MY STORY SERIES – 12

Burqa

Sarojini Sahoo

(The original story was written in 90’s and is included in author’s Odia anthology Deshantari  (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  Rape Tatha Anya Kahaniyan, (ISBN: 978-81-7028-921-0) published by Rajpal & Sons, Delhi.  Arita Bhowmik has translated it into Bengali and it has been included in author’s short stories collection Dukha Aparimit (ISBN 978 984 404 243-8), published from Bangladesh by Anupam Prakashani, Dhaka.)

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.

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?”

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.

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.

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?

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...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

‘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?

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.

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.”

“Who? Why was he looking for me?”

“You don’t know him.”

“If I don’t know him, why are telling me about him. Look, I don’t like such things.”

“His daddy is an industrialist.”

“Whose daddy?”

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.

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.

“No, you keep it. I will finish everything if I have it with me.”

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.

‘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?”

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.

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?’

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…

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.

The colleague looked at me somewhat confused and then asked, “Who?”

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.

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.

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.

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?”

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.

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.

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.”

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?

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?’

Simi asked me, “How will I go home?”

“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.

She did not answer my questions. She only replied, “I would have gone, but…”

“Then, go,” I interrupted her. Simi’s house was in a corner of the town. “Take a rickshaw and go.”

She did not speak anymore after that. She left the place just as she had come, a ‘morning deity.’

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.

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.

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:

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.

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?”

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.

Simi never came to college again after that day. Where did she go? To Jammu or did she go to another unknown town? Did she continue her studies or was that the end of her college life?

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?

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.

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?”

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.”

“Sorry” she replied, moving forward and joining her family.

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.

(Translated by Gopa Nayak and edited by Paul McKenna)

MY STORY SERIES – 11

Afternoon

Sarojini Sahoo

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.

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.

The original story was written in the nineties and was included in my Odia anthology Dukha Apramita (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.

‘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.

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.”

The youngest daughter-in-law would smile and say, “Dad, are you planning to go on a honeymoon?”

“Why? Are honeymoons meant only for you folks alone?” he would respond in kind.

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?

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?'

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.

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.”

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.”

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.”

“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.

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.

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.

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?”

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?”

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?

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. 

“Severe pain in my chest,” he moaned as he rubbed his chest.

“Why do you take all these things at this age?” she remembered asking him.

“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.

“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!

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.

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.

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.

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.”

The younger daughter-in-law replied, “Father-in-law is not there anymore but aren’t we all here?”

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.

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.

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.

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?”

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.

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?

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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.

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.

In the meantime, her granddaughter came to her, “Grandma, are you crying? What happened? Are you missing grandpa? Are you not feeling well?”

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.”

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.

(Translated by Gopa Nayak and edited by Paul McKenna)

MY STORY SERIES - 10

Proxy

Sarojini Sahoo

(In her book Women’s Madness: Misogyny or Mental illness?, 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!”

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. 

The original story  ‘Bikalpa’ was written in 90’s and is included in my Odia anthology Srujani Sarojini and so far has not been translated in to any other language.) “

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.

It had been quite late by the time they went to bed the night before. There was the dandia 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.

As the sweet cool breeze of the winter entered her lungs she was reminded that it was Dussehra that day. “Oh my God, it’s Dussehra and I am still in bed?” The sun had come out since a long time. She got up in a scurry.

Jaydev still half asleep said, “What happened? Let us sleep.”

“No. I have been sleeping for too long and you are asking me to go to sleep some more? It’s Dussehra today.”

“So what?” Jaydev muttered, still half asleep.

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 princely state 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.

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.

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 kalash. He would show us everything one by one. 

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.

Mother used to say if Dussehra 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 saja.”

“You’ve only talked about saja once. What is it? Jaydev inquired.

“Wait. I will explain. Let me put water on for tea.” She then left the place with those words.

Suparna came back to the present for a moment and explained, “Saja means the measuring weights, the balancing, and the other things. Actually the soldiers put their swords for two days near the goddess Durga and participated in the worshipping ceremony. After the Dussehra pooja 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 Dussehra was celebrated in our town. Whatever you say, the days of our childhood were the best.”

 “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.

”We used to have a feast on Dussehra day” said Suparna.

“Why haven’t I ever been treated to such a feast?” complained Jaydev, trying to make fun of her.

“Have you ever been to our house during Dussehra? 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.   

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.

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.

