Mish' Fiction

If Piyali didn’t find it so difficult to approach strangers she would have liked to be a journalist like her friend Sonali. So when Sonali invited her to accompany her to interview an erstwhile tawayaf and well-known singer Meher Jaan, she went eagerly. Meher Jaan was a recluse in her old age and any music lover would cherish a meeting with her. Piyali was no exception.

The old woman was dressed simply, but her house displayed the rich relics of an era gone by. The exquisite carpets and rich chandeliers could have been from a period film set. At first Meher Jaan didn’t pay much attention to Piyali. But she turned to her when Sonali made a formal introduction, and seemed to be taken aback. She squinted at her for a long minute, then asked, “What did you say your name was?”

“Piyali.”

“Piyali what?”

“Piyali Banerjee.”

Meher Jaan nodded, but she looked dissatisfied.

“She is trained in classical music,” Sonali offered, “And sings very well herself. Of course, only by my standards.” She chuckled.

Meher Jaan obliged her by smiling and asked her to start the interview.

In due course, Meher Jaan brought out old albums for Sonali to select some good photographs from for her story.

“Come with me while your friend does your job,” Meher Jaan told Piyali, her voice much kinder than earlier, “You might like some old records from my collection.”

Piyali followed her as her chest tightened. Why did Meher Jaan seem to know her? She couldn’t fathom how that could be. But she felt that she was about to find out.

“Would you like to play this one?”  Meher Jaan picked up a record and asked Piyali.

Piyali nodded without looking at the record.

“Put it on then,” she indicated towards the table on which record player was mounted. Piyali went to the table, but before she could place the record in the player, her eyes caught a framed photograph kept on the same table. There were eight women in the photo, all dressed extravagantly. Piyali froze.

“Who is she?” Piyali put her fingers on one of the women and asked.

“Her real name was something else,” Meher Jaan replied, “But here she was called Salma Jaan. We always gave new names to the girls here. She was a refugee from East Pakistan. Had come here as a young girl. Her family was killed there. She had survived somehow. She and her training in music. What mastery she had at such a young age!”

“What happened to her?” Piyali asked, her voice trembling.

“The days when tawayafs were respected for their craft were past. I couldn’t keep her here. After she became pregnant, she ran away. She wouldn’t have her child grow up here. I ran a tight ship. Girls didn’t just run away from me. For a long time I knew where she was. But I let her go. I couldn’t really have kept her here, I knew that. Her willpower was strong.”

“Salma Jaan,” Piyali mumbled, the unfamiliar name felt rough on her tongue.

Meher Jaan came forward and cradled Piyali’s face in her palm, “Not her real name. You are lucky, Piyali.”

Piyali felt numb. She turned on her heels and walked out of the room.

“Sonali. Mukundo Babu called. I must go home right away. You continue and finish your work,” she told her friend in a measured tone and left the house with equally measured steps. Once outside she ran mindlessly until she was exhausted and out of breath.  She found herself in a secluded area. She dropped to her knees right there on the pavement and sobbed into her hands.

—

The knock was soft, almost inaudible. If Mukundo hadn’t been sitting still on the table with no other sound in the room, he may not have heard it. It must be Piyali. Sumedha or Mohima wouldn’t knock like that. It was strange for Piyali to knock that late at night, but she had been acting weird since yesterday. Perhaps she had come to have a tete-a-tete now. Hopeful and curious, he opened the door. There she was. Wearing her clean, ironed night dress; her hair in a high ponytail, no makeup on the face – just the way he liked her the best. He resisted his temptation to draw her in an embrace and wasn’t prepared for it when she did just the same as soon as she entered the room.

“Hey,” he said softly, as her hands clutched him, “Everything alright?”

“Yes,” she spoke into his chest, “I was missing you.”

He broke the hug and cupped her face, “I hope so. Because I miss you every moment, even if you are only in the next room.”

Her lips parted slightly inviting a kiss from him. He was happy to oblige her. Next, he groaned loudly as she ran her fingers over his spine and planted a kiss on his chest.

“Piyali, don’t!”

“Why not?”

“I won’t be able to stop then.”

“I don’t want you to.”

He held her and looked straight into her eyes, “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Is it wrong?”

“Of course not! When we both want it, it is the most beautiful thing.”

“Are you sure?”

“You are a brutal woman! Don’t you know that I have been sure for years?”

“Then why worry,” she said and snuggled up to him.

He wrapped his arms around her and led her to his bed.

—

She had wanted to leave afterwards. But Mukundo had insisted that she stayed with him.

