MY STORY SERIES - 7

Volcano

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 ‘Agneya Giri’ and English version of this story was first published in August 2010 issue of ‘New Fiction Journal’ (ISSN: 0976-6863). Arita Bhowmik has translated it into Bengali and it has been included in author’s short stories collection Dukha Aparimit (ISBN 978 984 404 243-8), published from Bangladesh by Anupam Prakashani, Dhaka. For Western readers, this story may torch light on the Eastern milieu of socialization for girls in society.)

There was not much of a difference between us. She was only five years older than me. We were brought up in the same environment. As children, we used to fight at times. I used to pull her long-braided hair and as soon as she tried to hit me back, I used to run and stand in the middle of the road. The road was always crowded with people and all kinds of vehicles. I knew she would never come outside the gate.

I was seven then and she was twelve. She had already reached puberty and I had not. Then, I did not know the mystery behind a mature and an immature girl. My mother was very sad and hugged her and cried when she reached her puberty so early. But she knew that she could not come out of the gate. When I was giggling away showing my teeth outside the gate, she was standing helplessly waiting for me to go inside so that she can hit me. If she tried to step outside the gate, I would threaten her, “Wait, I will tell mother, you went outside the gate.” She had no choice then but to go back. That was my victory and her failure.

Mother had a tribal belief that the horse turns mad when it becomes aware of a menstruating woman and eats her up. That’s why she was so scared for her for two to three days a month and why she couldn’t go outside the gate. She used to wait for her to come back from school in those days.

Proposals for marriage began to arrive when she was just in the eighth grade. Once when my mother had been to the temple, people came in a jeep to see her as a proposed bride with the intention of marriage. Half of the people in the jeep were women. Before we could decide what we could do or not to do, they had opened her hair and started exploring whether her hair was natural or artificial. They had lifted her salwar and were inspecting her legs. I was standing quietly because I did not know how to treat the guests. They were harassing her with all sorts of questions. Then they went back before mother was back from the temple. Afterwards, they sent the message that the girl was very thin.

We were both brought up in the same environment. I had wings and she didn’t. I roamed around in all nooks and crannies of the town but she used to know only the way from home to the girls’ school and back again.  I imagined when I grew up, I would buy a white car and roam everywhere; she had no interest in that.

She knew a lot of things. She knew how to make rice and chapattis, wash the house, arrange the shelves, and wash clothes. She used to get up at three in the morning, along with mother, and participate in the Thursday rituals. She used to feed us and look after us; she used to do everything. I never heeded to any request to do any errands. Maybe she was always there to take the responsibility so I did not have to do anything. Instead, I used to read crime stories lying on the easy chair.

You must be thinking I am really inhumane or maybe my mother indulged in preferential treatment. But I have told you earlier I was different from her. She silently obeyed everyone; I never listened to anyone. When I was a young girl, if mother sent me to get salt from the shop, I used to spend the money on getting a haircut at the hair salon. I got beaten for that but I was never really scared of beatings.

After I reached puberty, I was supposed to undergo the same kind of rules and regulations but I never did. Of course, there were a few attempts, as well, for good measure. Like once I was woken up early in the morning and was locked up in a dormant. I don’t remember clearly mother and other ladies of our joint family touched me with a branch from the drumstick tree and some mustard seeds. They told me to stay inside and to call when I needed to go to the toilet. I was also advised to shut the door from the inside and to stay in, and that I would be sent food. I used to feel terrible. I could hear the noise from the games of carom from outside of the room. I felt like taking a piece of iron and making a hole in the wall and go to the other side. During one’s menstruation, a woman is not supposed to look at any man’s face. The man is not to be blamed but it is believed the girl would be an unchaste one in her future life if she was looked at by a man during her period. Instead of thinking all about the stresses of menstruation, I was thinking instead America is just on the opposite side of India and that maybe I could reach America by digging a hole through the earth.

One afternoon when there was no more noise on the other side of the wall, I slowly opened the door and crept out and sat on the verandah outside. I had felt suffocated inside the dark room. Just at that time, my maternal uncle arrived. “Where is your mother?” he asked. “Maybe she is sleeping,” I replied and went back inside the room and shut the door. I was not afraid of being blamed; I was not even afraid of being rebuked. I rushed inside fearing he would know everything about my condition.

My sister wanted to take revenge on me. When I stepped out of the gate, she used to threaten me “Wait, I will tell mother everything.”But  I was not at all scared of her and did not enjoy running and playing around anymore. I started giving more and more thought and importance to fashion. I started visiting the homes of my friends from school in the afternoons and during holidays. More and more, I would spend time in front of the mirror and would take notice of my full lips and my fleeting and deep eyebrows. I would also take notice of my womanly shape. I used to wear skirts above the knee. I was healthy and full of life. Unlike me, my sister never bothered to dress up. She had to put on salwar kameez all the time.  She was also alarmingly thin.

A very sad incident happened to her when I was doing my matriculation. Mother used to get angry with my sister if she put on kajal in her eyes and kumkum on her forehead even though mother herself put Afghan Snow, a branded face cream on her face. I used to get that face cream for mother from the market. Once mother also scolded me saying I was always putting on kajal and kumkum like a prostitute. I wept that day but never give up using them.

