">One day her daughter told her, “There
are big black circles around your eyes; you look like a ghost.” Maybe she
wanted to hurt her or she said that maybe for some reason. After saying those
words, her daughter satirically laughed at her. Parijat would never forget her
daughter’s laughter on that day. As a result of those remarks, Parajit’s
attention kept on going towards the mirror continuously to look at the black
circle around her eyes. Her daughter watched her very carefully and gradually
realized what she had said to her mother that day about her face had deeply
hurt her. So maybe to further irritate her or may be to hurt her, her daughter
then remarked, “Your skin is loose and you look like an old woman. Really, how
dark you have become.” Once she even plucked a white hair from Parajit’s hair
and flaunted it in front of her mum’s eyes and laughed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Parajit was breaking into pieces at
her daughter’s words but also begrudgingly realized they were not all that
exaggerated. Sometime, as if to appease her daughter, Parijat would say, “Yes
my dear, I have become old.” But even then, her daughter’s anger would not
subside. But why was she so angry? What was Parajit’s fault?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">One day, not being able to take it
anymore, she ordered her daughter, “Please speak out whatever complaints you
have against me; just say them openly. I cannot tolerate your behaviour
anymore. But remember, my life is mine and your life belongs to you alone. From
now on, I will not interfere in your life and you will not interfere in mine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Her daughter remained serious for a
while. Then she angrily spit out with condescension, “Disgusting.” Parijat
asked, “What is the reason for your hatred?” Her daughter replied angrily, “Oh
hell, don’t irritate me Ma.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">(Translated
by Gopa Naik<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt;">Edited
by Paul McKenna)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
</div>Sarojini Sahoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06356168164108611237noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613632675367188848.post-85045508029355808332012-06-20T16:22:00.000-07:002012-06-20T19:16:58.854-07:00MY STORY SERIES - 2<br />
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<h2>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Dreamer</span></span></h2>
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<h3>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Sarojini
Sahoo</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> (The story was originally written in Odia and
has been included in her anthology <i>SRUJANI
SAROJINI</i> under the title ‘Swapnabhuk’. It was translated in to Bengali by
Arita Bhowmik as ‘Jara Swapna Dekhechhilo’ and was included in author’s short
story collection <i>Dukha Aparimit</i> (ISBN
978 984 404 243-8), published from <st1:country-region w:st="on">Bangladesh</st1:country-region>
by Anupam Prakashani, Dhaka. The Hindi translation of this story by Dinesh
Kumar Mali is going to be included in
author’s next publishing book <i>Sarojini Sahoo Ki Dalit Kahaniyan </i>,publisher:
Yash Prakashan, Delhi.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mother was combing their hair very neatly. Their hair had not been oiled
for a long time; it was dry and waving around. She had gone to Sabari and asked
for oil for one rupee. Sabari made oil by grinding castor seeds. She sells them
to the shopkeeper and kept a little leftover from that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mother did not have any money. She said, “Keep this glass as a deposit.
When I get money, I will pay you back and then take the glass back.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Sabari twisted her mouth and said, “What will I do with the glass? A steel
glass is the same as broken clay to me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mother said, “I have a brass bowl, but I am attached to that bowl. When
I look at the bowl I feel as if I had a bowl of rice. Don’t turn your attention
to that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“If you could feel your stomach just by looking at the bowl, why would
you want to keep your glass with me? Show me the container. I treat your
daughters as mine. Go. Get lost from here. I don’t have time for you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mother was very happy. She mixed water to the oil and put it on their
hair. While combing their hair in the wooden comb, she also killed a few lice
as well. But she did not know how to make braids. She had never braided
anyone’s hair before. She still tried but wasn’t happy with the result.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Her elder daughter said, “<i>Maa</i>,
you leave it. Let me braid her hair.” Now the elder baby took the place of her
mother. Her mother got up and went inside. Elder daughter said, “Mother does not
know anything. Don’t you see? She wanted to get coconut oil from the shopkeeper
but finally she settled for castor<i> </i>oil
from Sabar<i>i</i>. Your hair has gotten so
stuck together that the comb cannot go inside now. You have to look at the
granddaughter of Pradhan. See how she pulls the hair from the sides of her ears
and has two braids and then joins them with the braid in the centre? I also
know how to make braids like that. However, mother has got castor oil so the
hairs are twisting and looking like the tail of a mouse.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The younger daughter was very disappointed when she heard about the tail
of a mouse. She ran and got a small mirror and started looking at her face
closely. She looked at her face while twisting her lips and blowing her cheeks.
Her hair was looking like a newly tarred road. Her forehead appeared broad. She
gave the beaded hair band that she had once bought from the market to the elder
sister and said, “Put it in the beginning of the braid; if you put it on the
end it won’t show.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Then what should I put in the end?” her elder sister asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Put your ribbon there,” she replied, pointing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“If you will put everything, what will I put?” her elder sister
questioned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The younger baby did not say anything. She knew that her elder sister
did not have to go anywhere. However, she did not say a word fearing that her
mother will be angry if she said that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The elder daughter braided her hair neatly and put the beaded rubber
band at the beginning of the braid and put a ribbon at the end, making the
ribbon look like a flower. She wet the end of her saree and wiped her younger
sister’s face, who then looked at her reflection in the mirror, smiled, and ran
out of the house.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Then elder daughter then combed her own hair with a comb. She parted the
hair into three sections and braided them. While pulling the thread from the
roof to tie the end of the braid, mother came out of the house and shouted,
“What did you do with the red ribbon? Why are you putting on this dirty
thread?” Mother did not approve of the elder sister’s hairdo but kept quiet
because as she did not know how to braid hair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mother handed her elder daughter a wooden charcoal and instructed, “Go
and get your teeth cleaned.” She also told her if she took a bath also, then
she could put on a nice saree as well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The elder daughter took out a red printed saree from a box and looked
for her younger sister. The younger one was chatting with two other girls on
the village road. The elder daughter called her in a loud voice and she came
inside running and asked her elder sister, “Why did you call me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Let’s go to the canal,” the elder daughter replied. She went inside the
house, got a saree from the box, and said, “Let’s go.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Both of them had grown up together. The elder one had inherited her
looks from the father and so looked a bit rough. The younger one looked exactly
like their mother, always with a smile. Since childhood, both of them had gone
together to fetch <i>mahula,</i> to cut sticks
to make brooms. They also went together to pluck <i>kendu</i> leaves. Sometimes, they even collected the seeds of the <i>sala</i> tree.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Their mother exchanged the <i>mahula</i>
flowers for salt and rice from the shopkeeper. Both sisters put the <i>mahula</i> sticks meant for the broom on
rows to dry on the village road. When
the sticks dried up, the two sisters put the sticks together, braided them, and
made them into brooms. While the brooms sold for five rupees at the market in
Dharmgad, in their own village, they got two rupees for a piece. A hundred <i>kendu</i> leaves fetched one rupee. These
are not everyday earnings. But they didn’t always get <i>mahula</i> or <i>kendu</i> leaves.
Sometimes they come back empty-handed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When that happened, mother would shout at them and try to hit them,
accusing that they just came back without anything. Then, both of them would
run away to collect some roots to eat and would be starving. Their stomachs would
make all kinds of noises, always prompting her to ask her elder sister, “Listen
Didi (elder sister}, put your ears here. The birds are chirping.” Her elder
sister would sit down and put her ears to her stomach and would smile when she
heard the sounds. Then she would say, “Wait. Let’s listen to the sounds of the
birds in your stomach.” When her elder sister stood up, she would put her ears
to the elder sister’s stomach, listen carefully, and say, “Didi, I can hear a
sound like ‘kan’ in your stomach.” Both of them would laugh their hearts out.
They would each pluck a bunch of <i>Kurehi </i>flowers
and put them in their hair and would set out to look for roots to eat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mother did not let them go for <i>kanda</i>
that day. They did not go near the bushes, and didn’t even cross the canal. Mother
said, “I have already made contacts. Everything will be alright. You will see
how our days of misery will be over soon.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Their father used to say the same
thing. “Our misery will be over.” He said that and set out with their two
brothers one afternoon in the scorching sun. They never came back. Mother said
their father had little brains and that if he had them, he would have gone to
Raipur. Many from their village went to Raipur, the city within their reach. No
one knew where their father went. They could not reach there. He never came
back after he left that day. Her mother said their brothers must have become
rich and settled down there with their families. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">They had been listening to the story since they were five or six years
old. They were very young then. Their father left the village with several
other people from the village. Mother had gone up to the end of the village to
see him off and had said, “Please feed the boys. Come back as soon as you
finish the work.” But neither their father nor their brothers ever returned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mother borrowed money from local money lenders by keeping their things,
one by one, as collateral. But their father and brothers never came back. Mother
had brought the girls up
by working on the farms of people and taking care of goats. But neither her father
nor her brothers ever returned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">One day, Purandar Majhi and Sanatan Nag returned to the village from one
of their many trips. People from all over the village heard of their arrival
and flocked to their houses. By then, Purander Majhi’s father had passed away and
Sanatan’s wife, Katayini, had left the village. Sanatan Nag looked like an old
vulture; Purander was limping. Their master, it seemed, never gave them any food.
They said that they had not seen their father.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The water in the canal only covered their feet. Elder sister scrubbed younger
one’s skin and gave her a bath. She put water on her by folding her palms.
After her bath, younger one asked, “<i>Didi</i>,
will I put on your red <i>saree</i>?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Elder daughter laughed and said, “How can I wear your <i>kurta</i>? You may wear the red <i>saree</i>, if you want.” Elder one squeezed
the wet saree, folded it twice, wrapped it around her body, and returned home.
Both of them chatted on their way home. Younger asked her elder, “Wasn’t mum
mentioning that someone’s coming to our home today?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Yes. Ravi Nahak will come,” the elder one replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The younger one responded, “<i>Didi</i>,
the birds have started flying in my stomach.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> “Oh no, I can’t put my ears and
listen to them now,” her elder sister said repulsively.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Then the younger one continued. “Look <i>Didi</i>, cucumbers are hanging from creepers in Pradhan’s garden.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Don’t look inside there,” the elder one ordered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“What would I lose by looking at them?” the younger one questioned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Elder daughter then got angry and said, “If you keep looking at them, I
am leaving.” She did not stay there and younger one then followed after her
elder sister.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When they came home, mother shouted at her younger daughter when she saw her in the red saree. Even the
elder daughter had to listen to accusations from their mother. Finally, younger
one put on her frock and her elder sister wore the saree.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">They went over to the verandah and sat there. Their mother had opened
the door and it seemed was whispering with somebody.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>Didi</i>, the bird in my stomach has started chirping again. Mother is
really foolish to get oil in exchange for the glass. Would it not have been
better if she had gotten some rice from the shopkeeper?” Then after a short moment, she continued, “You
sit here. I will be back shortly.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The younger one then ran to the village road. Her elder sister yelled
from behind, “Don’t enter Pradhan’s garden,” not sure if she heard it or not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Meanwhile, mother was painting the mud wall and muttering accusations on
Ravi. Elder one was sitting in the same place when the younger one came back
with a few water lilies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Elder asked younger, “Where did you get those water lilies?” She did not
answer. “Nobody saw you when you entered their pond?” the elder questioned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The younger one replied, “I did not enter the pond. A man was going to
the temple with the flowers on a bicycle. I just got four of them.” Mother then
snatched the water lilies from her hand and went inside. The boiled stems of
the water lilies were very tasty. She had eaten them once.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Evening approached beginning an end to the day. Mother was still accusing
Ravi and his forefathers. Younger one was too scared to ask her elder sister
why mother was scolding elder. None of them ate anything that night. Instead, all
three of them shut their doors and went to sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Younger one woke up at daybreak with the call from her elder sister. “Wake
up, wake up,” the elder was yelling. “Let’s go out and see where mother has
gone early in the morning.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“She must have gone to the fields”, younger replied to elder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“No I don’t think so. How can she be in the fields for so long? I have
been awake since when it was still dark and mother was not here then either.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Then she must have gone to the forest,” younger said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Both the sisters huddled together. Mother was not back. Elder sister
brought the broom and started sweeping the verandah. Then she mixed coloured
mud with cow dung and wiped the mud oven. Still their mother was not back. Younger
one worried, “<i>Didi</i>, let’s go and look
for mother.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Elder’s face appeared as if she would break down into tears. She said,
“Should we inform Aunt from next door?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">They did not know what to do. Finally, both of them got out of their
door of dried leaves. On the way, their aunt caught them and asked, “Where is
your mother? I haven’t seen her since morning?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“She has gone to the forest to dig some roots,” the elder one responded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">There was no forest anymore and whatever they referred to as forest did
not have any roots which they could use as food. “Where has mother been since
morning?” the aunt pressed on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The girls had not eaten anything the night before. Their mother must
have gone to get something. Younger one’s attention again went to the cucumber
in Pradhan’s garden. She said, “Look <i>Didi</i>,
it’s been hanging there since yesterday; no one has plucked it yet.” Elder gave
younger a sharp slap on her hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">She screamed and shouted, “Why did you hit me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“You don’t look that way. Pradhan’s farm worker will hit you naked,” the
elder responded angrily.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Finally, they saw their mother coming from afar swinging on the borders
of the fields. “There she is,” younger one said and left her sister and ran
toward her mother. Mother was carrying half a kilo of rice in her <i>saree</i> and two fish in a polythene bag.