“But Kaki…” she had protested.

“She won’t wake up until six. I am putting an alarm for five in the morning. Then you can go to your room.”

She had agreed to that. But when Mukundo woke up she wasn’t in the bed. The clock showed it was two at night. At first, he thought she must have panicked and decided to go to her room early. But some instinct made him want to check up on her.

He saw her entering her room just as he came out of his. She must have left just before he woke up. That must be what had woken him up too.

There was a bathroom between their rooms. Assured that she was all right, he went in to relieve himself and decided to go back to bed after that. But after coming out, he decided to pay her a surprise visit in her room.

Her door was shut, but not locked. He opened it cautiously. She wasn’t there and her bed was not slept in. He went to check the attached bathroom.  The door was unlocked and she wasn’t inside. He hurried back to his room wondering if she had gone back. She was not there either.

He panicked and went to her room again. When he switched on the lights, he noticed a paper lying on her table. He grabbed it and started reading.

“Mukundo Babu.

Until I didn’t know who I was, your love made it easy to imagine that it couldn’t have been anything that bad. But now I know. I love you and will always love you. Till my last breath. I love Sumi and Kaki too. But I am not the wife you deserve. I am not the mother Sumi deserves.

Please remember the good memories and try to forgive me for the bad ones.

Your unfortunate lover
Piyali”

—

To be continued

Mohima looked on partly amused, and partly exasperated, as Piyali explained her logic.

“Did this lead to Mukundo hitting you?”

“No. No, Kaki. That was my fault. I had said something reprehensible and I can’t repeat it before you.”

“Then, my child, if you must pay me back for what you think has been my graciousness, do it this way. Give me my son’s happiness. Which seems to lie in you.”

“Kaki!”

“Your mother was wise, Piyali. But you are not a nineteen-year old orphan anymore. You are an adult, who can take her own decisions. And when I tell you that the things you are so worried about don’t matter, when Mukundo tells you that they don’t matter, will you not consider changing your old views? Your mother only wanted to caution you against trying to take shortcuts. And you have done justice to her values. At this stage, when you are both capable to making your own decision, accepting your mutual love isn’t wrong. It will make me very happy, Piyali. And for the first time in years, I will feel assured that my son is happy and taken care of. You think about it.”

—

“Come in,” his voice boomed from behind the doors when she knocked.

She entered gingerly and stood near the door. He was lying on his bed, his arms shading his eyes. But he knew who had entered. He spoke without moving his arms or head.

“What have you come here for? To offer another solution for my heartache?”

He was sulking! Piyali felt like laughing and crying at the same time.

“I have come to apologize.”

“For what?” he sat up.

“For being silly. Idiotic really. For not accepting the obvious. For hurting you.”

“Fine. You are forgiven,” he went back to lying down on the bed and shading his eyes with his arms, “Please shut the door while leaving.”

“Mukundo Babu!” she called him pleadingly.

“What?” He removed his arms from his eyes and looked at her innocently.

“That’s it?”

“That’s what you came for, right?”

“I—I–” she stammered, then seemed to gather her wits together, “I came to confess something to you honestly.”

“Okay?”

“That the reason I would never marry anyone else is that I am in love with you. Have always been. Will always be.”

Mukundo stirred now and moved with alacrity. He strode towards the door where she stood, shut the door and then pinned her against it.

“Say that again,” he hissed.

“I love you,” she croaked.

He pressed his lips against hers. This time there was no surprise or shock. Only a sweet anticipation, well fulfilled.

“No listen to me,” he said after breaking the kiss, but still holding her captive against the door, “You have made me run after you a bit too much–”

“I’m sorry,” she responded automatically, but he interrupted her.

“That’s not enough. You must show your repentance in action.”

“How?” she asked, apprehensive.

“By proposing to me.”

“What?”

“You heard me. If you don’t propose to me, I am going to keep you at arm’s length for the rest of our lives. You can take your time, of course.”

As if to demonstrate, he stepped back and put an arm’s length distance between them. He flashed a challenging smile at her and turned on his heels, meaning to go back to his bed.

But he hadn’t taken even the first step when Piyali’s hand grabbed his. “Mukundo Babu!” she yanked at it to make him turn back. And as he stared wide-eyed, she sunk to her knees and asked, “Will you marry me?”

All his self-control gave way at the sight. He hadn’t expected her to come through so quickly. He helped her up gently and then drew her savagely in a bone-crushing hug.

