Piyali stopped at the door on hearing the voice which was familiar, but still new. He had been helping with a kids’ dance performance till then. So nobody had heard him sing. But on that morning, he must have gotten carried away. The girl whom he was trying to teach gaped at him open-mouthed. He wouldn’t stop to let her repeat after him. His eyes were closed and his fingers moved graciously on the harmonium. That deep, soulful voice! Piyali could feel his sadness creeping up on her. She hadn’t felt it quite as well when Maitrayee had answered her questions about him. She walked up to him noiselessly, standing right in front of him. When he opened his eyes, her large eyes were the first thing he noticed. She thought she saw him smile, but only for a split second. Then he abruptly stopped singing and turned hastily to his pupil. “I am sorry – you were not following, I think. Let’s start with the aaroha…”

Piyali turned on her heels and went to the other room to help others practice.

—

“Mukundo Babu!” she caught up with him as he was leaving.

“Piyali!” He tried to act normal, but he was clearly uncomfortable.

“The event is in three days…”

“Are you nervous?”

“Kind of… Charu Di has almost pulled out. So…”

“And you are doing a great job. There is no reason to be nervous.”

“You are just trying to make me feel good, but…”

“No! Piyali. I mean it.”

She looked up at him. He was sincere. She could see it in his eyes. Strangely, she felt her stomach churn, as if she were appearing for an exam.

“Won’t you perform?” she blurted.

“What? Me?”

“Please!”

“But Piyali.”

“I know. I know… I had asked Pishima not to pester you. But… Dadu also talked about your singing. And I heard you this morning. It’d be criminal for you not to perform… This event is for an orphanage, you know…” her voice drowned as she found him looking at her with a strange mixture of desolation and admiration.

“You really want me to perform?”

She nodded, unable to find her voice.

He closed his eyes and let out a sigh. “Fine. I will,” he said and turned away quickly.

Thankfully there was a tree nearby on which Piyali could lean. The warmth that had enveloped her threatened to melt her down. She couldn’t have articulated why exactly she was feeling this way. She had attracted attention of men for several years now. But she had been too childlike and mischievous to have fallen for anyone. Universally friendly, she hadn’t attached much importance to any attention she got.

But this was different. Mukundo Babu gave into her wishes! She had been hearing about him from her grand-father. And given the respect the old man showed for him, Piyali had already placed him on a pedestal. That such a man should care about what she wanted from him was enough to make a melting poodle out of her.

—

Old Mr. Thakur was a misogynist and didn’t seem to believe in the institution of marriage. Even when his wife had lived, they hardly ever spoke to each other and slept separately. Till some years ago, Mukundo had wondered how they ever managed to produce two children. That was explained to him by his maashima during a conversation in which she held the old man responsible for the Mukundo and his sister never having a real family of their own.

“She didn’t die of any disease or accident, Mukundo. It was the torment her husband inflicted on her that took away her life,” she rued.

“Torment?”

“Torment is not always physical, my son. Years of insult and neglect…”

“I am not even sure how we came into being then…” the question was bugging him, and even though it was awkward, he voiced it.

She smiled, “He was a misogynist all through. But he wasn’t always averse to enjoying the fruits of married life. Not until that cursed letter sprang out, anyway.”

His mother had, in all innocence and bravado of teenage years, had fallen in love with a neighbourhood boy. Those were the days of early marriages and crushed childhood romances. The inevitable happened to her too, and at the age of eighteen she was married to his father. But she carried out one act of defiance. She kept a letter from her lover with her and brought it to her marital home. Still, it didn’t take her long to forget all about that childish affair and immerse herself in the responsibilities of a new bride and soon a mother. Sometime after the birth of Mrinmoyi, however, his father discovered that letter by accident.

“She tried everything. She tried to explain, she tried to beg, she tried to laugh is off. But he wouldn’t listen. He was never an ideal husband. But after that… I am sorry, Mukundo. I know you respect your father. But he is what he is.”

He respected his father, all right. At least he didn’t talk back to him, nor did he argue with him ever. Because his mother had tirelessly taught him to be respectful to his father. Despite how he had treated her. Indian women!

After her death, Mukundo had been sent off to boarding, while Mrinmoyee was brought up by their childless maashima. Mukundo also spent most of his holidays with her. The siblings had come back to Kolkata to live with their father only when they started attending college.

His marriage, like his sister’s, had happened despite his father, thanks to the efforts of his maashima.  Aporna had come to the same house as a bride. Mukundo sometimes wondered if the house wasn’t cursed. Why would their relationship be so cold otherwise? He wasn’t misogynist like his father. He hadn’t found any letters with Aporna. And even if he had, he wouldn’t have held it against her all their lives. She didn’t seem to have any complaints against him either. Still they weren’t comfortable with each other. They could hardly hold even a short conversation. They irritated each other. The only saving grace was that they knew when they were reaching the breaking point. And instead of indulging in a fight or a shouting match, they removed themselves from the scene. What was wrong? Was it the destiny? That the house should not see a happy family?

In that backdrop it was even more dreadful that Aporna should have died during childbirth. The complications had developed unexpectedly in the last moment. “Mother or child?” was the dreaded question he had faced. He had taken the right decision. “Save Aporna,” he had said. But fate had something else in mind for him. On her deathbed, her eyes were full of accusation. As if he were responsible for condition. As if he had wished this for her. Had he? No! No! Lord, no!

After Aporna’s death, he had found his newborn daughter’s presence agonizing. He didn’t want to feel that way. But try as much as he could, he just couldn’t shake the feeling away. His sister took charge of the baby. He let it be that way. And even left the country before Sumedha had even turned one.

She was an orphan despite her father being alive. And Piyali! She was raising funds for an orphanage.

—

To be continued