Younger was so happy to see the rice and the fish that she shouted, “<i>Didi</i>, we will have a feast in the house
today.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The elder one, who by now had caught up to her, put her palm over the
younger sister’s mouth and said, “Shut up. Somebody may hear you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“So what? Let everyone hear that our mother has brought home rice and
fish.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Her elder sister eyes started glistening but again, the light went out
in them. Maybe they were subdued because she was thinking how her mother got
the money. Moreover, where had she been so early in the morning?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The elder one did not move forward but kept waiting there under the <i>Peepul </i>tree. However, the younger one ran
over to her mother. Her elder sister cut a grass with her teeth and started
sucking the juice but then remembered the brass bowl that was in the house wasn’t
there anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">After their mother joined them, all three of them started walking. The
elder one asked her mother, “Did you give the brass bowl to the shopkeeper?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mother answered, “Why would I give that to the shopkeeper? That’s the
only thing left.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The elder continued questioning their mother. “Where did you go early in
the morning? Why didn’t you let us know before you left?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“I have been to the nearby village. If I had not left early, how could I
return now? If I were late, I could not have met him?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Whom did mother want to meet?” the elder asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Ravi,” she flatly replied. “You know, these people are very shrewd. He
had come to our village yesterday but left without meeting me. I went early in
the morning so that I can meet him before he leaves for the town.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The elder decided not dig for any more information, having the wisdom to
figure out what was going on. Her mother said, “Let’s go home as soon as we
can. We have a lot to do.” So the three of them walked as fast as they could
and reached their home. Fortunately, the woman next door woman was not there waiting
at the doorstep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Her mother sent younger one to the neighbour’s house to get some fire in
the metal ladle. They had not lit their oven the night before so there was no
fire in the oven. She jumped up and got hold of the iron ladle and was leaving
for the neighbours who lived inside the village road when her mother called out
for her loudly from behind. As she came inside the house, her mother addressed
her in a very abusive language and said, “Don’t jump around about like that.
When you go to get fire, if you say anything to anyone I will choke you to
death.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">She started sobbing and said, “I won’t go until you give me a reason for
scolding me.” She was the youngest in the family and could never tolerate harsh
words from anyone. She could not help crying.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The elder one smiled and said, “Look at her, showing off.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mother asked her to come closer and said, “Listen, if you tell the neighbours
that we are having rice and fish, they will ask you a thousand questions. How
did you get them? Who got them? Your aunt next door does not tolerate us. She
will come and peep when we are having food.” She was satisfied to hear her mother’s
words. Even then, she danced her way through the village road to get a ladle of
fire. She could not suppress her happiness. After passing over four or five
houses, she was able to get a few burning wooden pieces.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">While mother was trying to put rice on the oven by blowing into the
wooden pieces, she gave her elder daughter a bit of oil in the small bowl and
asked her to go and take a bath quickly. “Wear the same saree that you wore
yesterday,” mother said to her and the elder one had put on the saree she had
worn the day before but had taken it off at night. Why is mother asking her
sister to wear the saree again the younger one wondered?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The elder one was getting ready to go to the canal. The younger also got
ready to accompany her elder sister. The elder’s face did not appear as lackluster
as the day before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Today, there was also more water in the canal compared to the day
before. Somewhere on the other side of the hill, it must be raining cats and
dogs. When there was rain on the other side of the hill, the water level on
this side always increased. When the water level increased, the water smelt
fishy and its colour changed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">As the elder one was happily taking her bath, putting her legs in the
water she said, “You know, you can have a stomach full of rice with fish that
is roasted on fire and smeared with garlic and chilies.” As the younger one took
off her frock and entered into the water, her elder sister said, “You have
grown up now. Why don’t you become intelligent? How can you take out your dress
and get into the water?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But the younger one got hurriedly into the water and asked her elder
sister, “Have you ever eaten fish smeared with garlic and chilies?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Yes I have eaten. You also have many times,” the elder stated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“When did I eat them?” she asked, not really remembering.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“When father was around. You were very small,” the elder replied. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">She quickly stepped out of the water and put on the dress. Her elder
sister said, “The stitches of your dress are coming out. Look how the stitches
have come out right from the underarm to the hand. Mother got this one from the
Pradhan’s house. It’s old.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Both of them came back after taking their baths. Her elder sister had
put turmeric on her dark face. Their mother took out a new blouse from a
polythene packet and gave it to the elder one and ordered, “Put it on.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When the younger one saw the new blouse of her sister, she became upset.
“You got a new one for her and why not for me? Look I am wearing a torn dress.
Look.” She lifted her arm and showed her mother as tears welled up in her eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mother did not know how to console her youngest daughter. She said, “Let
me first finish with your sister and then I will get for you as well, okay?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mother made elder one sit down on the verandah and combed her hair
neatly. She then brought a necklace of golden and black beads and put it around
her sister’s neck. She had a packet of designed <i>bindis</i> around her waist; she took out a <i>bindi</i> in the shape of the temple and put it in the middle of her
eyebrows and looked at her for a long time. No, she did not approve of it. Next,
she put the <i>bindi</i> in the shape of a
snake. No, even that did not satisfy her. Finally, she put a bindi in the shape
of a round wheel and said, “Yes, this suits you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The younger one was getting jealous seeing her mother decorating her elder
sister for such a long time. She stamped her feet and said, “Will you give me
some food to eat or will you carry on decorating her?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Wait. I will serve you shortly. Why are you shouting?” the mother said.
As she got up, she asked the elder one to put <i>kajal</i> in her eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The younger was very jealous and she got the impression that her mother
loved her elder daughter more than her. She wanted to put kajal in her eyes but
mother did pay any heed to her words. She was so upset that tears welled up in
her big brown eyes. Her elder sister hugged and consoled her and said, “Let’s
go and eat.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mother served them sticky rice on a steel plate. She had roasted the
fish and smeared it with chilies and mixed it well. The younger asked, “Ma, why
didn’t you put garlic?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Where would I get it?” mother replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">All three of them ate the hot rice from their own corner in the steel
plate. After eating, the younger one felt very heavy and sleepy. As she lied
down on the sack, she fell asleep...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In her dreams, the younger one saw the canal was full of rice and the
house was full of fish but not really. There was a feast somewhere. Everyone
was running around with buckets and ladles. The scene was similar to the feast
when Pradhan’s daughter got married. There were fish and rice. No, there were
shining fish in the canal and on leaf plates, with heaps and heaps of rice. Everyone
was just running around. In the backyard of the Pradhan’s house, someone was
cutting a big fish. That cucumber was also hanging in Pradhan’s garden as well.
Looking around, she saw many people sitting down and eating rice...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Just as she was getting tangled in her dream, she was awakened by her
mother’s call. She saw somebody sitting in their home. Still half asleep, she
was thinking, ‘Is this man, Ravi?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mother had been decorating elder one for the last three days for <i>this </i>man? He seemed quite over-aged. Mother
said to her, “Go. Go out and play.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">She was so surprised to hear her mother’s words. Was she still dreaming? “Go out and play.”
What words! Previously, when she went to play hopscotch on the village road,
she would be hit. She always heard her mother say, “The silly girl is drawing
lines and jumping over broken pieces of burnt earth. Wouldn’t she receive some
rice to eat had she gone to school?” She did not like going to school then. The
teacher would make her kneel down with stones under her knees. Sometimes, he
would even ask her to rub her nose on the ground. She did not go to school anymore.
Now she had grown up! It had been almost two years since she left school. She
had also forgotten everything about studies. After she failed for three times,
her teacher said, “Don’t come to school anymore. Leave your studies.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mother would insist on her going to school because she would get some
rice to eat as part of the midday meal programme of the school when she did attend. Once, her mother had gone
to school and fell at the feet of the teacher and pleaded with him not to
strike her name off the school records. The teacher was very angry with her
mother. “Your daughter will fail in one class for so many times. Do you think
that the government will be feeding her rice and <i>dal</i> till she is old? Give up on her studies. She is not meant for
them.” She was not exactly enjoying studying with youngsters and it didn’t
exactly help when the teacher was always insulting her all the time either.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">She was not to play hopscotch anymore either. She was with her sister,
sweeping the floor, cleaning lice from their hair, and going to pluck <i>kendu</i> leaves. And now, her mother asked
her to go and play? She was utterly surprised.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">She came out of the house and sat next to her elder sister and asked
her, “Who is that man sitting inside? Is he Ravi?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Her elder sister put her hand over her mouth and said, “Shut up.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Inside the house, mother and Ravi were arguing over the price of something.
“Thousand, twelve hundred. You think you will get it so cheap?” her mother loudly
quarreled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The man with mother was saying, “The current rate is thousand. If you
ask for two hundred more where will I get it? I am also a poor man like you my
dear. Do you think I am making any profit from this?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Her mother was saying, “Won’t you get your money back in two months? What
are you saying? ” Finally they settled for eleven hundred. Her mother asked,
“Do you want to see again? You had seen when you came.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The younger one thought to herself, ‘They did not have any land nor did
they have any cows; their only possession was the house. Why was the man
attracted to them?’ Although she thought to herself, she did not dare ask her
elder sister as her elder sister would again shut her mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">She had not gone to the toilet after waking up from her sleep and she
badly wanted to go to the toilet. She got up from the verandah to go to the
toilet. ‘Mother was waiting for this man for the last three days?’ she wondered
to herself. When she went to the toilet, she saw there were two young bitter
gourds hanging from the creeper. She touched the bitter gourds and expressed
her love to them. She could not help her excitement and ran and said, “<i>Didi</i>……….”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But her elder sister put her finger to her lips and said, “Quiet. Be
quiet.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">She then came closer and said, “Do you know there are two young bitter
gourds in the creeper?” Her elder sister was not happy. She was surprised that
her sister was not happy. She could not enter the house to give the news to her
mother. Mother and that man were still arguing inside the house.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mother said, “Look, the two of them don’t have the same strength; the
elder one has bigger arms and legs. She has got more flesh and she can do more
work. You can earn more.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“That’s true” said the man named Ravi. “However, look, does your elder
daughter have a smile on her face? She has a long face all the time. The
middleman will burst into tears as soon as he looks at her. He would say, ‘Whom
did you get?’ If the police notice her, they will think that we have tormented
her so much that her smile has disappeared from her face. I like the younger
one, no matter what you say. She is agile. Her arms and legs are steady. Her
eyes are very beautiful. She has got your features. She will be quite good for
work when she is fed and looked after properly.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">She turned to her elder sister with a questioning look. Her face had
become pale. She did not know what to say to her elder sister. She showed the
two bitter gourds behind the leaves and laughed. Yet her sister did not laugh.