“Yes,” he whispered in her ears and bit her earlobe to make her moan. Their caresses became so urgent and violent that they soon made their way to his bed. But after a minute, Piyali stopped him and sat up, panting.

“We need to give it time,” he said and she nodded.

“Go to your room,” he added, “Or someplace. I need time to digest this.”

She nodded and started smoothening her dress. But she could not leave the room before another long-drawn passionate kiss from him. She wasn’t complaining.

—

She wondered where she should go. She would be too restless if she stayed alone in her room. And she wasn’t yet ready to face Mohima or even Sumedha. There was only one refuge. The music room. She went there and took out the tanpura.

She spent next half an hour singing the bada and chhota khayal in Raga Pilu. Then she opened her eyes and toyed with the string of her instrument while deciding what to sing next. That’s when she noticed Mukundo standing at the door and flushed.

He walked in, smiling. “I was trying to stay away from you for a while to clear up my head,” he said as he sat down next to her, “Then you started singing. You are brutal.”

“I am sorry,” she replied, averting her eyes, “I did not know where to go.”

“When you don’t know where to go, you come to me, Piyali.”

“You had asked me to go away.”

He cradled her face in his hand and said, “Even then.”

Tears flooded her eyes and she tried to turn her face away from him, but he didn’t let her. “What is it?”

“I am almost afraid, Mukundo Babu. This can’t be real. Will I wake up from a dream and realize that all this never happened?”

“If it were the dream, the solution is simple, isn’t it? You just have to wake up, come to me, and confess.”

They both smiled at it.

“Come now,” he said, “Let’s join Ma for tea.”

“I can’t face her yet.”

He guffawed, “So? You intend to hide here for the rest of your life?”

“Mukundo Babu! You are not helping.”

He sat up and offered his hands to her, “I am. Come on, now. Let’s go together. There is nothing to face. She will be happy that you came around.”

He asked as they left the room, “I never asked you before. But who taught you music? I don’t think you have ever gone to music classes since you are here. ”

“Ma was my Guru. Music was her sole indulgence in life.”

“She must be an accomplished musician to have taught you so well.”

That gave Piyali a pause. Having grown up with her mother’s music she had never wondered where it came from. She knew nothing about her mother’s past. If Mukundo Babu was impressed, her mother must have been accomplished. But how? And if she was so accomplished why did she not earn a better living by giving music lessons instead of struggling with menial jobs all her life?

She looked at Mukundo to voice her thoughts, but realized that he had moved on from the topic. Before she could decide whether to bring his attention back to it, they had reached the porch and Mohima and Sumedha were already waiting for them.

“I see that you two have made up,” Mohima said when she saw them together.

Piyali looked like she would sprint away and hide herself in some corner. Mukundo also blushed, but he laughed and met his mother’s eyes boldly. She nodded slightly to convey her approval.

—

To be continued

“Mashima!” Sumi ran into her as soon as they entered the house, “I have so much homework today. We must start right away.”

“Ask your Baba to help you with that, Sweetie. I need to finish some urgent work,” she replied and ignoring the confusion and hurt on the child’s face, shut herself in her bedroom.

She was not crying this time. The cat was out of the bag.  She must think calmly if she were to wade through the muddled water it had led her into.

For a moment, her mind went back to the kiss. She had admired Mukundo from even before, when she had only known him as a professor at her university. But from the time she had set foot in their home, the admiration had grown to be overwhelming. And yet she wouldn’t have dared name it love had it not been for that kiss. That had somehow made him accessible, familiar and intimate.

But she had never forgotten her mother’s death-bed warning.

“On the one hand, it is fortunate that you will live with Thakurs, Pihu. You will be taken care of in a way that I could never do for you. But on the other hand, it can be dangerous. Remember what they are. Not only rich, but also an extremely prestigious family. Never ever do anything that will taint their prestige and make them regret taking you in. Do you understand me?”

“Yes Ma,” she had replied pressing her mother’s hand.

A hard knock on her door interrupted her ruminations. Neither Mohima, nor Sumedha would have knocked that hard. It must be Mukundo. She waited hoping he would go away. But the next knock was even harder. Even through the closed door, she could feel his fury seeping in. If she didn’t relent, he wouldn’t be unequal to breaking the door.

Resigned, she went to the door and opened it. He flung it ajar and strode in.

“Don’t you dare,” he growled, “Ask me to leave. And don’t you dare leave this room until I have had my answers. Honest answers.”