There had been one of those Dussehras 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 Dussehra had begun the night before. The cleaning, the washing, the shopping; everything was underway.

Father used to get new clothes for all his workers and servants during Dussehra. There would be dhoti kurta 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 saree would be bought.

For many years that had become a tradition from the time when father had started his shop with very little capital. That was apparently Dussehra 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 Dussehra, someone would go and give the message to the lady from the pots to do the first shopping on Dussehra day. What did she buy on Dussehra 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 saree that used to be bought for her.

That was what had been going on for many years.  There was nothing bad behind father’s intention of giving this woman a saree. 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 Babu, 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.”

Nakula took out all the clothes, one by one, from the bag. The piece of saree peeped through the other clothes. The saree was blue with a red border. Mother pulled out the saree from the lot and asked him, “Did your master buy this saree for me? But what kind of saree is this? This is a very old-fashioned saree. He should have bought a printed saree instead!”

Nakul started laughing aloud when he heard the master’s wife. “Ma, do you think this saree is for you?”

Mother was very irritated and asked, “Then for whom?”

“Ma, you do not know the woman who takes a saree every year?”

“Takes every year? Whom does your master dress up in a saree every year?”

“She is the potter woman, indeed!”

“Which potter woman?” my mother asked, becoming upset.

“I don’t know her but how is it that you don’t know?  Everyone else does” Nakula commented.

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 sarees? Is she an epitome of Laxmi, the goddess of wealth and I am Alaxmi, the rival goddess of her? Never have you given me a saree for Dussehra. Look at the audacity of the woman, every year she wears a saree on Dussehra 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.

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 saree to a person who was in no way related to them?’     

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 sarees for mother. No one could make out whether she did not like the sarees or she did not want them out of anger. She did not even look at the sarees. At last Suparna went herself to the shop and selected a beautiful saree and got it for her mother. However, her mother did not put on the saree that day. As a result, Suparna also felt sad for her father.

No one was happy because such an incident happened on Dussehra. 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.

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.

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.    

“Hello.” There was no sound only complete silence from the other side.

“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.

In the meantime the paratha, the hand-made butter-fried bread, 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.

“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?”

“How would I know?” Suparna replied quite irritated. She quietly kept the receiver back without saying a word.

“It must have gotten cut. Maybe it was one-sided and that could be reason why nothing could be heard,” Jaydev said.

“No,” said Suparna with certainty. “I can understand when it gets cut. I have heard the sound of the receiver being kept.”

“Why do you bother? It could be some wrong number,” Jaydev replied.

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.”

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?

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 …..”

                                            ###############

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?”

 “I’ll have it afterwards. I have to take a bath and do my pooja, my prayers. I will have it after that.”

 “Do you think God will not listen to your pooja if you eat your breakfast first and then offer Him prayers second?”

“How could you say such a thing?” said Suparna quite irritated. “First of all, I got up late on Dussehra day and on top of that, I will have my food without taking my bath and without offering my prayers?”

“All right then. You finish your pooja. We will have our breakfast together.” Jaydev got up from the dining table and went into the other room.

 A short while later, Suparna suggested to Jaydev, “It will take a long time. Why don’t you go ahead and eat?”

 “How long can you take? It’s a holiday today. I’m going to wait.”

Suparna could not think of any response. She did not want to get into an argument on Dussehra 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.

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 chandan and sindoor, the sandal paste and vermillion spots. She chanted different mantras for each of them.

When Suparna went to collect water for the pooja 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?’

During pooja, 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.  

Suparna thought back after mother’s funeral, on the tenth day sraddha ceremony, the priest who had performed the rites told Suparna, “Dear, there was tremendous love between your parents.”

“How would you know that?” Suparna had asked him in a sad voice.

“Would the fire burn so bright in the pot if there was no love?” he had responded, looking at the fire.

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?

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 pooja 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 Dussehra festival, the Kanaka Durga 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.”

 “I have heard these things almost three hundred times now,” Jaydev laughed.

“I still listen to your stories even after hearing them a thousand times,” Suparna responded in kind.

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 Dussehra. Someone may come over.”

Jaydev replied “Let’s go to a restaurant for dinner this evening.”

“That’s not a bad idea. We have not been able to go out for a long time.”

As Jaydev was going out, the phone rang loudly. It was not Suparna but Jaydev who picked up the call this time.

“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.

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.

(Translated by Gopa Nayak

Edited by Paul McKenna)