‘My elder sister is really haughty,’ she thought to herself. ‘Why did her
sister always sit around with a long face?’ This Ravi person had also mentioned
the same thing!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mother then came outside and called out for the younger one. She ran up
to her mother inquiring why she called her. Her mother will get eleven hundred,
she thought. She was asking the man. Once her mother received the money, she
would ask her mother to buy a dress for her. She had a blouse for her. Would
she give it to her?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mother hugged and kissed her younger daughter and said in a tearful
voice, “You go with him. You will get a stomach full of rice to eat every day.
If you miss me or your sister, just ask him and he will bring you to the
village to see us.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">She felt like crying. Where would she go leaving behind her mother, her
elder sister, and her village? She could not tell her mother that there were
two bitter gourds in the garden.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The man lit a <i>bidi</i> , took two
puffs and said, “Come, let’s leave quickly. Otherwise, it will be evening by
the time we reach where we’re going.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mother said, “Let me comb the girl’s hair.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">He said, “Leave it. We will be late.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The elder one had gone somewhere; mother called out for her tearfully. The
elder came and stood next to her with her head down. Now the man said in a
threatening voice, “If all three of you start crying, people will gather
around. I am leaving. You are good for nothing. Come on, give me my money
back.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mother angrily responded, “Why are you behaving like that? All right,
leave the money. You go ahead. We will follow you. I will see her off till the
end of the village. You leave…….”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The man puffed his <i>bidi</i> and
left without taking the money. Her mother closed the door of leaves. She asked
her mother, “Why didn’t you return his money?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mother put the corner of her <i>saree</i>
on her mouth and said, “You go. You will get good food and live well.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“And then, what about <i>Did</i>i?
How will she get good food like me?” the younger daughter questioned.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">(Translated by Gopa Nayak and edited by Paul McKenna)</span></div>Sarojini Sahoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06356168164108611237noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613632675367188848.post-3744461265429608532012-05-12T19:35:00.000-07:002015-01-20T05:39:35.334-08:00MY STORY SERIES - 1<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Arial Unicode MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 22.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arabic Transparent";"><a href="http://redroom.com/member/sarojini-sahoo/reviews/review-waiting-for-manna">SORROWS UNENDING </a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Arial Unicode MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 22.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arabic Transparent";"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arabic Transparent";"><a href="http://www.sarojinisahoo.com/"><b>Sarojini Sahoo</b></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arabic Transparent";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">(</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Andalus;">The
story was originally written in Odia and has been translated in to English,
Hindi and Bengali. The Hindi translation of this story has been included in
author’s book <a href="http://pustak.org:2671/home.php?bookid=7947"><i>Rape Tatha Anya Kahaniyan </i>(</a>ISBN
81-7026-921-3), published by Rajpal & Sons, Delhi. Bengali translation has been included in her
short story collection <i><a href="http://www.boi-mela.com/Bookdet.asp?Bookid=15150">Dukha Aparimit </a></i>(ISBN
978 984 404 243-8), published from Bangladesh by Anupam Prakashani, Dhaka. The
English version has been included in author’s book <i><a href="http://www.flipkart.com/waiting-manna-8190695606/p/itmdyv7tufmnzzka">Waiting for Manna</a> </i>(978=81=906956-0-2), published by Indian Age
Communication, Vadodara.</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If Sonali had not snatched the pen from me, it
would never have fallen down. Mum had cautioned me repeatedly not to take the
pen to school. But it was so wonderful and beautiful that I was tempted to show
it to my friends. I would everyday play with the pen for sometime and then put
it in the locker. It was a foreign made pen which my Auntie had brought it for
me. Light glowed out from it while writing. A tiny watch was also mounted on
one end of the pen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mum said, “it must be very costly”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I had taken it to school to show to Premlata,
because whenever I told her about the pen she thought I was lying, and said,
there was not at all such a pen in the world. I had taken the pen to clear her
that I was not lying. Taking her to a corner of the field, I showed her the
pen. With a fear that it might be stolen, I didn’t go out during the recess.
Premlata had promised not to tell anybody about it, but disclosed to Sonali.
After the school closed down that day, Sonali asked me to show the pen. At
first I didn’t give her, and thought I would go home soon when the school bus
came. But the school bus was late. Mum had cautioned me never to come by
walking from school because there was a liquor shop on the way between the
school and our home. Drunken people would be moving intoxicatedly. Besides, the
path was horribly lonely, too. It would remain unnoticed even if one was
kidnapped. But the most important thing is the broken wooden bridge over the
canal. The canal was no more used; wild plants had grown, and it was chocked
with slush. Even if Mum had cautioned me, I would sometimes come walking with
my friends that way. Because, our school bus always used to reach our colony
very late as it had to ply on other road and to halt at all the places. And on
most days, it would arrive at our colony in the evening. If we would return by
walking we could reach home at least one hour earlier to our bus . But Mum had cautioned me never to come by
walking and I should have obeyed my mother’s advice. It was not fair to return
home by walking. Sonali snatched the pen from me, and it fell in the canal. The
pen was visible from above. If it would have been buried I would surely have
returned home weeping, and never remained stuck in the slush. Sonali and I
descended slowly down the bridge, and tried to hook the pen out with a stick;
but it wouldn’t come. Still I did not like to go home back leaving the
still-visible pen there. I stepped into the canal; my first foot sunk in the
slush. With a fear that I might get burred, I looked helplessly at Sonali, but
she asked me to go a little further and bring the pen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> My feet had been glued in the slush; I
couldn’t come out. I stretched my foot towards Sonali: Pull me out. But she
returned a few steps lest she should also sink down. And said; she would get
someone there; and left me. She went up the bridge, and could no more be seen.
And below – I, remained all alone there – amid the jungle of weeds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nothing goes right with me; this has happened even
before my birth. My mother says, I came to her womb unwanted. When she came to
know that I had been conceived she was unhappy the whole day. Thinking that it
would be a sin she did not kill me at that stage. Before my birth an astrologer
had told my mother, that she would give birth to a born-sick girl. She felt sad
at that moment, but forgot it afterwards thinking that astrologers always told
lies. But, perhaps the word of the astrologer came true. Strange things even
happened at the time of my birth. I had torn the sac in the womb. Mum crawled in
pain, and was rushed to the hospital. Doctor said both the mother and the child
would have died if there was a little more delay. A thief broke into our house
while we were in the hospital. And Mum said,”The child is inauspicious; thief
entered my house as she is born”. The thief was a stupid one; he left the gold
ear-ring my mother had kept carelessly on the dressing table thinking it was
spurious, and only took away the ten rupees from the drawer. I vomited blackish
in the hospital, Mum was scared. My belly was washed with pipes. And then as I
caught infection and diarrhea, I was given Saline treatment after even only two
days of my coming to this earth. I had had one or other ailment throughout. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I didn’t like my mother’s milk. She tried much,
but I would not at all suck. Rather I would sleep happily with the powdered
milk from a bottle. Know, why all this now comes to my mind? My Miss asked us
in the last test, to write an essay ‘an autobiography of a Dustbin’. I could
understand what it meant by ‘dustbin’ but could not understand what
‘autobiography’ was. With much difficulty I wrote a few lines. No one ever
throws dust in the dustbin; I had seen it and therefore, wrote: Dustbin says,
“Use me, use me”, but nobody uses it. Mum was pleased with the sentence, but
said I was wrong. Autobiography means story of one’s own. That is, I should
have written considering myself a dustbin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But the essay was very difficult, Mum? She said,
“Why difficult? We used to write in our childhood ‘Autobiography of an old ox’,
‘Autobiography of a farmer’ etc” “It would have been better if I had been asked
to write my autobiography.” Mum laughed, “How long have you lived that you
would write your autobiography?”, and went away. Sonali had not yet returned
with anybody, and I still there, stuck in the slush. Mosquitoes were a bother.
I was buried almost knee-high; and was sinking lower even with a little
movement. With such fears I could not drive the mosquitoes away. Why did I get
a name like Titili? (1) I cannot fly like them from flower to flower in the
wink of an eye. As I cannot be so agile and active like them, I have to bear
all the abuses at home. They all scold me saying lazy, dull and lethargic. Mum
says, after I was born, I would always get into sleep even before the milk from
the bottle was finished; and got moved me. No one in the hospital had ever
heard me cry. I was not crying or making limb movements like other children. My
elder brother takes me by calling ‘sister of Kumbhakarna’.(2) I love to sleep;
I love it very much. But no one likes me for this nature of sleeping. I fall
asleep while watching television. Get some beating as I drowse off while
studying. Mum says, this sleep is my enemy. It has stunted the growth of my
intelligence. It has obstructed all the paths to my brain. Therefore, I am so
dull in studies. Whoever has taught me, has become irritated in a few days, and
has beaten and scolded me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sometimes I feel as if I am born only to be abused
and beaten. And all this is only because of my studies. I remember many things,
but never studies. There was always a disturbance among my parents regarding my
studies. If Mum beats me in anger while teaching, Papa would rebuke her. And
when Papa sits teach me mathematics I cannot recall the tables. Sometimes I
cannot even recall the ninth table. Infuriated, Papa would press my neck, and
ask repeatedly, “Nine sevens are/ nine sevens are? Tell, tell quickly or I’
will kill you.” Mum would rush out of the kitchen and say, “Tell daughter, nine
sevens are sixty-three.” Papa would now rage upon her, “She has become so dull
only because of you. Don’t have a bit of patience!” And then, he would maul me
on my back. “Can’t say the ninth table, why should you need? You are born as a
curse for us!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mum would once again come out of the kitchen and
say, “How do you say such things to your own child?” They get into a quarrel
only because of me, that I feel anger with myself. In the quarrel mother always
succumbs to a defeat before the wide, infuriated eyes, and roaring of my
father. Mum weeps profusely. I wish to fondle her at such times.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I can’t remember studies but I still remember so
many things. When I was a child, I couldn’t write ‘m’ that Mum once again threw
me out. Everything looked dark to me for sometime; still the windows of
intelligence didn’t open up. So many tutors have been changed during my
childhood. When a new tutor came asking him to sit in the drawing room, Mum
would serve tea, and starts talking about me as one would talk to the Doctor
about one’s disease. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“The girl cannot remember studies. When she was a
child she would develop fits if there was a little high fever. She used to be
given medicine to keep her asleep. she is a bit dull perhaps because of that
,Of course ,she hasn’t had those problems after she was five .she has sound
mathematical intelligence; but fails to
cram up . IQ is also low .I am tired of trying upon her .see ,if you can ,,,,’’
And the tutor says, “If she is sound at
mathematics everything else will be all right .There is a different technique
of teaching ; you please don’t worry for her.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I felt myself as a serious patient at that time
.As my grand father ,when he was ill , had to be moved form one doctor to
another doctor ,one hospital to another ,and again to a nursing home- my
condition is also like that .He had same disease that blood circulation to most
part of his brain had failed .At home they were talking of a stroke .But ,has a great part of my
brain dried up ,and became a desert ?Well, is there so much desert in Africa ?