She walked back from the door and gingerly sat at the edge of the bed. She didn’t trust herself to remain standing. She flinched when he opened her drawer, but he looked so furious then that she didn’t have it in her to object to it. He pulled out her drawings from the bottom of the paper piles and walked to her.

When he came near her, she noticed that all his aggression had vanished. There was only melancholy written all over his body. She gasped when he knelt before her and spread some of the drawings on the floor between them.

“Why must my love for you always make me a villain, Piyali? I was a villain when I didn’t think you appreciated my feeling. But even today? When I know that you reciprocate it and reciprocate it fiercely? Why?”

She stood up and walked some distance away from him where she stood with her back to him.

“Your villainy is not towards me, Mukundo Babu. It is towards yourself, your family. Have you ever run through the list of proposals that have come your way since you were widowed? It will translate into a list of who-is-who of Kolkata and rest of the country. Beautiful, educated, intelligent women from well-respected families. And you have rejected them all. How can I put myself in your way then? I—I don’t even know who I am. I don’t know who my father was. My mother barely made the ends meet with her sewing and odd jobs. And I have no family except that you and Kaki have graciously made me part of yours. What would it be like introducing me as your wife to your friends and relatives? Embarrassing, that’s what it will be.”

“Which era are you living in, Piyali? You think I care for all that?”

“Convention is there for a reason, Mukundo Babu,” she repeated his own words, “If you go against it, you would be a martyr. Would that be a great payback from me for all you have done for me?”

“But it is okay to make both of us martyrs? Is it a fine payback if I pine for you all my life?”

A chill ran down her spine and she took a moment before turning back towards him.

She smiled through her tears and said, “You want me, Mukundo Babu? Then take me. I will–”

“Piyali!” Mukundo yelled so loud that it brought Mohima running to Piyali’s door.

And before any of them could orient themselves, another loud sound assaulted them. Mukundo had slapped Piyali. Hard. And it had come so unexpectedly to her that she hadn’t offered even the instinctive defense. Her lips were bitten by her own teeth and a thin streak of blood appeared at the corner.

“Mukundo!” Mohima hissed, ran to Piyali and gathered her sobbing form in her arms.

Mukundo’s raging face softened. He looked at his hand as if it was something outside of him and then looked at Piyali, sobbing into Mohima’s shoulders.

“Go Mukundo!” Mohima shouted, “I don’t care what it is, but go now!”

Casting a wretched, guilty look at Piyali, he retreated.

Mohima made Piyali sit in the bed and examined the blood.

“I will get the first aid kit,” she said, “You sit still here.”

“Kaki,” Piyali yanked at her hands, “Please don’t go to Mukundo Babu. Don’t say anything to him. It wasn’t his fault.”

“How was it not, Piyali?”

“I offended him in unmentionable ways. Please Kaki.”

“Sit still. I am only going to get the first aid box.”

—

“I feel wretched that I slapped her, Ma, but I am not going to apologize,” Mukundo burst out when Mohima came to his room later, “This girl will drive me crazy. And if she must stay this way, send her away. She says she is capable of living on her own and I agree. I am also capable to living my life and taking care of my daughter without her.”

“That sounds like lover’s tiff except you are not—Oh! Are you?” She jumped up at the thought.

“Damned if I know, Ma. Ask her.”

“Mukundo,” Mohima looked fearful, “You are not forcing her, are you?”

“Ma!” he looked hurt, “I haven’t. All these years. Fully aware that she was young and I had no business exploiting her gratefulness. But what do I discover? That she won’t marry anyone else because she loves me. But she won’t marry me either.”

“Why?”

“Now THAT! You ask her. I have to help Sumi finish her homework.”

—

To be continued

The things that this girl made him do. He could care less about her strange, mysterious behavior. If only he hadn’t been so madly in love with her. As it happened, he loved her with a passion he could hardly give words to. And the very idea that something might be hurting or troubling her was enough to destroy his peace of mind. Apart from his daughter Sumedha, nobody else provoked this protective instinct in him. But with Sumedha he could act on it expressly. With Piyali he had to work day and night on hiding it.

And so here he was. Invading her room when she was not there. Invading her private space and intimate moments. To find a clue to the mystery. That morning he had declared himself unwell, called up at the university and cancelled all his classes and had decided to stay at home. Piyali had come to his room, looking wretched and close to tears.

“What is it, Mukundo Babu? What happened to you?”

“It’s perhaps just physical exhaustion. I have more classes than usual this semester. I should be fine by the evening.”

She had stayed silent for a moment and then had asked, halting at every word, “Is it because of me? Because of the conversation we had yesterday?”

