A Life Less Ordinary (7 page)

“No, I won't stay on, and I won't come back ever, since my presence causes such problems for you and Baba.”

“But it's your Baba who causes the problems.”

“Baba is a good person, you're a good person, everyone is good, but as soon as I arrive, you start bickering, and I can't bear to see this.” I made as if to go and she again stopped me. “At least wait to say good-bye to your Baba before you leave.”

“Where is he?” I asked.

“He has gone up to the pond. Let him come back and then you can leave.”

“But I'll be late, I have to get back and see to the cooking and everything…” The words were barely out of my mouth when I saw Baba coming back. Ma said to him, “Look, she's all ready to go back! Please tell her to at least eat before she leaves.”

“If your mother is asking you to wait, why don't you do so for a while?” Baba asked me.

I said, “What? And listen to that squabbling again? I can't bear this tension between the two of you because of me. God knows why it happens, but I must leave.”

I would have said more, but just then my cousin came running and cried out to Ma that her brother had died. Ma began to cry, and Grandmother, who was there, fainted. Baba did not know what to do or who to look after. He took Ma with him and went quickly to her brother's house. I was left at home with Grandmother. Many of the neighbors came along to comfort her. I sat her down and sprinkled her forehead with water, but she was inconsolable, and kept sobbing.

When Ma and Baba got to Uncle's home, they found his body laid out in front of the house. Ma sat down at his feet and began to cry. My aunt's grief was different. Everyone around had been so unkind to her because she had not borne any children and she, too, no longer had any real interest in my uncle. The neighbors got everything ready to take Uncle away. Ma was sent to fetch Grandmother so she could look at her son's face one last time. But then everyone began to say that she shouldn't be taken to see him, that she would not be able to stand to see him like that, and so Ma showed her his face from quite far away and then took her into the house.

Uncle had no son, so his last rites had to be performed by Grandmother's younger son. He had had his head shaved for this. On the
satkarya
day, they all went and left me at home—I had not left until then because Baba had held me back, saying he would not be able to manage two distraught and grief-stricken women on his own.

The moment the rituals were over, I set off for home. When I got there, I found the house was locked. I went to Sandhya-di's. When she saw me she exclaimed, “
Arre
, you're back so soon? We were just talking about you. We thought you'd finish everything and then come back.”

“Do you think anyone can survive that daily bickering?” I replied. “I was going to come back much earlier but because my uncle died, I had to stay on. Do you know why my house is locked up? How will I get in?”

“There's nothing you can do. Just wait here till Shankar comes back.”

“Can you not ask Bhagirath to take a look? My husband may still be at the decorator's shop.” So Sandhya-di sent her son off to find him.

Sandhya-di was Bengali and her husband Bihari, so she
would speak to her children and her husband in Bihari, but would talk to me in Bengali. In a short while, Bhagirath came back with the key. He said he'd found my husband at the shop and when he told him that I had returned, my husband just gave him the key and sent him straight back. I took the key and went home. When I opened the door, the sight that assailed me made my head spin: the house was filthy, with dust and mud everywhere; the kitchen was full of mouse holes where they had dug up the earthen floor and nested; all the utensils were lying in a heap, soiled from being used and caked with dried-up food. It was so terrible that I felt deeply ashamed. I could not bear it, and I ran to Sandhya-di's house and began beating my head on the wall. When she asked me what was wrong I said to her, “Didi, just come and take a look at the state of the house.”

“I know what it is like,” she said, “I don't need to see for myself. This is what happens when there is no woman in the house.” After a while she added, “I noticed that often there were days when he would not even bathe, and he'd cook in the same dirty utensils and eat.”

“But why should it need a woman around for a place to stay clean? A man should at least keep the place where he cooks and eats clean.”

Sometimes Grandmother would visit me. One day when she came, I said to her, “Look, just look at what a state my home is in.”

“My dear child,” she said to me, “everything is in your hands. You need to sit him down and explain to him.”

“I've tried! But he just won't listen to anything I say. If I so much as open my mouth, he jumps down my throat! I don't know what to do.”

Sometimes when I felt very alone in the house and got fed up with staying inside, I would go out, cross the road, and watch the
children playing. I wanted so badly to go and play with them. One day, I was standing outside the house watching the children play
gulli danda
. Suddenly the
gulli
flew through the air and landed at my feet. I thought I would pick it up and throw it back to the children, but the moment I touched it—I don't know what happened to me—instead of throwing it back, I picked it up and ran into the field where they were playing and joined in. I lost track of the time, and I would have gone on playing with them but one of them caught hold of my hand and said, “Didi, that lady over there is calling you.” I looked and saw that some women standing by my house were watching me, and one of them, whom I called Aunt, was calling out to me. When I got to her, she chided me: “What on earth do you think you're doing? What if you hurt your stomach? Look at the size of you! You can hardly walk and you think nothing of rushing off into the field to play! Get back inside at once!”

Shamefacedly, I ran into the house. Everyone in the neighborhood began to make fun of me, especially the young boys and girls, who said, “Look at the new bride! She can hardly move and she is playing
gulli danda
!” When I heard this, I couldn't help but laugh.

When I was this happy, my husband's house did not seem so bad. In Baba's home I had found it so difficult because of the continuous tension, but here there were only two people and one of them was hardly ever home. He would fight and go away, and then to console myself I would watch the children play, or go to visit Sandhya-di, who was always ready to give me support. It was Sandhya-di who had told my husband to give me whatever I wanted to eat. That way, she told them, my child's mouth wouldn't water unduly. And I, fool that I was, believed he would do as she said and I began to dream about what I would ask him for. I decided that when the time came, I would demand some
chop mudi
. Just thinking of this made me happy; I truly believed he would do as I said, and so I waited for the day to end and the right moment to come. As the hours passed, my anticipation increased and so did my happiness. Then I suddenly remembered that he would not be home in the evening, so I thought,
Why don't I ask him now?
But how could I? We hardly spoke to each other…I told myself, it has to be done, let me try once and see what happens. So I went into the kitchen. He was sitting there on a stool, and I kept hovering about. He was looking at me and I at him. Then I told myself that the
chop mudi
would not come by itself, so I plucked up courage and asked him, with a smile, to give me some money. I had to say it two or three times, but finally he pulled some money out of his
lungi
and sort of threw it at me rather reluctantly and left.