One is Kalahari, and the other is Sahara, but I always forget which one is in
south and which one is in north; and therefore, get some beating at school. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There are some children in our school who are even
duller than me, but Mahapatra miss beats me more, and scolds too. No one loves
me even at school. Like my grand father
shifting from hospital to nursing home ,I
have also changes many schools .All I remember about my first school is
that there was a bulky miss, who used to
hold my hand and make me write pages after pages. But I never write if she
dropped my hand .she would rage and roar, “I ‘will tie you to that mango tree.
The monkey will bite you,’’ There actually was a monkey in that tree; and I was
very much afraid of monkeys .I would close my eyes in fear when I saw its
teeth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sometimes my mother says in grief,” All fault is mine, Thinking that it will be convenient to me in my service, I
sent the girl to school even she was only two and a half years old , “ And if
ever I say the same thing to her with same anger, she would get angry ; and say
,” What else would I do ? Would I leave you alone with the house-maid? Wouldn’t
have you cried without seeing me for so long? You know, sometimes I find you,
when I return form office, lying with shit and pee in the napkin? There fore, I
sent you to school so that you would play with other children, and wouldn’t be
looking for me .But that miss ruined your future .I had told her that there was
no need to teach you. You would only go to school and return. Such was my discussion
with her,’’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I don’t know whether my mother did the right thing
with me or not. Unlike my brother I cannot replay anything promptly nor can I
nurture my anger upon mum for more than two minutes. My mother says, she made
my brother learn all the twenty-six English alphabets by making him write those
in the yard with a broken candle of the filter. Sitting him on the wing, she
made him learn the rhymes. While feeding him she would tell him stories about
Dhruba, Prahallad and Shravan Kumar, but that can not be possible with me. Her
service at that time was in much tension. And, she was in so great tension that
she was even thinking of quitting the job. She had to listen some grumbles in
the office if she was a little late to
arrive, or a bit early to leave. And perhaps because of this, she couldn’t take
much care of me. Mum says, my foundation is weak; therefore, I am always weak
in studies despite all efforts to teach me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If I tell mum the same thing, when she beats me
mercilessly, “you didn’t teach me from the beginning; why do you beat now?”,
she would get angry; and say, “most parents do not teach their children. Did
our parents teach us at home? You know, my father didn’t know what form I was
in. he didn’t even know whether my school name was Padmalaya or Aparajita.He
sent my uncle to get me admitted in school. My uncle couldn’t recall my name or
the year of my birth. He told my name as Yasoda, and guessed the year, and as a
result I still remain one year older than I actually am. I read with that and
became a somebody. Besides, the father of Annapurna, your class-mate, is a
driver; does he teach her? Still she comes out first in the form. The father of
Vaijayantimala is a watchman; yet how does she read well? One can read well if
one wishes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Yes, I remember from this name of my friends, that
the names of all my friends are like Annapurna, Vaijayantimala, Premlata and
Rupkumari. There are also boys in our forms with names like Hiralal, Jagannath,
Prasant and Baburam. My brother would always laugh at such old-fashioned,
humble names; and tease me saying, “You read, in a poor school; you don’t know
anything,” I always want to read, like my brother, in a big school. I told it
to my mother. She scolded my brother, “There is nothing like rich or poor in schools.
Therefore, you wear uniforms.” But I was obstinate to go to a big school. My
brother would tease me saying none of my friends’ fathers was rich; and I would
ask to take me to his school. My mother said, “How can you go? You don’t read
well!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> My brother and I took admission in the
best school of our city. My brother got admission after an interview, and my
mother had approached the principal for me. After reading in that school for a
few years, my brother moved to a more tip-top and best school , and I, to the
worst school of the city. Because, I didn’t at all read in that previous
school. Of course, when I was new in the school, my class-teacher would sit me
in the front row only because I was daughter of my mother, but could never
prove myself deserving for that row. I did not at all like to write anything.
Nor did I listen anything in the class. After I returned home, my mother would
go through the lesson-notes of my friends, and then help me finish the
homework, Gradually, I lagged far behind in my studies, just as I am now
sinking lower and lower slowly in this slush. Palommy, Arpita, Amrita and
others ridiculed me, and no more befriended me. Expert for one or two, I failed
in all other subjects. Our principal sent for my mother, and humiliated her.
But, is study the greatest thing in life? My mother says, “Yes, it is; and the
life of an un-educated person is dark”. Kiran, our house-maid has not read at
all; but she is so happy! Unlike me, she doesn’t have to remember the spelling
of distance or disturbance! I don’t know what happens to me that, if the first
letter of the word is‘d’, I read it as ‘donation’, although it is ‘duration’.
And, I would read ‘separation’ instead of ‘superstition’. I cannot understand
the difference between ‘constitution’ and ‘constituent’. I feel tired even at
the sight at the of a book, as if I have a very long way to go. I lose interest
in reading after only one paragraph.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">All the tutors who have come to teach me are of
different natures. Upon sometime, an unemployed engineering student used to
come our home to teach me. He would teach regularly for one hour. As he had
much other tuition, he would never stay even one minute more than his hour. He
would ask for the bulky lesson notebook as he came. He would always learn from
other students about our daily class lessons, and write the answers in my note
book. I would sit silently while he wrote the answer. He would, then, ask me to
cram those lessons by the next time he came; and would storm out of our house,
But he know well that I couldn’t cram anything. He would ask me questions as
the unit test approached; and I could never answer. He would, then, punish me;
make me sit like a chair; twist my fingers through pencil. And sometimes, he
would pinch my nose and ear, with the sharp nails on his left hand to bleed. I
cannot weep before him; tolerated everything silently. Mum could never know
anything as she was in the kitchen. But when she comes to know it later, she
would feel sorry, massage ointment and said she would ask the tutor that he
need not come anymore. But the next day, she would speak smiling, “Sir, please
don’t beat the girl. Her ear and nose had scratches yesterday.” Neither my
mother nor I was little satisfied with this tuition. My mother said it was
better to buy guidebooks than have a such tutor; he never tried to make me
understand the lessons. And my tutor was dismissed. Mum vowed that she herself
would teach me; and taught me too without caring for her household work; she
would make me finish my lessons regularly. But I would always get frightened
even at the sight of the teachers, and I could never show them my
lesson-notebook. There was not even a single red-mark in my notebook for
months. Out of shame my mother didn’t go to the school, lest the teachers should
counter-allege. Rather, she would often weep, blaming all this upon her luck;
and weeping she would say, “the doctor said when you were born that none of the
mother or the child would survive. But see you survived, and me too. You suffer
so much sorrow, so much beating and abuses; and thinking of you, how pathetic I
am!” seeing my mother weeping, I wipe tears from her eyes, and say, “please
don’t weep, Mum. I’ll read well this time.” Our principal flung away report
card of the final examination, and ordered to bring the parents. She showed the
report card to my mother, and said, “see it. Shall I promote the girl? It is
not enough to get the child admitted in a school; one has to teach at home.
I’ll drop this girl.” But God knows why my mother never told, “My son comes
first in the upper form of this school; I’ve never been a bit careless,” She
stood there with drooping head, and words did not come out through her lips. It
seemed as if she would break into tears with only a touch. I was astonished at
her patience. The Principal kept rebuking my mother as if she was a little
student. I wished to kick and turn down her chair. Mum did not speak anything
on our way home; not even during the meals. While going for rest, she said,
“why did you come to this earth dear? If at all came, why didn’t you take birth
in a wealthy family?” I didn’t say anything; not did I know what I should say.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My school was again changed. They brought me to
this school because the course here was lighter. It was really much lighter.
English of form one was being taught in form five. Still, I couldn’t do that. I
never like to read or write. My brother used to go on excursions to Mumbai and
Chennai; participate in science exhibitions. Also used to go for trecking on
behalf of school to Hill-Station. But in our school, we didn’t go even on
picnic. Our teachers always told against the Principal; and the principal also
dismissed them from their service. Atleast two or three teachers used to be
changed in a year. Hiralall here always pees in the school’s well. Baburam
broke his leg while jumping from the roof. Annapurna was a lice-headed girl;
and she always teased me because my mother still wore dress instead of saree. I
never wanted to read in such a school. I was aware of the nature of the children
of this school. So I didn’t want to bring the pen; but I had to bring only for
Premlata.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But, where is Sonali? Did she go back home? One
uncle passed here by bicycle. I called at him, ‘Uncle’, but he could not hear.
I have buried up to my waist; but what shall I do? Shall I really get buried
here to death? Sonali is not a good girl. I felt like weeping. My mother would
have waited for me at the gate unaware that I am here buried in the slush.
While scolding me, she says, “…. Go….die”, but really die, she will weep much.
She may weep now, but she will not have to weep everyday. Shall I die, then?