He had taken a moment to regard her worried, shrunken face and then had answered, “No. You must not worry, Piyali.”

Wordlessly, she had left his room, leaving him a bit more miserable.

Presently he looked around the room, feeling exasperated with himself. What did he expect to find? What should he be looking for?

He sat down on her bed and pulled up a pillow to keep in his lap as was his habit. A piece of paper fell on the floor. He picked it up and jolted in surprise. It was a photograph of the two of them, eating pani-puri at a poojo pandal. They were laughing. It was from three years ago. He was wearing the blue kurta she had brought for him from her first salary. He had seen the photo earlier, several times.  But he had never noticed earlier how she had been looking at him while trying to stuff another puri in her mouth. Every time he took the photo out of his office desk drawer, he had only wondered how transparent his own expressions were. At least to him.

As if suddenly jolted by an electric current, he bolted upright, letting the pillow in his lap fall on the floor. He picked up the pillow and tried to place the photo and the pillow back in their original position as far as he could recall. Next, he hesitated only for a moment before opening her drawer. Hidden beneath the bundle of assignments and tests she had to grade were a bunch of hand-drawings.  Mukundo had never known that she drew. But she drew well enough for him to decipher what, rather who, the subject of most of her drawings was. He tried for a while to find a diary. But she either didn’t keep one, or kept it well-hidden.

—

Piyali recognized his car as soon as she came out of the school premises. Surprised and worried, she almost ran to it.

“Mukundo Babu!” she opened the passenger door and hissed breathlessly, “What are you doing here? You are unwell. You should be resting.”

“Please sit, Piyali. I am fine now.”

“You–” she grew confused now, “You came to pick me up?”

“Yes.”

She climbed in and pulled her seat-belt. Then asked again, “Why?”

“Because I wanted to go for a cup of coffee with you.”

She sighed and tapped the headrest with the back of her head, as if thinking. Then she asked, “And talk?”

“Are you scared of me?”

“What an absurd question that is, Mukundo Babu. Of course, not.”

“Then let’s talk. Talk honestly. What’s the harm?”

“Fine!” said Piyali, “If there is someone you think I should get married to, you let me know and I will get married.”

“We are talking, Piyali. Not getting you married. At least, not until…”

Piyali waited for him to finish, but he didn’t. She closed her eyes in exasperation. She had handled it all wrong. She had been unprepared for the conversation Mohima had sprang up on her from nowhere. She should have appeared more nonchalant, more frivolous. She should not have let her inner struggle show up. And now it was all a mess. She was afraid that if the truth of her heart was revealed she would forever lose them all. Kaki, Mukundo Babu, Sumi – the only people in the whole wide world she could think of as her own. As Mukundo drove silently, she tried to think how she was going to handle the impending conversation.

But all her preparations came to a naught. After picking up their coffee, Mukundo led her to a secluded corner and slipped a photograph across the table. THE photograph. All color drained out of her face.

“You know where I found it, don’t you?”

“It’s just a photograph,” she spoke, haltingly, “You were wearing the kurta I got for you. So…”

“That’s true enough. But I asked for honesty, Piyali. And half-truth is not honesty.”

“Let’s stop right here, Mukundo Babu. Everyone is allowed to be silly once in a while. I might have been silly. But please don’t expose me. Kaki will hate me and I can’t lose the only family I have. Please!”

“You stop right here and tell me something. Remember all those years ago, you had been with us for barely a year and I had done something which had almost wrecked this family. Do you remember?”

She nodded, keeping her eyes glued to the tabletop.

“You hadn’t forgiven me. You didn’t have to. You were never really angry with me, were you?”

She froze up.

“Talk, Piyali. And I promise to be honest with you too. And I promise that you will not lose anything because of this conversation. But I need to know.”

“I—I was shocked, surprised. I wasn’t angry,” she said finally, her head hanging so low that it was barely inches away from falling on the tabletop.

“And this photo is not from beneath your pillow. This is from my drawer,” he said.

Her head shot up, her moist eyes met his for the first time during the conversation, and they were clouded with incomprehension.

“You were not angry with me,” he continued, “On the contrary you felt so strongly for me that even before you had seen anything of life, you had decided you won’t get married to someone else. Even when you didn’t intend to ever tell me why. You were aware of your feelings, Piyali. But you have indeed been silly. Did you never think of what had driven me to that desperate, impulsive act in the first place?”

“It was a mistake, that’s what it was, Mukundo Babu,” she said flatly, “Let’s not talk anymore of this. We had left that incident behind us. We have to leave this conversation behind us too.”

