MY STORY SERIES - 6

Fog

(The original story was written in 90’s and is included in my  Odia anthology Deshantari (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.)

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. 

Outside, some of them were talking about the besan bada 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.

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.

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 Narasinghapur, the village of Jema’s in-laws-to-be.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 Panikoili. In a year, she would stay for three months with her husband in Panikoili and then for the other nine months, she would stay at her parents’ place.

Jema would take care of the cooking at her parents’ place then. But when Jema 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.

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.

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?

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 pulses, someone else wanted thick pulses. 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.

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.

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.

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 Lord Jaganath from glittering stickers; and purses from beads.

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.

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.

This drama of such a bride interview must have happened countless times with her:

What is you name?

What are your qualifications?

Can you read this?

Can you please walk there?

Can you please lift your saree and show your feet?

Can you let your hair loose? Your hair is long, but why is it so thin.

All these handicrafts, you have done?

What are these marks? Did you have some skin disease in childhood?

We have mud house. It needs to be painted and mopped every day.

We have a big family. We cook in big pots.

Do you know how to sing? Can you sing a line? Have you read the Ramayan and Mahabharat?

 Do you know about the past life of Sikhandi?

What are all the dishes you can prepare?

Do you know how to make bundi Ladoo?

Can you fry rice?

Who is your favorite hero?

Many did not like her because she was dark.  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.

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.”   

Jema would rest for two days but she had to bear accusations along with her rest.  Her mother 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?”

 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.”

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.

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 paan. There was a certain pleasure in munching that sweet paan 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.

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.

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.

She understood her father had promised to give 20 grams of gold and a huge amount as a dowry, even though Jema knew that twenty grams 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 grams of gold. However, that could not be the reason for the delay in the bridegroom’s arrival.

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.”

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.”

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 Siva and Parvati. Jema shared the strange dream with Soma the morning of her wedding day.

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 Raigada at ten in the night. He will finish the rites and come along with a few of his family members.

Suddenly there was life in the household! Outside, the musicians who had gone to sleep under the makeshift hut were woken up. Hulahuli, the pious sound made through the tongue, came out all together from four or five female voices.

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.

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 saree 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.”

The bridegroom was not saying anything. Silence was perhaps the language of his mind. He did not eat or drink anything either, not even a glass of sweetened water.

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. Father went and got a few thousand rupees from somewhere in an effort to come good on the deal.

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.

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...?”

Before Soma could answer, Jema swam back to foggy smoke. There everything  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 dream of this man? Jema could feel, there was much scarce of air in this world.

(Translated by Gopa Naik

Edited by Paul McKenna)

MY STORY SERIES - 5

Time to Fly

(The  original story was written in 90’s and  is included in author’s  Odia  anthology  Sabuja Upatyaka (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.)

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.

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”.

“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 paan 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.

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.

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.

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 guava 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 kajal in her eyes, red bindi on her forehead, and blushing cheeks -- a beautywith heavy feet that could not be touched by the torments of the heat.

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.

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.

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.

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.

“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 saree. 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!”

      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.”

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?

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.

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.

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 ?

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.

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.”

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.”

One day, Jaydev came over to their place. Her uncle’s younger son came and informed her that somebody was looking for her.

‘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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

“Baba, may I have two rupees?”

“Why?” he asked.

“A pen friend is here. I want to get some snacks for him.”

“Pen friend?” both the parents questioned at the same time.

Suparna could not say anything. Baba was perhaps irritable because of his illness and with an irritating tone said, “Take it.”

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?”

“Not really” said Jaydev. “I just came to see you again. Do you know when the next bus to go back to Cuttack is?”

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?

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?”

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?

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.

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.

Uncle was saying “Just come and see. You were accusing my Soma, now come and see what your daughter is doing.”

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.

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?