No…. I shall not. Because Mum had once shown my horoscope to an astrologer who
said, “She will not read, but her luck is not so bad. There is a danger from fire
for this girl, lethal danger….”. My mother wept profusely that day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I know, her in-laws will burn her to death….Why
don’t you understand, dear; even, well-educated girls are burnt these days
because of dowry. And, you don’t read, too. I reared you with so much care; but
someone will burn you….’, she began to sob as she said all this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So, I shall not die buried in the slush. Someone
must come and rescue me. I’ll be saved. If I die here now, how shall I be
burnt? No, I shall not die now. Even if I get buried up to my face, people will
drag me out with my hair. But, Sonali should have returned by now. Someone is
coming towards the bridge; I waited a cow passed after a few moments. But
someone must come, before night sets in. My mother will get worried and send
people to search me. They will open the locks of the school to search me; also
will be searched road sides and my friends’ houses. But will they look below
the bridge? Who knows? No, no; they must see, because I cannot die buried in
slush; I have to be burnt to death.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">© Author<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Sarojini Sahoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06356168164108611237noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613632675367188848.post-53772524294477602992012-03-01T17:43:00.004-08:002012-03-13T03:03:38.083-07:00Taking V.S. Naipaul to Task<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6KZdxrxXnGw/T1AlWyjtasI/AAAAAAAABJk/HDkuoV0qSY8/s1600/Naipual.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6KZdxrxXnGw/T1AlWyjtasI/AAAAAAAABJk/HDkuoV0qSY8/s400/Naipual.jpg" width="237" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">(<u>The Spectator</u> September 15, 2007 has published this cartoon of Naipaul drawn by Vasant Sarwate)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">In May 2011, talking to Royal Geographic Society in London, V S Naipaul, the recipient of the 2001 Nobel Prize in Literature, lashed out at female authors saying there is no woman writer whom he considers his equal. Even he claimed Jane Austen couldn't possibly share her sentimental ambitions, her sentimental sense of the world. He felt women writers were “quite different.” He said, “I read a piece of writing and within a paragraph or two I know whether it is by a woman or not. I think [it is] unequal to me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Without naming Diana Athill, Naipaul told that she was as good as a taster and editor, but when she became a writer, lo and behold, it was all this feminine tosh. Athill was Editorial Director of the publishing company André Deutsch for 50 years, and was the first person to promote Naipaul. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">In giving her response to Naipaul’s attack, Diana Athill felt the need to disinter this dreg. In her response talking to <u>The Guardian</u>, she told, “It seems very odd. He doesn't realise what a monkey he's making of himself.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">But what made Naipaul to describe women’s writing as ‘sentimental’ and ‘narrow?’ Naipaul chose the word ‘sentimental’ to describe the writings of women. If we suppose that the word was chosen carefully, then the implication is that Naipaul thinks the writings of women are swayed more by emotions rather than reason. Readers may mark Naipaul is not saying it in so many words; however, the context in which the word ‘sentimental’ was used has a pejorative connotation. Is the subordination of women by a construction of femininity does not allow them to be rational thinking subjects? But before looking into the matter, let us first decide what does ‘rational thinking’ mean here?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">When Thomas Paine’s <i>Rights of Man</i> was first published in England in 1791, it encountered a response like no other in English publishing history. The poor pooled their pennies, supplementing it with meager savings to buy the book. <i>The Rights of Man</i> became an underground manifesto, passed from hand-to-hand, even when it became a crime to be found with it in one's possession. But when it was printed in America, it created a new sensation. The book became a bible to thousands of citizens who dreamed of a free America. Time after time, when men were tried for treason, invariably the Crown offered as evidence to the jury the fact that these men possessed a copy of <i>The Rights of Man</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Mary Wollstonecraft not only appropriated a space for the rights of women to be discussed in <i>A Vindication of the Rights of Woman</i> (1792) but she also gave a literary reaction to Thomas Paine’s <i>The Rights of Man</i> (1791). Through an analysis of her text, I will assess the argument for the education of women which prevented them from entering into the public sphere of masculine Romanticism. The impact this had on female writers such as Jane Austen is presented in <i>Mansfield Park</i> (1814) which articulates, fictionally, Wollstonecraft’s concept of a rational woman in the character of Fanny Price. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Wollstonecraft and Austen both advocated women’s rights on the grounds of sexual equality but this position is complicated by the specificities of their own early in nineteenth century culture which tied the acquisition of equal rights for women to the issue of marriage and becoming better wives for men. In <i>Mansfield Park</i>, Fanny Price in could initially be read as the familiar Austen character. We are not simply being offered a woman’s view of life through Fanny Price but a questioning of the structures which gender rational discourse as masculine and therefore exclusive to men. The other women depicted in <i>Mansfield Park</i> are those ideological constructions of women by masculine rationalism who offer ‘a woman’s view of life.’<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Women’s writing has been accepted by patriarchal society as the manifestation of a woman’s view of life, a feminine Romanticism. The intention of women’s writing was not to offer a woman’s view of life but to bring to literature a social critique. No one asked or tried to find how the men’s view of life included the interrogation of patriarchal structures which bound literature to a gendered Romanticism. On refusing to support the notion of gendered writing, the rational rather than masculine discourse of Wollstonecraft in <i>A Vindication of the Rights of Woman</i> was an appropriation of a space for women to exist as literary writing subjects within masculine Romanticism.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Naipaul has decided rationalism or reason has nothing to clutch with emotions and that rationalism was only associated with a plain, factual, and methodical way to approach a problem and to obtain a valid and logical solution.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Descartes says that rationalism is independent and absolute of experience, whether Kant proposed it is critical that can be perceived is within the limits of the mind. Influenced by Descartes’ philosophy of rationalism, Spinoza adds approach to the emotions, which have implications for modern approaches to psychology. So it is very false to say philosophically that rationalism has nothing to relate with sentiments and emotions.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Kant, who discussed in detail the scope and limits of reason in his remarkable work <i>Critique of Pure Reason</i>, also saw emotions as an essentially curative phenomena, but grouped them with inclinations enticing the will to act on motives other than that of duty.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Those who, while arguing Naipaul’s misogynic comments, often cite Hilary Mantel, A.S. Byatt, and Iris Murdoch to stand with them as writers who are away from sentiments and who never write ‘feminine tosh.’ I want to ask what do these term ‘sentiments’ and ‘feminine tosh’ really mean? Isn’t the so-called rationalism defined and constructed by a masculine discourse and ideology, a ‘masculine rationalism?’ The gendering of rationalism, therefore, articulates the cultural understanding of the current literary scenario. Nobody, I found in Naipaul’s misogynic debate has raised any question on gendering rationalism.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">But in fact, reason is an instinct that is subject to humanities and the human intellect is limited by its physical and social surroundings which impose on it constraints that show its limitation. Mind is also a subjective entity influenced by group myth, group culture and social format and is responsible for the basic mental models used to structure social interaction. So, rationalism could not be above any social basic model like patriarchy and others. In her essay “The Ethics of Ambiguity,” Simone de Beauvoir claims that at one point or another, every human being will of necessity feel the ambiguity of his existence.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">So here are the two things I would like to consider: first, what is the ambiguity of the human condition? And second, how does this ambiguity affect the rationality of a human, if it has any effect at all?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Considering these group myths, prejudiced condition of mind with social formats, and the ambiguity of human existence, I think we have an open window to discuss more whether rationality is effected by patriarchy or not. And I hope the answer will be a positive one.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Now allowing rationalism to struggle with a question mark, let us return to misogynist discussed author. Naipaul is no stranger to his misogynistic comments and attitudes. In the past, Naipaul has criticised India's top female authors for their ‘banality’ on the topic on which he is best known for writing: the legacy of British colonialism.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Naipaul, famous for a caustic portrayal of his female characters, is a known misogynist and his once friend Paul Theroux, wrote for <u>The Sunday Times</u> in 2008 that Naipaul was “violent, unstable, a racist, and a misogynist.” Theroux laments that he had been forced to be kind in his book. He wrote: “I wanted to write about his cruelty to his wife, his crazed domination of his mistress (which lasted almost 25 years), his screaming fits, his depressions, his absurd contention that he was the greatest writer in the English language (he first made this claim in Mombasa at the age of 34). Theroux further wrote, ‘“I am a new man,” he assured me once, ‘as Montaigne was a new man.”’ But did Montaigne frequent prostitutes, insult waiters, and beat his mistress?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Slash, change; slash, change. Even so, when my book appeared, the reviewers howled at me for my audacity. “An unfair portrait,” “a betrayal,” and the usual jibes – all of them portrayed me as an envious upstart. Just a few weeks ago, in a sycophantic piece about Naipaul by a rival newspaper, my book was described as an example of “literary pique” because I had suggested that Naipaul was a monstrous egotist.( See: <a href="http://www.timesplus.co.uk/tto/news/?login=false&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.thetimes.co.uk%2Ftto%2Farts%2Fbooks%2F">http://www.timesplus.co.uk/tto/news/?login=false&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.thetimes.co.uk%2Ftto%2Farts%2Fbooks%2F</a>) <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">That Naipaul started to create controversy (for him, controversy was not new) was an old topic and in the June 1998 issue of <u>Harper's Magazine,</u> Francine Prose opened a debate through her essay “Scent of a Woman's Ink: Are Women Writers Really Inferior?,” in which she expressed her agony for neglecting female writers by insisting that despite the sales success of middlebrow “women's fiction,” as epitomized by Oprah Winfrey's hugely successful television book club, women writers of “serious literary fiction” don’t get any respect, not, at least, from “the more cerebral book-review pages and the literary prizes.” <u>Prose</u> has revived the debate by asking whether women writers are really more prone to “diminutive fictions, which take place mostly in interiors, about little families with little problems,” and are they really more inclined toward a soft, self-absorbed emotionality or not. Actually, <u>Prose</u> maintains that male writers do all of that just as women produce works that are “fiercely unsentimental, sharply observed, immensely ambitious and inclusive.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">In one of my old essays “It is Risky for a Woman to Deal With Female Sexuality in India,” I once wrote, “(Patriarchal readers and critics) are the ones who persist in seeing a fiction as inevitably colored by its author's gender, and the male critics always think that the domestic issues [like] love are of less consequence then the depth of thought produced by male writers?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">In short, it is a big question now who will determine the difference in importance between a woman's inner or outer life and a man's. The answer, until recently at least, has been men. Uma Parmeswaran once wrote an article on Kamala Mrakandeya at Sawnet where she described that Salman Rushdie, in his novels <i>Shame</i> and <i>The Satanic Verses,</i> raised the issues of race riots in Britain. But 20 years before Rushdie, Kamala Markendeya talked not only about the violence of racism but also about other diasporic realities: educational degrees that are not given accreditation, the resistance of immigrants to the expectations of the “host” culture, chasms of communication between generations, cultural values, and needless cultural baggage. But the male-dominated literary criticism placed Rushdie as a pioneer of diasporic struggle.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Our literature thus is highly male-dominated, and the hidden male-centric agenda masks the capability of the writings of women under the pseudo-mask of such biased universal standards of aesthetic judgments, to which Naipaul played a clever game at the Royal Geographic Society in London.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Before concluding this, I want to show my readers how our literary world is figured by a masculine shape. VIDA, an organization for women in literary arts, compiled a survey in 2010 and found in the UK, the <u>London Review of Books</u> reviewed 68 books by women and 195 books by men with men taking up 74 percent of the attention; 78 percent of the reviews were written by men. Seventy-five per cent of the books reviewed in the <u>Times Literary Supplement</u> were written by men; 72 percent of the reviews were written by men.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Meanwhile in 2010, <u>Granta</u> magazine, which does not review books but includes original contributions, featured the works of 26 female writers and 49 male writers, with men making up 65 percent of the total.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">In the United States, <u>The New York Review of Books</u>, in 2010, showed a stronger bias. Among the authors reviewed, 84 percent were men with 84 percent of the reviews written by men. <u>The New York Times Book Review</u> fared better. There, among the authors reviewed, 65 percent were men with 60% of the reviews being written by men. (See: <a href="http://www.vidaweb.org/the-count-2010">http://www.vidaweb.org/the-count-2010</a>) <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Returning back to Naipaul’s discourse, at last I want to quote the response of Diana Athill made after Naipaul’s attack. She comments, “When I stopped admiring him so much, I started writing ‘feminist tosh.’”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> There are many Naipauls today with their misogynic attitudes and agendas constantly revolving around us. Think what they could do if they held a sword instead of a pen!