“Why? Why, Piyali? Have I—Oh God! Have I understood you wrong? Tell me if that is the case and I–”

“Are you taking me home or should I get a taxi?”

“We haven’t finished talking.”

“Very well, then,” she stood up and strode out of the coffee-shop without glancing back at him.

Exasperated, Mukundo rushed after her, leaving behind two cups of coffee, untouched, on their table.

He caught up with her before she could hail a taxi and quietly asked her to come to his car. She obeyed and they drove home in uncomfortable silence.

—

6 years later

Mukundo and Piyali were playing a game of cards, with Sumedha perched up on Piyali’s lap when Mohima walked in.

“What is going on?” she asked, settling herself on the sofa.

“Baba is cheating, Thakuma. He isn’t letting Mashima win any rounds.”

“Is he now?” Mohima laughed.

“Perhaps your Baba is just better at it than me, Sumi,” Piyali said and threw her cards on the table, “I lost again.”

“That’s very ungentlemanly of you, Mukundo,” Mohima grinned, “You should have let her win a few times.”

“This ward of yours, Ma,” Mukundo replied in the same vein, “Has become too much a feminist to accept my losing willingly.”

“What is “too much of a feminist”?” Piyali made a face, “You are either a feminist or you are not.”

“I want a lemon soda,” Sumedha interjected with her demand.

“Go to the kitchen and ask Sonelal to make one for you,” Mohima said. After the child was out of earshot, she turned to Piyali, “Right now is as good as any other time, Piyali. There was something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What is it, Kaki?” Piyali grew nervous at Mohima’s somber tone.

“Nothing worrisome. Just some future planning.”

Piyali only shot her a quizzical glance, while Mukundo was startled. He knew what it meant when his mother used that phrase. Piyali didn’t.

“You know your mother wanted to get you married because she thought it was the only way to secure your future.”

“Of course, I do. But you–”

“Opposed the idea and brought you here, instead. Because you were too young to be married off just then. But now is the right time to start thinking about it again.”

Mukundo watched Piyali’s profile. She looked more stunned than either shy or anxious.

It was after a long pause that she spoke, in a trembling voice, “Am I a trouble here now, Kaki?”

“Don’t be silly, Piyali. Marriage is not a way to get rid of you. It is a way to find a life partner with whom you can happy your entire life.”

Mukundo stood up. “Perhaps I should leave,” he said.

Piyali shot him a glance and their eyes met for moment. For hours afterwards, he could not get rid of the notion that her eyes were accusing him of something. Of what? Certainly, she couldn’t be comfortable with his presence during that discussion. That was the reason he had voluntarily left. Or was it?

—

Mohima came to his room later that evening.

“She is behaving strangely,” his mother said.

“Who?”

“Piyali, of course.”

“You sprang up the subject of marriage on her from nowhere–”

“It’s not that. It’s not the suddenness. It’s rather the certainty with which she says she doesn’t want to get married.”

“Give it time, Ma.”

“I told her that I am not expecting her to get married tomorrow. I only wanted her to think about it. She wouldn’t have to get married to the first guy we come across. I asked her if there was someone–”

“There is no one,” Mukundo interrupted without meaning to.

“You have spoken to her about it?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know?”

“It’s just that—I don’t know. We always seem to know where she is. There has never been a mystery about her life or schedule.”

“You are right. But then what is it? And I assure you that it wasn’t shyness or unpreparedness for the discussion. She didn’t seem to be waiting for that perfect soulmate either. Her certainty was unnerving, even if she was saying it in a shaking, weak, guilty voice. Would you talk to her?”

“Me?”

“Haven’t the two of you left that little incident behind you? Aren’t you great friends?”

“We are, Ma. But–”

“Please Mukundo. You know I have an intuition about people. I wouldn’t ask you to do it if I thought it was merely her unpreparedness to think about it.”

“All right,” he said with a sigh, “I will try.” And he wondered how on earth would he initiate that conversation with her.

—

Piyali’s door was open and she was sitting with Sumedha, helping her with her homework. Mukundo knocked just to draw her attention and then walked in.

“Please sit, Mukundo Babu,” Piyali said without making much fuss, “We will be done with Sumi’s homework in a moment.” Since Piyali had finished her post-graduation and had taken up a job as a teacher, she had completely taken over the responsibility of overseeing Sumedha’s studies. “It helps me become a better teacher too,” she had said when Mukundo had expressed concerns about whether it will burden her too much.