My husband never gave any money to me. I had to ask him for each and every little thing I needed. He would decide whether he wanted to give me money or not. All kinds of vendors would come into our neighborhood to sell things, and I felt very bad when I saw all the other girls buying from them. Even when there was shopping to be done at the market, he would go himself. Finally, when I could not stand being without money at all, I thought up a plan. When I sat down to cook, I would put aside a fistful of rice every day. After several days when I saw him going out of the house with a bag, I asked if he was going to buy rice, and when he answered yes, I said to him, “I have some rice, would you like to buy that?” He laughed and said, “Show it to me, how many days will it last?”

“Oh, two or three days.”

At this, he put the bag down and, without saying anything to me, went off to work. Foolishly, I had thought I would earn a few rupees this way. Perhaps it would have been better if I hadn't said anything at all.

The next morning he was drinking tea when I said to him, “Please bring some rice, otherwise I will not be able to cook.”

“But you said you had enough for two or three days,” he said.

“If you pay me, I will cook that rice.” He started to laugh but he did not say anything.

“Don't you think I need money for some small expenses?” I said. “You will never buy anything for me, and if you don't give me at least some money, how do you expect me to manage? I can't buy anything if I want to! Everyone here buys something or the other now and again, but what about me? I just stand and watch.”

“Here, take this,” he said, and handed me ten rupees.

“Two, three kilos of rice for just ten rupees? I will not give you my rice for this pittance.”

He started to laugh so I said, “Don't laugh. I have saved this by eating a little less every day, but if this is all you're going to give me then I will not save rice like this anymore.”

“Of course, you don't get anything to eat here! I suppose you think it's your father who feeds you, I don't give you anything at all.”

“What do you give me,” I asked, “other than a few morsels to eat? Do you think I have no desires at all in my life? Every morning you give me the same handful of rice and vegetables, and it never occurs to you how I will make do with so little. You eat your fill and get up, without once asking me if I have eaten or not, whether my stomach is full or not.” But all this had no effect on him.

I thought I should say more, but just then Ma arrived. We made desultory conversation and then she asked me if I had been to the hospital. When I told her I hadn't and she realized that my pregnancy was nearly full-term, she said, “Come on, come along with me. We'd better make arrangements for when the child ar
rives.” My husband listened to all this and did not say a word even as I got my things ready. I left with Ma.

The first two or three days in Ma and Baba's house were pleasant enough, and then their bickering began again. This time round, things seemed much worse and then one day, Baba really lost his temper. He said to Ma, “You're a fine one, you brought the girl here promising her peace and quiet and now that she is here, you fight with her about every little thing.” Ma muttered something in reply, I could not make out what it was, and Baba began to shake with anger. He was so furious that he began to beat her. He was shouting at her and she at him. I tried hard to get them to calm down, but they were in no mood to listen. Then my temper began to rise. I thought,
Are these people unable to spend even one day in peace?
“I made a mistake in coming here,” I said to Ma. “If my coming causes you such trouble, I don't know why you asked me to come at all. You should have just left me there. Oh, God, what have I done to deserve this, is there no peace for me anywhere?” As I said this, I began to beat my head.

Baba rushed toward me—perhaps he was afraid that I might hurt myself—and made as if to pick me up. Then he looked at Ma and held back. Standing there, he said, “Don't cry, child, please don't cry.” This made me even angrier than ever, and I began to wail even more loudly. Then he turned to Ma: “Rani, stop her, otherwise she will die. Oh, God,” he cried, “what have I done? What has happened to my daughter?”

He called out to a neighbor, “Brother, look at my daughter. Why is she doing this? What has come over her?” The neighbor came and stood a little way away, calling across, “Baby? What's wrong?” By this time my temper had skyrocketed and I was in a rage. In the heat of my fury, I was blind to the fact that my clothes were half undone. The blood was pounding in my head. I picked
up a large
hansia
and held it up. “Don't come near me,” I threatened. “If anyone comes close I will chop them up with this.”

At this, Baba fell at my feet and began crying. “Calm down, child. Calm down, I beg you.” My grandmother came up behind me and said, “Will you put that down or not?” As she said this, she gently pulled it out of my hands and let it slide down, and along with it I fell to the ground with a thud. Baba then rose up and said to Ma, “Rani, put some balm on her forehead.” While she did this, Baba gently told me to sit up. I did as I was told and set my clothes right. “I'll leave tomorrow morning,” I said.

“All right, go if you must, but right now, just calm down.” Then, weeping, he said, “I'm so sorry, every time you come there is trouble in the house. I'm so sorry I have not been able to give you even a bit of peace. I earn so much and yet I am not able to feed you properly. What kind of father am I? Go away, child, this is no place for you. You will not be able to live here. Take whatever you have, whatever is your due, and leave.”

That night I went to bed hungry. It was quite late at night when Ma woke Baba and asked him to eat. Baba called out to me and said, “Come, child, come and eat something.”

“I don't feel like it,” I answered, “I'm not hungry.” But both of them came and took hold of my hands, pulled me up, and gave me food. In the morning, my grandmother took me home. When we arrived, she went to meet my maternal aunt and then returned.