<o:p></o:p></span></div>Sarojini Sahoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06356168164108611237noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613632675367188848.post-14149972789223582712011-06-05T18:57:00.000-07:002011-06-05T19:05:24.601-07:00Sarojini Sahoo in Odisha TV<div><iframe width="425" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/aUGKVMi3amw" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; ">A distinguished bilingual South Asian feminist writer, and an associate editor , a feature oriented English journal Indian AGE, who has been enlisted among 25 Exceptional Women of India by 'Kindle' English magazine of Kolkata and has been conferred with the Orissa Sahitya Academy Award, 1993, the Jhankar Award, 1992, the Bhubaneswar Book Fair Award and the Prajatantra Award. She is also in the advisory board of Indian Journal of Post Colonial Literature; published from the English Department of Newman College, Thodupuzah, Kerala.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; "><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; "><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; ">In English ,one novel and two anthologies of short stories have been published to her credit so far . Bengali translation of two of her novels have been published from Bangladesh and in Oriya ,there are eight short stories collections and eight novels in published form to her credit.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; "><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; "><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; ">She is also a known blogger for her ideas in feminism and has gained world wide fame. Her Blogs are SENSE & SENSUALITY, FEMININE-FRAGRANCE and INDIA</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; ">Source: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aUGKVMi3amw">You Tube.</a></span></div>Sarojini Sahoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06356168164108611237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613632675367188848.post-55429836769680572242011-04-19T09:06:00.000-07:002011-04-20T07:55:41.270-07:00"As if you have been inspired by us by writing the novel..." Says a German poetess<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-M0H4SvDQVcY/Ta7qc9MuoYI/AAAAAAAAAsI/VzTInR92bEE/s1600/45162_147496625271299_100000328860954_307269_4441280_n.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-M0H4SvDQVcY/Ta7qc9MuoYI/AAAAAAAAAsI/VzTInR92bEE/s400/45162_147496625271299_100000328860954_307269_4441280_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597669170053292418" /></a><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://www.myspace.com/liria13"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >Silke Liria Blumbach</span></b></a>,</span> a German<span class="Apple-style-span"> <b><span class="Apple-style-span" ><a href="http://de-de.facebook.com/people/Silke-Liria-Blumbach/100000328860954?sk=notes">poetess</a>, <a href="http://www.linkedin.com/pub/silke-liria-blumbach/0/b66/58a">translator</a>, <a href="http://www.wearethelight.net/">blogger</a></span></b><span> </span></span>writes<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> a </span>few lines after reading my novel <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Dark_Abode"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" ><b><span class="Apple-style-span">The Dark Abode</span></b>.</span></i></a> I want to share her words with my readers:</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">"As if you have been inspired by us by writing the novel...</p> <p class="MsoNormal">You understand what few people understand: that a very deep love can exist between people who have never met in person.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After browsing the book, I have the impression that people reduce your writing unjustly to the mere aspect of sexuality, whereas you write about love and life in its fullness. Maybe you write about sexuality in a way it has never been written about before by an Indian woman, it may even be a kind of mission, probably it is also a great deal of sensationalism, but it is a reduction, and I can imagine that this reduction distorts also the image people may have of you and that this is not easy especially in Indian society.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">"Yet she could feel his presence every moment." - EXACTLY.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We have experienced so many things, and verified them empirically (e.g. by checking the time), which cannot be explained by science.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I wonder whether you or a relative or friend of you has already experienced such a love - your writing describes it all so exactly that it is hard to imagine that all these true, significative and characteristic details come only from your imagination."</p><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pWsc8Q37iFY/Ta7qV6n9qSI/AAAAAAAAAsA/PeftWjtZx4Q/s1600/mm3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 270px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pWsc8Q37iFY/Ta7qV6n9qSI/AAAAAAAAAsA/PeftWjtZx4Q/s400/mm3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597669049103132962" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: 15pt; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(34, 34, 34); "><b><span style="font-size: 11pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); ">Details of Book: The Dark Abode</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 11pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); ">Book: </span></b><span style="font-size: 11pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); ">The Dark Abode</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: 15pt; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(34, 34, 34); "><span style="font-size: 11pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; "><b><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt; ">Author: </span></b><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; ">Dr. Sarojini Sahoo</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: 15pt; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(34, 34, 34); "><b><span style="font-size: 11pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); ">Language: </span></b><span style="font-size: 11pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); ">English</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: 15pt; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(34, 34, 34); "><b><span style="font-size: 11pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); ">Translator: </span></b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); ">Mahendra Kumar Dash<br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px; "><b><br /></b></span></span></span><b><span style="font-size: 11pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); ">ISBN: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: normal; line-height: 22px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; "><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; color: rgb(153, 153, 153); ">8190695622</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "></span></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: 16.8pt; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(34, 34, 34); "><b><span style="font-size: 11pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); ">ISBN-13: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; "><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; color: rgb(153, 153, 153); ">9788190695626</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); ">, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; "><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; color: rgb(153, 153, 153); ">978-8190695626</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "></span></span></span></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: 16.8pt; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(34, 34, 34); "><b><span style="font-size: 11pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; "><span style="font-size: 11pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; "><span style="font-size: 11pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; "><b><span style="font-size: 11pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); ">Binding: </span></b><span style="font-size: 11pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); ">Paperback</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: 16.8pt; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(34, 34, 34); "><b><span style="font-size: 11pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); ">Publishing Date:</span></b><span style="font-size: 11pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); ">07.10.2008 </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: 16.8pt; color: rgb(34, 34, 34); "><b style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; "><span style="font-size: 11pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); ">Publisher: </span></b><span style="font-size: 11pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; ">Indian Age Communication </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><br /></span><b style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; "><span style="font-size: 11pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); ">Number of Pages: </span></b><span style="font-size: 11pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; ">174</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: 16.8pt; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; "><span style="font-size: 11pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span">( Online Source for free down load of full novel: </span><a href="http://www.scribd.com/doc/13579559/The-Dark-Abode"><b><span class="Apple-style-span">SCRIBD</span></b></a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: 16.8pt; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Online Purchase:</span><a href="http://www.flipkart.com/dark-abode-sarojini-sahoo-book-8190695622"><b> <span class="Apple-style-span">FLIPKART</span></b></a><span class="Apple-style-span"> )</span></p></span>Sarojini Sahoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06356168164108611237noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613632675367188848.post-76749545889802092872011-02-09T18:16:00.000-08:002011-02-09T18:21:03.988-08:00Excerpts from the book 'Sensible Sensuality'<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BwEJGsvYtiI/TVNK4mdmC-I/AAAAAAAAApk/51N4aCM9kvU/s1600/mm2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 265px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BwEJGsvYtiI/TVNK4mdmC-I/AAAAAAAAApk/51N4aCM9kvU/s400/mm2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571879500245240802" /></a><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"">Title: <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Sensible Sensuality</i></b><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"">Language: <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">English</b><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"">Genre: <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Essays</b><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"">Author: <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Dr. Sarojini Sahoo</b><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"">ISBN: <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">81-7273-541-8<o:p></o:p></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"">ISBN-<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">13: 978-81-7273-541-8</b><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"">Binding: <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Hard Cover</b><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"">Publishing Date: <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal">2010</b><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"">Publisher: <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Authors Press, E-35/103, Jawahar Park, Laxmi Nagar, Delhi- 110 092, email; authorspress@yahoo.com<o:p></o:p></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"">Number of Pages: <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal">184<o:p></o:p></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"">Price: <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">475 INR or 10 US $</b><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><span style="font-size:20.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"Bookman Old Style","serif"">Excerpt:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif""><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"">* I can say only in Oriental perspective. I think, sexuality has a major role in understanding feminism. Let us consider a girl’s condition in adolescent period. If she becomes pregnant, the male partner is not blamed for his role.it is the girl, who has to suffer.If she accepts the child, she has to suffer a lot in socially and if she goes for any abortion, she has to suffer emotionally for the rest of her life.In case of married woman, there are many restrictions with respect to sexuality whereas her male partner is free from these restrictions.Even now a days in Oriental countries, you can find most of the married woman are un known about their feeling of orgasm.If a female admits about her sexual pleasure, there may be every chance to misunderstand her as a bad woman by her own husband.She may be misunderstood for having pre marital sex.In the time of menopause, though except some biological phenomena, nothing has changed in sexual life , but a woman has to suffer a lot mentally thinking herself disable for sexually meeting with her husband.I think till now in Asian and African countries ,the patriarchy society has its control over sexuality .So, the women need two type of liberation. One is from financial slavery and another from sexuality. Women are always victims; men are oppressors. I believe in theory that "a woman's body, a woman's right."that means women should control their own bodies and people should take them seriously.( Page 16-17)<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif""><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"">* Like anger, fear, hatred, humour, love is also an emotion. This emotion, however, is different from other emotions because material elements like marriage, childbirth, divorce, dating, etc., build up upon this emotion to give a person's life a definite direction and shape. Love is the only emotion that channels itself into paving a path for our life. It is an integral complementarity of men and women, rather than the superiority of men over women or women over men. It is the sharing ness of emotions and of life. I think that it's more important to be a complete human being than a writer, or a feminist or any other label one may be known by but I also realize the reciprocal nature of living and writing. I believe that living gives you material (pleasure, pain, angst, loneliness, joy and what not) for writing while writing helps you interpret your existence in a meaningful way. I live, I write, I grow and live some more and write some more and hopefully grow some more)...That's my theory!(Page 138) <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif""><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"">*Monogamy is always a double standard activity by masculine world. It is deliberately an extremist idea which is built into its core rule that men can have multiple spouses but women cannot. Even worse, traditional polygamy is always used by the masculine world to exploit feminine world sexually. Women these days expect and demand to have the same standing in relationships as men. To which polygamy denies and women find a lesser status in such traditional polygamy . Either the polygamy turns to polyandry , where a single woman is sexually used by men or very soon she is rejected by her lover .The purity of love and the emotional bondage does not act in polygamy . On the other hand , by allowing monogamy we make ourselves confined to a double standard system created by masculine world .