“I will try to not disturb,” Mukundo grinned presently and pulled up a chair. He spoke again after the girls were done with the homework. “Why don’t you go out and play with your friends now, Sumi?”

“Isn’t Mashima coming with me?”

“You are a big girl now, Sumi. You can go by yourself. Don’t go farther than the park though, okay? Piyali will stay here. I have to talk to her.”

Piyali’s head jerked in surprise. Mukundo noticed, but pretended not to.

He turned to face her after Sumedha had left. “Ma asked me to speak to you.”

In an uncharacteristic reaction, she bowed her head and did not utter a word.

Mukundo chuckled nervously, “I absolutely don’t want to pester you, Piyali. Whatever you choose to do, it really is your life and your decision. Whatever makes you happy. Just tell me that you are not ready for the marriage discussion right now and that will be it. I came to talk only because Ma felt like there was something else behind your hesitation. Is there?”

She slowly lifted her head, but didn’t look at him. “I don’t want to get married.”

“Not now, right?”

“Not ever.”

Mukundo sat up on hearing that. For the first time, he gave credence to Mohima’s fear that something was going on in Piyali’s mind. Outwardly he spoke calmly.

“That is a fair choice, Piyali. You know me. You know about my friends, many of whom have made unconventional life choices and are happy. Including the choice of not getting married. But convention is there for a reason. It works for most people. If you decide to go against convention, you should have a good reason. And if you give me a good reason, I promise I will not pester you again.”

“I prefer to maintain my independence,” she said.

Her voice was flat, her slouched shoulders looked unconvincing.

Mukundo shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Marrying the right person is not about losing your independence. It is about getting some support. We all need support in our lives.”

“Nobody knows it better than me, Mukundo Babu. But I have support here, in this house.”

“Piyali–”

“I can’t stay here forever, Mukundo Babu. I know that. And I am capable to staying on my own. Even today. And I will do it whenever you think it is time for me to move out–”

“Stop it, Piyali. Do you really think that I and Ma want to send you away?”

He paused and Piyali realized that the question was not rhetorical. So, at last she shook her head.

“And you must realize that this conversation is no longer about your marriage. It is about your well-being. What I feel right now is that there is something to worry about. Something you are not telling me. What is it, Piyali?”

“Nothing. Nothing, Mukundo Babu. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I am not ready to think about it just now. I–”

“Has anybody hurt you? Now or sometime in past?”

She shook her head.

“Is there someone you are afraid to tell us about? You know that neither Ma, nor I care for things like caste, religion or whatever else.”

Mukundo noticed a moment of delay before she shook her head.

“Look at me, Piyali,” there was a harshness and edge in his voice. Piyali looked up, scared. “You are not being honest with me, and let’s not even debate this. But you are not a child and I am not your guardian. So, I don’t know what to do about it. I can’t force you, but know that until you come clean I will be worried about you.”

With those words, he stood up and left.

Piyali buried her face in her knees and sobbed silently.

—

To be continued

Her door was shut. Mukundo debated for several minutes between knocking and just barging in. The former was civil, the later could be easier simply because of its abruptness. The more he thought, the less certain he became of what he would say. At last, he came back to his room. Mohima had left. Taking advantage of the solitude he picked up a paper and wrote down a note.

“I don’t know if there is a right way of apologizing, but I am sorry. Please know that nothing changes for you in this house. I will give you no reason to be uncomfortable in future. Please don’t do anything rash. Don’t think of leaving. It will devastate Ma.  I beg you to not let this unfortunate incident change anything.”

He went back to her room and slipped the note through the still shut door.

—

“Unfortunate!”

The word kept echoing in Piyali’s head throughout the evening. Yes, unfortunate it had been. He was right. But he was right about something else too. She shouldn’t do anything rash. And she shouldn’t wallow in self-pity either. Everyone in the house was miserable and guilty right now. She, too, had her duty towards her benefactors.

She went out to look for Mohima and found her sitting under the porch looking out at the garden. Tea things were arranged on the table, but she hadn’t made herself a cup. Sumedha was playing with her dolls on a mat nearby.

“Ma-hi-ma… Ma-hi-ma…” the child demanded to be picked up with gestures when she saw Piyali. ‘Ma-hi-ma’ was her pronunciation of ‘Mashima’, which is what she had been taught to call Piyali.

Sumedha’s voice brought Mohima out of her reverie and she looked sadly at Piyali as she picked the girl up and threw her in the air a couple of times making her squeal in delight.