Once, my sister’s friends tied her hair into a nice bun with a ring inside and decorated it with coloured hairpins. She was looking very pretty, draped in a saree with kajal on her eyes, kumkum on her forehead and bangles on her wrists. But as soon as she reached home, she had to face mother’s ferocious wrath. Mother just burst out all of a sudden. She dragged my sister and pulled out the ball and the hairpins from my sister’s hair and threw them away. She hit her so hard that all the bangles broke into pieces. My sister’s kumkum got smudged. I felt very bad. I could not say anything when I saw mother shouting with such rage. You must be thinking my mother is a real sadist. But my mother thought these things would lead to more disastrous consequences for her unmarried daughters. She was just being our mother.

But I would dress myself up just as usual. I used to put on jeans with tops and shirts; everything. My sister used to get scared when she saw my dresses. She used to ask me why I got all those types of things. Mother would be very angry if she saw them. I used to wear those dresses with great courage. If there were any dirty comments from passerby on the road, I used to brush them aside like dirt. Once mother was so angry she burnt one of my dresses in the kitchen fire. A short time later, I got another dress in exactly the same design during next Dasserah festival.

When I was making pen friends from magazines, sister was drilling her theories of economics and waiting to get married. As it was, she was tall and thin and she never wore any fashions which suited her. She would look dull, just like gold which has not yet been burnt in fire. My parents were worried because they had problems arranging a marriage for her. On the other hand, during that period, I was getting letters everyday from people without any secrecy. The letters bore the senders’ names written clearly on top. I would put the pictures my friends gave or sent to me in my album. Some of my friends even came to my home as well. I did not care if my mother showed her anger with the banging of the utensils, her irritated face; I did not care about my father’s seriousness. They would never face my friends.

I moved away from these things when I was admitted into the science stream in college and slowly, I went in a different direction. Then, I had an intense desire to become an architect, even though by this time, my mind had already seen the birth and death of many career choices which involved becoming a private detective, lawyer, and astronaut. No, I never wanted to become a physician or a teacher even though I had gotten an excellent result in my final exam.  And because of this, everyone at home wanted me to study medicine but I insisted on studying engineering instead.

When I was studying science, some man who had come to see her wanted to marry me instead. I had made it very clear that I wasn’t interested in marrying him but still, he kept in touch with me through letters for two years. Maybe he thought one day, I would agree to his proposal for marriage. He was stupid enough and didn’t seem to know I was only flirting with him.

I used to show my sister all the letters he wrote to me. She used to get very sad when she would read them. I should have realized she must be getting hurt every time she read them but why couldn’t her sorrow and helplessness reach me?  Why was I not picking it up? Actually, I never thought from her point of view which may be why I never realized I was hurting her. Instead, I was thinking – let’s see how long I can play around with this man.

He married when I was in the first year of my engineering studies. And my sister also married a better person. I thought to myself thank goodness; at least that chapter was over. Why only a chapter? After all, sister’s life would be wonderful now; she would finally lead her life as she wanted.

But in reality, my sister could not lead her life as she had wanted even though her husband was in a better job. He would stay away from onions, garlic, fish, and meat because he had accepted the teachings of some guruji. He used to get up at three in the morning and chant hymns while clapping. He also wanted her to accompany him and shine under the glory of womanhood just like Sita, Savitri and Lakhmi. He did not approve of borderless sarees or sleeveless blouses which showed her naked arms.

Initially her life seemed bright. But eventually, all the dreams she had once nurtured now seemed lifeless and meaningless; she came to accept that as reality. She lost her voice to complain. When her husband started insulting her as dark and ugly, she stopped thinking about complaining.

Slowly and steadily, her voice changed. Perhaps she had no voice left. For everything, she would say, “He does not like all these things.” She could never say that she didn’t like these things; it was always he.

The reason behind her becoming so spineless was even though she had done her Bachelors of Education, she never had taken up any job and this was another reason for her husband’s dissatisfaction. Her husband thought teaching profession was the only suitable job for women where they could remain chaste and could earn something for their family. But why my sister did not want to take up a job. She believed the real beauty of married life would be spoilt if she took up a job. Her children would be neglected. Maybe she was so disciplined that she wanted to live a peaceful life or maybe she was scared of the outside world. But there was a nice saying which always accompanied her “Lakhmivanti” This was her only pride and treasure.

Maybe that’s why her husband thrust all the household responsibility on her in order to take revenge. Her husband neither came out when the gangsters demanded donations nor when civilized people paid a visit to their drawing room. She was forced to deal with everyone no matter what their lot in life was or what their purpose of visiting was. 

Her husband used to insult her by saying she was ugly and dark, and he used to establish, always in front of others, that he had saved her by their marriage. In spite of everything, she never neglected her duties as the devoted and dedicated wife. Every morning, she used to cook five dishes and iron his shirts and trousers properly. She also would provide him with his medicines starting from digestive pills to the medicines for his heart disease. She accepted him as a lord. You could say she wore him like a crown.