( Page 33 to 34)<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif""><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"">* Our feminist thinker always tries to skip the idea that offspring begging is a natural instinct of a woman and it is related to our ecological and environmental situation .Anything against it may resulted to disaster ,We find , a woman has to pass through a different stage in her life span and there is a phase where a woman feels an intense need of her own offspring .Feminists of second wave feminism have always tried to pursue a woman against the natural law because it is seemed to them that motherhood is barricade for the freedom of a woman . But if the woman has her own working field , doesn’t have it mean that her working assignments would demand more of her time ,of her sincerity and of course of her freedom ? If a woman can adjust herself and can sacrifice her freedom for her own identity at out side her home, then why she shouldn’t sacrifice some of her freedom for parenting, when parenting is also a part of one of her social identity ?And it could also be solved by rejecting the patriarchal role of parenting, .We have to insist the idea of the division of labor in parenting .This equally shared parenting is now common in Western ,but still in South Asian countries we find it as a taboo factor rather because of economic inequality between men and women, our crazy work culture, and the constrictions that are placed on us by traditional gender roles. (Page 40) <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif""><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"">*In this so called ‘sex war’, I think, the actual importance of the issues like ‘sexual freedom of a woman ‘ or ‘woman’s right over her body’ had been demoralized and became insignificant. . The sex negative feminists often forget that they accept the sex-negative characterization of feminism that has been imposed on us by people who are not feminists, and who in fact are generally our opponents . On the other hand the sex positive feminists also always forget that the value of sex depends on the people involved, what they want to get out of it, whether they’re able to achieve that, and whether they are causing harm to themselves or others. That requires the ability to think again while they are supporting pornography or prostitutions or BDSM . Sex never was introduced first in Human history as a tool for any exploitation or any hegemony. Sexuality is always an integral part of the personality of every human being. Its full development depends upon sharing ness of the satisfaction of basic human needs such as the desire for contact, intimacy, emotional expression, pleasure, tenderness and love. (Page 43 to 44)<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif""><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"">* The writing process is a sexual process. When a writer wants to expose a physical life or an energetic life, a creative tension and a flow of energy is generated in the creative process. This creative tension can be experienced as a sexual tension and the flow of energy creates life or describes a new life. Religion or society never cares for any artistic sensibility as Plato’s domination and so this inherent sexual influence over creativity has also always been denied by our sexual gurus. So, we find there are descriptions of fetishism, voyeurism, exhibitionism in the writings after the Second World War. We also find our writers/artists/musicians always have an inclination towards their sexual orientation and sexual behaviour and we encounter how much sexual desire they have.(Page60)<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif""><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"">* What I want to point out is that Kafka’s relationship with those close to him has always remained under suspicion and through his physical intimacy with other gender (say Gregor’s sister), it kept him away, mentally. This may be why Kafka didn’t find any particular success with relationships in his love life. Unable to reconcile his physical urges with his romantic longings, he had a series of prolonged, probably chaste, engagements that invariably ended in his breaking off the relationship. It makes a clear distinctive reason that the ‘suppressed libido’ of Kafka may have caused him to write a porno book along with all the other masterpieces he created. (Page 145)<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif""><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"">* It is interesting to note Radclyffe Hall’s Well of Loneliness has been declared as obscene and pornographic. I have never found any sexually explicit descriptions or the so-called ‘obscene words’ in that book. Nowadays, it is unbelievable to think that 80-90 years ago, the author was taken to court. I am never a supporter of ‘porno’ and I always believe that it makes woman a ‘product’ always associated with male-dominant consumerism. But it is also true that every sexually explicit topic is not ‘porno.’ I would be happier if Alan Moore would have used the word ‘erotica’ instead of ‘porno’ for his novel Lost Girls. ( Page 152 to 153)<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif""><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"">* If the myths are in any way to be considered as the reflection of ‘social ideas’ of any group or society, then we can say that with the development of patriarchal control over feminine civil rights, the sexual freedom described in those myths was cut down from the women’s world and transferred to the men’s world with anti-feminist moral milieus which gradually made the female a sex object, however powerful they might be in their goddess perspectives. This is a strapping point, I believe, that the sex negative feminists have to think of before raising their voice against the sex role attitudes of the female.(Page 55) <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif""><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"">*Though Milton appeared as a pro feminist in his free verse epic Paradise Lost, critics blame him for his misogynist attitude (See: Gallagher, Philip J: Milton, the Bible, and Misogyny; Publisher: Univ of Missouri Pr (April 1990), ISBN-10: 0826207359; ISBN-13: 978-0826207357) whereas there was no evidence of misogynist nature of Balaram Das. The sexual right is the main topic for Eve in Paradise Lost. Though Balaram Das wants to skip the sexual topics, still both the poets have made their stand nearer to the social right and social freedom of the feminine masses.It is also an amazing fact to mark that the pro-feminist voice was raised in Eastern world at least hundred years before the Western could think over it. ( Page 130) <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif""><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"">*Art is not what you see but what you make others see. What is important is how one views life as a whole and hence, the reader's psyche has indeed a lot to do with how the work is interpreted. I don’t blame Joyce, as some feminist critics did, for being unjust to Nora. Writing is a total difficult and complex process. An author has to make himself/herself a multi-winged personality -- one goes above the surroundings and canvas so that the author him/herself could observe everything with full objectivity. Another enters into the character. And the third one assimilates an author’s self with the character. So, when Joyce tries to paint Molly in Ulysses and Bertha in Exiles, we find not the Nora, but the Joyce with his ‘manly woman’ personality. As Richard Brown explains about Molly, she “surely does represent a new kind of fictional woman: massive, potent and self-possessed. Though few modern feminists have wished to avail themselves of that image of femininity, it was evidently one which Joyce constructed out of his own version of feminist literary tradition, and its obtrusive sexual dimorphism is conceived as a vindication of, rather than an attack on, femininity. ( Page 161)<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Sarojini Sahoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06356168164108611237noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613632675367188848.post-6801108196647581742011-02-01T00:07:00.000-08:002011-02-01T00:34:31.263-08:00World Wide Words<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BwEJGsvYtiI/TUfAFhXY8dI/AAAAAAAAApY/-CJNi_cyzrE/s1600/1241337977259_f.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 307px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BwEJGsvYtiI/TUfAFhXY8dI/AAAAAAAAApY/-CJNi_cyzrE/s400/1241337977259_f.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568630665355260370" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Words are very unnecessary: the sound of silence is the universal refuge.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px; " ><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; ">Some notes on words<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">"E" is the first common used letter (12.702%) in English, and the second most common letter is “T” (9.056%) and "A" acquired the third position (8.167%).<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">xxxxxxxxxxxxx<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">What is the longest word in English? It is a name of a protein. The wall here does not support to bear the word limit. The word has 189,819 letters. It is:<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">"Methionylglutaminylarginytyrosylglutamylserylleucylphenylalanylalanylglutaminyll-eucyllysylglutamylarginyllysylglutamylglycylalanylphenylalanyvalylprolylphenylalanyl-valythreonylleucylglycylaspartylprolyglycylisoleucylglutamylglutaminylserylleucyllysyl-isoleucylaspartylthreonylleucylisoleucylglutamylalanylglycylalanylaspartylalanylleucy-lglutamylleucylglycylglycylisoleucylprolylphenylalanylserylaspartylprolylleucelalanyla-spartyglycylprolythreonylisoleucylglutamiylasparaginylalanylthreonylleucylarginylala-nylphenylalanylalanylglycylvalyltheonylprolylalanylglutaminylcysteinylphenylalanygll-utamylmethionylleucyalanylleucylisoleucylarginylglutaminyllysylhistidylprolylthreonyl-isoleucylpriIylisoleucylglycylleucylleucylmethionyltyrosylalanylasparaginylleucylvalyp-henylalanylasparaginyllysylgyycylisoleucylaspartylglutamylphenylalanyltyrosylalanyl-gutaminyllcysteinylglutamyllysylvalylglycylavlylaspartylserylvalylleucylvalylalanylasp-artylvalyprolylvalylglutaminylglutamyllserylalanyprolyphenylalanylarginylglutaminylal-anylalanylleucylarginylhistidylasparaginylvaylalanylprolylisoleucylphenylalanylisoleu-cylcysteinylprolylprolylaspartylalanylaspartylaspartylaspartylleucylleucylarginyglutam-inylisoleucylalanyylseryltyrosylglycylarginylglycyltyrosylthreonyltyrosylleucylleucylser-ylarginylalanylglycylvalythreonylglycylalanylglutamylasparaginylarginylanylalanylleu-cylprolylleucylaspaaginylhistidylleucylvaylalanyllysylleucyllysylglutamyltyrosylasarag-inylglycylphenylalanylglycylisoleucylalanylprolylaspartylglutaminylvalyllysylalanylala-nylisoleucylaspartylalanylalanyglycylalanylalanyglycylalanylisoleucylserylglycyseryla-lanylisoleucylbalyllsylisoleucylisoleucylglutamyyylglutaminylhistidylasparaginylisole-ucylglutamylprolyglutamyllysylmethionylleucylalanylalanylleucyllysylvalylphenylalaby-lvalylglutaminlylprolylmethionyllysylalanylalanylthreonylarginylserine".<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">It is one of over two million proteins.The word has 189,819 letters. It is also called as 'Titin' in short form.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">'Honorificabilitudinitatibus' is the longest word William Shakespeare used in Act V, Scene I of Love's Labour's Lost. It is mentioned by the character Costard. It means “the state of being able to achieve honours." It is also the longest word in the English language featuring alternating consonants and vowels.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">The least commonly used letter in the English language is "z" and the second least is "q". "E" is also the most common letter in French, German, and Spanish. Friends can access some interesting mathematics to find out the least used word in English from the site at http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20080620081413AAQVTSc<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">Oxford Dictionary of Quotations says that the shortest poem in the English language (by an unknown poet) is titled 'On the Antiquity of Microbes' and contains only this much – Adam/Had 'em.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">"For sale: baby shoes, never worn."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">Above is the shortest short story consisting of only six words. Credit goes to Ernest Hemingway. On a bet, Hemingway once presented his friends with this six words short story.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">Terza Rima is a type of poetry consisting of 10 or 11 syllable lines arranged in three-line format. The first known use of terza rima is in Dante's Divina Commedia. This style has been used by Milton, Shelley, and Byron. The rhyme-scheme is: aba, bab, cdc, ded, etc.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">Cna yuo raed tihs? The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid, aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it dseno't mtaetr in waht oerdr the ltteres in a wrod are, the olny iproamtnt tihng is taht the frsit and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it whotuit a pboerlm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">Collins dictionary has chosen 102 words and phrases to exemplify a year in the past century and a bit. For example: 1978 test-tube baby; 1979 Rubik cube; 1980 Solidarity; 1981 SDP (ie, the then new and now defunct British Social Democratic Party); 1982 CD; 1983 Aids; 1984 yuppie; 1985 glasnost; 1986 Mexican wave; 1987 PEP (Personal Equity Plan, a type of tax-free savings); 1988 acid house; 1989 Velvet revolution; 1990 crop circle; 1991 ethnic cleansing; 1992 clone; 1993 information superhighway; 1994 National Lottery; 1995 road rage; 1996 alcopop; 1997 Blairite.etc etc.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">A similar list produced for the Guardian by the editors of the Oxford English Dictionary is like this: 1978 BMX, Teletext; 1979 space invaders; 1980 Reaganomics; 1981 Walkman; 1982 Exocet; 1983 Star Wars; 1984 Aids; 1985 yuppie; 1986 perestroika; 1987 free market, Black Monday; 1988 lager lout; 1989 poll tax; 1990 global warming; 1991 citizen’s charter; 1992 grunge, annus horribilis; 1993 Whitewater, bobbit; 1994 World Wide Web; 1995 Britpop; 1996 ecowarrior, scratchcard; 1997 New Labour.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">Grammars were originated first in Sanskrit : (6th century BC), Tamil (1st century BC), Greek (3rd century BC) and Latin (1 st Century BC) respectively. In 7th Century Irish grammar was originated and that of Arabic followed in next century. It is very interesting to know that Hebrew grammar was originated very lately in 10thh Century only and the first grammar in English began with John of Cornwall in 14 th Century<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">Old English(mid-5th century to the mid-12th century) had two numbers, three genders, four cases, remnants of dual number and instrumental case, which could give up to 30 inflectional forms for every adjective or pronoun. Its syntax was only partially dependent on word order and has a simple two tense, three mood, four person (three singular, one plural) verb system. The spelling of Old English is strictly phonetic.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">In all of his work - the plays, the sonnets and the narrative poems - Shakespeare uses 17,677 words: Of those, 1,700 were first invented by Shakespeare by changing nouns into verbs, changing verbs into adjectives, connecting words never before used together, adding prefixes and suffixes, and devising words wholly original.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">‘An Alligator skin ’, ‘epileptic’, ‘eyeballs’, hot-blooded’, ‘household words’, ‘obscene’, ‘puking’, ‘skim milk’, ‘the game is afoot’ and ‘worm-holes’ are some words and phrases that don't appear anywhere in English prior to Shakespeare putting them on paper.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">‘An Alligator skin’ in Romeo and Juliet (First Folio), Act V, Scene I, Romeo Soliloquy.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">‘Epileptic’ in King Lear, Act II, Scene ii, Kent to Cornwall.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">‘Eyeballs’ in A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act III, Scene ii, Oberon to Puck.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">‘Hot-blooded’ in King Lear, Act II, Scene iv, King Lear to Regan.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">‘Household words’ in King Henry V, Act IV, Scene iii, Henry to Westmoreland.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">‘Obscene’ in Love's Labours Lost, Act I, Scene i, Ferdinand to Costard.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">‘Puking’ in As You Like It, Act II, Scene vii, Jaques to Duke Senior.