(Translated by Gaurav Nayak

Edited by Paul McKenna)

MY STORY SERIES - 4

Reflection

Sarojini Sahoo

 (The  original story is included in author’s  Odia  anthology  DUKHA APRAMIT (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 Dukha Aparimit (ISBN 978 984 404 243-8), published from Bangladesh by Anupam Prakashani, Dhaka and  Rape Tatha Anya Kahaniyan (ISBN: 978-81-7028-921-0) published by Rajpal & Sons, Delhi.)

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.

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.

“Namaste,” she took her bag off her shoulders and beckoned him inside.

He asked, somewhat disappointed, “Are you going to work?”

She replied respectfully, “Yes.”

“Isn’t Diwakar at home?”

“No. He left for his office about15 minutes ago,” she replied.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you. You said it’s time for you to go to work as well, right?”

“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?

Nipa asked him, “Would you like to have some tea?”

 “Are you going to make tea? But I thought you were leaving.”

“Yeah, it’s all right. I’ll make some,” Nipa responded.

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.

“Are your kids not here?”

“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.

“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.”

“Yeah, your brother told me,” she said.

He sat up, surprised. “Really? He phoned you from our village? What did he say?”

“He said to make your kids understand.”

“Who are you to make them understand?”

“Yeah, something like that. That’s what Diwakar was saying, anyway.”

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.”’

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.

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.

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?”

“Yeah, I’ll get up as well,” He said in response.

“Where are you going, if you don’t mind me asking?” she asked.

He laughed. “I don’t know where I have to go.”

“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?”

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.

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?’ 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.

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.

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. 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 aloo chops and boda. 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.

 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.

 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 paan 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.

Diwakar used to try and console him. “All your life, you haven’t worried about your children.  Why are you getting so worried now?”

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?”

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.’

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.

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.

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.”

The son angrily replied, “You’re not giving me any money. What do you expect me to do? I need to get money somehow.”

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.

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.

“I’m going to sell it,” the son replied.

“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.

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.”

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.

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.

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?’

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.”

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.

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?”

The son had replied, “He can’t live with me; he doesn’t appreciate my wife”

“Why?” Diwaker asked.

“He must be knowing,” the son replied.

“But surely, you’re there. How is this connected with your wife? You should bring him in and try make your wife understand.”

 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.”

“Forget it, why talk about it?  What difference does it make now?”

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 paan 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.”

 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.

_________

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.

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.

“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.

“Madam, will you please take back your money because I’ll spend it if I keep it with me,” Mr. Pani stated.

“What money?” she responded in surprise.

“Have you forgotten?”

“Look, I don’t have much time. What money?” Nipa asked impatiently.

“Don’t you remember? In October, you had given me a loan.”

“I had forgotten” Nipa replied, a bit embarrassed.

“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.”

“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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

“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.’”

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.”

“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?”

 “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.

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.”

“So sorry.  I lost track of time. I’ve got fifteen minutes more work to do,” Nipa replied.

“All right, after finishing your work, come to my work area, and then we’ll go, okay?”

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.

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.”

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.

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.

“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?

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.”

“What do you mean? Didn’t you meet Diwakar?” Nipa responded.

“No, he hasn’t come home yet,” the old man replied.

“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.”

Nipa’s guest sighed, “My lifestyle is like this,  you know.”

“Why don’t you sit down and eat something? I’ll make you some snacks and you can eat them and go,” Nipa offered.

“No, don’t worry. I’ll leave”

“I’m sure you must be hungry. You haven’t eaten anything since morning?”

“Nowadays, I don’t really feel that hungry”

“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.

“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.

Her daughter asked, “Mama, won’t you give us food today?”

A bit lost in thought, she said, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Go sit down. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

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.

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.

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.

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?”

Her daughter said, “I haven’t eaten my tiffin mama.”

“Why not?” Nipa questioned.

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  idli, paratha and upma  from their house.”

“When do I have the time? Don’t you guys know that I’m working?” Nipa responded, a little hurt.

“Whose telling you to work?” her daughter questioned in response.

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...

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.

‘When will Diwakar arrive home?’ she wondered.

(Translated by Gaurav Nayak

Edited by Paul McKenna)