I have not told you much about myself. Even though I have not told you too much, by now, you must be aware that I was studying engineering; therefore, I must have been an engineer. Every year, about ten thousand engineering students graduate in India. One year, I was among them but I was well aware this was not the achievement of a lifetime. But I am not talking about myself as I am a verso to my sister so you can better understand her.

Whatever she had imagined never happened. She thought since she married an Administrative Officer, he would definitely buy a car one day. Her children would definitely go to Doon school, a best school of India. She dreamed, just like every girl dreams of such beautiful things for  their lives after marriage.

 Her husband was honest and perhaps simple and quite outdated for the time in which they lived so her family was always lagging behind. It was ridiculous to dream of Doon school if you were a government servant and did not take any bribes. On the other hand, she could not even send them to any English-medium private school because they were constantly being transferred to different places. I am not saying if they had been admitted to an English-medium school, their lives would have been worthwhile. But I don’t know what went wrong. None of her children were good in studies. She would constantly change their tutors and get upset when doing so.

They had a house but they hadn’t built it. Instead, they had bought the house in installments from the house building society. Within a few years, all the houses around theirs were turned into palatial dwellings whereas their house stood in the midst of the others like a depressed woman condemned to the vagaries of destiny. The house had become filthier with time; it could not even be decorated with mosaic, granite or ornamented balcony.

Her children got upset when they compared their own house with the others and when they compared themselves to the children of other officer colleagues of their father. She tried to make her children understand there is nothing more valuable than honesty. Sometime her children could understand but most times, they thought their father was insufficient.

Her husband’s contemporaries all had gotten promotions and were in senior positions compared to him. It was not that he was not unhappy about it; but he had his answer ready for that. Nowadays, no one gets a promotion through fair means. The usual ways were a briefcase and sex. What was the point in indulging in these things anyway? Would anyone take these things to the grave?

A working wife got more importance everywhere, be it getting a seat on the bus; getting blood tested in the hospital; or buying things from shops in installments. Even if you had countless degrees, if you spend your time cooking in the corner of your house, no one was ready to acknowledge that you were educated. She had come to realize that “mid-twentieth century” belonged to a bygone era. She understood the girl who went to work had to put on a smile on her lips. She was already in a fake world; a world of amazing glamour. Almost everywhere, she used to identify herself as a working woman. Depending on the situation, she used to say that once she was working but now she had given it up. She used to resort to these lies without any hesitation, even in front of all us. And we had accepted her false world as well.  What else was there to do?

Once I had proposed my sister to open a shop with ladies accessories.  I suggested, “It would be nice if you can set up a KG school. You can look after your home and work outside at the same time if you open a milk selling counter or a telephone booth.”

But she had turned a deaf ear to my advice and responded, “I am not keeping well due to asthma. I can’t do those things.” Yes, we had been born with some maladies such as asthma. But I always ignored that pain of asthma in my busy life. When I got an asthma attack, I tried to strive through it. I could never understand why my sister made that excuse.

To avoid the topic, she would say, “Nowadays, people don’t get jobs. I know my son won’t get a job. He can do some business if we build a house here.”

Maybe she could not understand the purpose of my suggestions. I did not want her to earn money; I wanted her to get recognition.

Slowly, her hair was turning grey and her skin becoming loose. She had accepted that she was getting old. Once I had told her, “These days, people start their lives when they are forty.” She got very upset with me when I said that. I don’t know why but she had the belief she would die very soon, that her days were numbered. Of course there was no reason behind her belief of which I knew.

By now, you must be thinking why I have told all this to you. Yes, that day, I had encountered a volcano. Before this, I used to notice only the carpets of green meadows, bushes laden with flowers, wet ground and three charred stones from the picnic, and half-burnt wood. Suddenly, I was scared to see so much lava, hot tears, and the fire of anger burning in her heart.

Now we will return to her again. That day, her son asked me in some context, “Why didn’t you ever become an architect?” 

I replied, “I couldn’t.”

“You can become one if you want to,” he continued.

“I am not young enough anymore to take up studies,” trying my best to make an excuse.

“Why? How old are you? You are only……,” he pressed.

Suddenly she reacted to her son’s words. “Yeah, yeah, tell her that she is very young. She is only five years younger than me.”

“Is it true? It never appears so,” he said.

She got angry when she heard her son say this and burst into tears. I was dumbfounded. She suddenly erupted in anger. “All these people have unanimously spoilt my life. They never let me do anything.  My life has been wasted. I am the dirt of everyone’s feet. They never allowed me to do fashion. They never let me go anywhere. My first enemy was my mother and second...” She was suddenly quiet.

Who does she think is her second enemy? Myself or her husband? Who is it? I felt like saying, “Speak out. Speak out all your agony in this moment. Open yourself up. Let it all out.” But no. Once again, she wiped her tears with the corner of her saree and like a sleeping volcano, became dormant -- completely silent.

(Translated by Gopa Naik

Edited by Paul McKenna)

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)