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">‘Skim milk’ in Henry IV, Part I, Act II, Scene iii, Hotspur Soliloquy.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">‘The game is afoot’ in Henry IV, Part I, Act I, Scene iii, Northumberland to Hotspur.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">‘Worm-holes’ in the narrative poem The Rape of Lucrece.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">Various spellings were used at the time of Shakespeare’s marriage with Anna Hathway in the Episcopal Register at Worcester on November 27th 1582 and November 28th 1582- there were at least 16 different spellings of Shakespeare including Shakspere, Shakespere, Shakkespere, Shaxpere, Shakstaff, Sakspere, Shagspere, Shakeshafte and even Chacsper! Shakespeare always signed himself as "Shakspere"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif""><o:p> </o:p></span></p></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px; "><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p></span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><h2 class="uiHeaderTitle" style="color: rgb(28, 42, 71); margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><p style="text-align: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p></span></span></h2></span></div></div>Sarojini Sahoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06356168164108611237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613632675367188848.post-12172983572953127022011-01-05T02:29:00.000-08:002011-01-05T02:42:59.593-08:00The Dark Scars of Oppression<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BwEJGsvYtiI/TSRIVvcl7LI/AAAAAAAAAoY/urQtxvJiBU8/s1600/25.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 243px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BwEJGsvYtiI/TSRIVvcl7LI/AAAAAAAAAoY/urQtxvJiBU8/s400/25.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558647378432879794" /></a><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; line-height:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-align:justify;line-height:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="font-size:16.0pt; font-family:"Bookman Old Style","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Although Dalit writers have been at work in India for many centuries, the term ‘Dalit literature’ has a specific, currently meaning and can perhaps be seen in those writings. ‘Dalit literature’ describes Dalit narratives depicting the struggle against oppression and has been inspired by African-American literature and movements in the 20th century.</span><span style="font-size:16.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" > <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-align:justify;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:16.0pt; font-family:"Bookman Old Style","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Protests against the caste system and oppression are expressed in a new literature called ‘Dalit literature.’ Poems, short stories, novels, and autobiographies by Dalit writers provide useful insights into the question of Dalit identity. In India, the movement started in Mumbai with the publications of the Maharashtra Dalit Sahitya Sangha in1958, and soon found its place in the mainstream of Marathi literature. Later, the trend shifted to Hindi and Kannada. Currently, it has entered Tamil. But in Oriya, Dalit writing has had a late start compared to its counterparts and its voice has not yet been part of the mainstream.</span><span style="font-size:16.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-align:justify;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:16.0pt; font-family:"Bookman Old Style","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">The poets of Charya Yuga or the Natha sect of saints like Hadi Pa, Kanhu Pa, Tanti Pa, Chourangi Nath, Gorakh Nath, Mahendra Nath or Lui Pa etc, all came from downtrodden social groups and constitute a distinct social tradition in Orissa. But their poems are more philosophical and tantric — religious rather than portraying social oppression. But that does not mean Oriya society is a stranger to caste oppression and other forms of inequality.</span><span style="font-size:16.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-align:justify;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:16.0pt; font-family:"Bookman Old Style","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">There were also many poets from the ‘shudra’ community who raised their voices against the Brahmen hegemony but their writings were not similar in theme and concept to today’s so-called Dalit writings. From Saral Das, the Adikabi of Oriya literature whose Oriya Mahabharat was read for the first time in the fifteenth century to the famous saint poet Bhima Bhoi to the powerful Marxist poet Rabi Singh of the 20th century, a long list of Dalit writers have flourished in Oriya literature. But these writings are not only confined to Dalit oppression in relation to a Dalit caste system. There is evidence of writings on Dalit oppression in Oriya literature from Bhagbati Panigrahi and Sach Routray to Gopinath Mohanty, and many have a theme of such oppression. But these writers do not belong to the lower or untouchable caste. In poetry the Vaishnavite upper-class poets like Dinakrushna Das raised their voices against the Brahmanical bureaucracy, but we can’t place them alongside contemporary Dalit writing. Bhima Bhoi, the tribal (Kandha) religious poet of the 19th century fought against caste and ritualised piety and initiated women in the society.</span><span style="font-size:16.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-align:justify;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:16.0pt; font-family:"Bookman Old Style","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">The only English book I have ever read on Oriya Dalit literature was <i>Paralysed Tongue, an Anthology of Dalit Studies </i>(Pagemaker, 2005). Ironically, this book is edited by two Brahmin scholars: Aswini Kumar Mishra and Jugal K Mishra. While searching for other articles on the net, I found two; one is a <a href="http://findarticles.com/p/articles/"><span style="color:blue">long essay</span></a> by Raj Kumar and another is <a href="http://basudevsunani.blogspot.com/"><span style="color:blue">a blog</span></a> by Basudev Sunani . Raj Kumar identified only one Dalit short story writer, Ramchandra Sethi, and one of his short stories: Dwitiya Buddha. He counted six contemporary poets: Bichitranand Nayak, Basudev Sunani, Kumaramani Tanti, Sanjay Bag, Anjubala Jena, Mohan Jena, adding an appendage of ‘many more.’ Basudev Sunani’s irregular blogging (ten between April 2009 and December 2009) contains two of his essays, a short story, and a few poems.</span><span style="font-size:16.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-align:justify;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:16.0pt; font-family:"Bookman Old Style","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Recently, a few magazines and Facebook users have tried to raise the Dalit discourse aiming to make it more active and streamlined. But the main question is: are there a sufficient number of lower caste or tribal writers from Dalit socio-economic classes available in Oriya literature or it will be a movement of middle-class upper-caste writers who are plenty and who constitute the mainstream?</span><span style="font-size:16.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-align:justify;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:16.0pt; font-family:"Bookman Old Style","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">( Published in my regular monthly column at <a href="http://expressbuzz.com/biography/the-dark-scars-of-oppression/191960.html"><span style="color:blue">New Indian Express</span></a>, in its 25 July 2010 issue)</span><span style="font-size:16.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></p></span><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:18.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif""><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p></p><p></p>Sarojini Sahoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06356168164108611237noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613632675367188848.post-4637791426276720022010-07-24T22:24:00.001-07:002010-07-24T22:41:36.786-07:00Sexual Politics and Oriya Literature<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BwEJGsvYtiI/TEvKzjHLAKI/AAAAAAAAAj4/mpTMRUnYy7w/s1600/Palm+leaf+script+of+Gita+Govinda.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 192px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BwEJGsvYtiI/TEvKzjHLAKI/AAAAAAAAAj4/mpTMRUnYy7w/s400/Palm+leaf+script+of+Gita+Govinda.bmp" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497710757083283618" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Palm leaf script of Gita Govinda</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 18px; font-family:calibri, Helvetica, Arial, san-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The writing process is a sexual process. When a writer wants to expose a physical life or an energetic life, a creative tension and a flow of energy is generated in the creative process. This creative tension can be experienced as a sexual tension and the flow of energy creates life or describes a new life. ( Source:<a href="http://sarojinisahoo.blogspot.com/2008_11_01_archive.html"> Sense & Sensuality</a>)</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 18px; font-family:calibri, Helvetica, Arial, san-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 18px; font-family:calibri, Helvetica, Arial, san-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 200%; "><span style="line-height: 200%; font-family:'Bookman Old Style', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">When I started writing in the seventies, very few women writers were in the field and at that time, my theme and topics on sexual politics made the social gurus of the time more worried than ever. That was the time when the cult of domesticity for women started to break down and I raised questions about piety, purity, submissiveness, and the definition of true womanhood through my stories. At that time, I found myself alone, but now, approximately 35 years later, I can see a powerful trend showing published evidence in Oriya literature.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 200%; "><span style="line-height: 200%; font-family:'Bookman Old Style', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">In 2004, young writers began “Dehabadi Galpa,” a movement based on sexuality-based short stories. Saroj Bal, the editor of </span><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Galpa Patrika</span></u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> made a collection of short stories where the included authors dared to admit their works had themes of sexuality. Writers included in this anthology included myself and others like Ashish Gadnayak, Saroj Bal, Sadanada Tripathy, Paresh Patnaik, Satyapriya Mahalik, Chintamani Sahu, Paramita Satpathy, Ajay Swain, Pabitra Panigrahi, Nibaran Jena, and Prakash Mohapatra. However, sexuality or erotica had been previously introduced in Oriya literature before this movement in 2004.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 200%; "><span style="line-height: 200%; font-family:'Bookman Old Style', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">For example, the ‘kavyas’ of Ritiyuga in the eighteenth century had deep associations with ‘Shringar Rasa,’ which dealt with sexuality in erotic forms. In the post-colonial period, descriptions of eroticism in a liberal way in fiction was first introduced by Surendra Mohanty. In the sixties, publication of a literary magazine “Uan Neo Lu” included stories by Annada Prasad Ray which were labeled vulgar and obscene. Also in the sixties, Krushna Chandra Behera’s story “Bedi” created controversy and he had to resign from the editorship of </span><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Jhankar</span></u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">. In the late eighties, my story “Rape” caused controversy as it dealt with the sexuality of a female and justified it with patriarchal sexual politics. In the nineties, some stories made controversy for making sexuality as a common factor of human life. Pratibha Ray’s “Shapya,” Jagadish Mohanty’s “Nian,” Yashidhara Mishra’s “Rekha Chitra,” and Ashish Gdnaik’s “Bhata” are examples of such stories. In fact, debate about “Nian” continued for long time after its publication.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 200%; "><span style="line-height: 200%; font-family:'Bookman Old Style', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Another source of long-lasting controversy in Oriya literature was the nude photos of Saroj Bal, the avant-garde Oriya writer. I am still astonished why the media, as well as the critics, considered these photographs as a serious setback in our social values. It is not like masculine nudity was not displayed before, but I think it is the display of masculine nudity in context with Eastern or Oriental culture which worried our male-dominated social gurus. I think, these images have a strong relevance to sexuality.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 200%; "><span style="line-height: 200%; font-family:'Bookman Old Style', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">In Orissa, as well as throughout India, most people mingle sexuality with passion and physical co-adhearance and to some extent, to perversion, with a hidden concept of sin in their puritan minds. But the term ‘sexuality’ has a wider aspect. Sexuality involves not only passion and perversion, but also involves biological or physiological sex, gender, gender identity, gender roles, and sexual orientation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 200%; "><span style="line-height: 200%; font-family:'Bookman Old Style', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Sexuality, other than sexual politics, occupies a space in Oriya fiction which is neither quite masculine nor quite feminine, although it is clearly created as a feminine role and desires to be in the masculine role. Currently, we find a remarkable number of women authors writing very bold stories describing this ‘in-between-ness’ as being one of the primary characteristics of their themes and styles. Writers like Paramita Satpathy Tripathy, Mamatamayee Choudhury and Biyot Prajna Tripathy are some new faces who write effectively connecting this in-between-ness as both a monstrous trait and a gorgeous one as well.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 200%; "><span style="line-height: 200%; font-family:'Bookman Old Style', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Unlike fiction, Oriya poetry supports this sexual discourse. Different from other poets, Aparna Mohanty’s poems represent a blurring of the distinction between man and monster, between nature and science, and of gender categories themselves. Aparna’s poems recognise and celebrate the presence of pure womanhood and feminine attributes in the construction of being in existence in a woman’s heart. Other than Aparna, Gayatri Bala Panda, Sucheta Mishra, and Sarojini Sarangi are among a few poets who have contributed to make Oriya poems rich with sexual domination. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 200%; "><span style="line-height: 200%; font-family:'Bookman Old Style', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">It is interesting that mostly women writers are coming forward in riding the wave of popular interest in women's liberation, identifying taboos as a socially conditioned belief system, masquerading as nature. It is a very sensible and risky notion to demonstrate the truth of life exceeding the body and its passion. Though this segment is limited to few, it could make it as a mainstream wave, though the major puritan mob will always oppose it.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 200%; "><span style="line-height: 200%; font-family:'Bookman Old Style', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">( Published in my regular monthly column at <a href="http://expressbuzz.com/magazine/those-nude-photos-were-not-a-threat-to-values/175378.html">New Indian Express</a>, in its 22 May issue) </span></span></p></span></span></span></div>Sarojini Sahoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06356168164108611237noreply@blogger.com1