“Kaki,” Piyali spoke casually to Mohima after setting Sumedha back on the mat with her toys, “Shall I make you a cup of tea?”

Mohima nodded silently.

Seeing her so obviously upset, Piyali decided to talk, “Don’t worry about it, Kaki, please. It shouldn’t have happened, but it wouldn’t be right if Mukundo Babu were to drown in guilt over it–”

“Why would you say that, Piyali?” Mohima regarded her curiously.

“Oh Kaki!” Piyali knelt before her and buried her head in Mohiam’s knees, “Please don’t get me wrong. I would never ever—I wouldn’t even dream of seducing Mukundo Babu. I am not an idiot. I know where I belong and where he does. I just respect him a lot. And I am as indebted to him as I am to you for being my benefactor. I would rather be dead than see either of you upset because of me. And if you are so upset, he would sooner or later know that you know. And that would multiply his guilt manifold. As it is, he is miserable now.”

Mohima patted her head and spoke through her choked throat, “God bless you, my child.”

Piyali, then, withdrew from Mohima and went back to Sumedha. “Sumi, sweetheart. Take this puzzle and try to solve it with Baba’s help. He must be in his room. Go.”

Mohima close her eyes to prevent them from spilling over. Piyali knew that Sumedha was the only creature in the world who could brighten up Mukundo’s melancholy life. If only this girl wasn’t too young for his son, the entire incident might not have been so sad after all.

—

Everyone was putting up a charade at the breakfast table the next day. Piyali spoke more than usual and followed Mukundo to his car as usual to go to the university with him. Her shoulders sagged, however, once they were out of Mohima’s sight. Mukundo fidgeted with the car keys and seat belt as Piyali sat still beside him in the passenger’s seat.

“I know how uncomfortable this must be for you,” she said keeping her eyes glued to the driveway in front of her, “But if I didn’t come with you, Kaki would have asked questions. And I don’t want that–”

“Could you ever forgive me?” Piyali talking helped Mukundo also find his voice.

“You mustn’t worry on my count.”

Mukundo sighed and started the car.

—

A week later

Piyali had plans with friends on Sunday afternoon. Lunch followed by a movie. But they couldn’t get tickets for the movie. So, she came back early. She stopped short at the hall-entrnace on hearing Mohima’s voice, “How is Piyali doing?”

“She is okay, Ma, as far as I can make out?” Mukundo replied in a guilty subdued voice.

“And you?”

“It takes a lot of courage for a victim to forgive the perpetrator. But once you do, it is easier to recover. But if you are the perpetrator, what escape do you have? Her forgiveness sits as heavy on my heart, as her hatred would have.”

“Mukundo. You must forgive yourself too.”

“I try, Ma. But then I see her. Grateful and trusting as ever. And I can’t help–”

“Piyali!” Mohima noticed her and immediately interrupted Mukundo. But by the time he turned around, they knew it was too late.

Piyali stood a few feet from them, shivering as if from severe cold, her cheeks streaked with tears and an anguished cry barely suppressed by her teeth biting her lips. When she realized that she had attracted their attention, she turned on her heels and ran out of the house.

Mukundo and Mohima exchanged a quick glance and then Mukundo ran after her. Predictably, she was in the garden, sitting under her favorite mango tree and sobbing.

“Piyali!”

She was surprised into silence and stopped sobbing. When she looked up, Mukundo was standing before her, his shadow screening her from the sun.

She stood up, slowly, her back sliding along the tree trunk as if she didn’t trust herself to stand if she lost the support.

“You don’t have to see me every day, Mukundo Babu. This misery is unacceptable, unnecessary. I must go away from this house. And you or Kaki don’t have to worry about where to accommodate me. I will apply to the university hostel. And you can help me secure a good room quickly there–”

“Stop and listen to me,” Mukudo said. He didn’t know what he was going to say, but somewhere he knew that he had to be honest with her, “It is true that Ma will be devastated if you left. But I ask you to stay not for her sake, but mine. I like having you here. More than I have ever expressed. I like your singing and listen in on your practice. I like how well you bond with my daughter. This place feels like worth coming back to since you have come here. Because you brighten it up in so many ways. Whether it is your games with Sumi, or you chatter with Ma, or the conversations on politics and psychology with me.”

Piyali was dumbstruck for a moment by his declaration, then she said in a weak voice, “If even one percent of it is true, Mukundo Babu; if you get even a fraction of pleasure that you describe from my being here, nothing could drive me away. I know you too well to lose respect for you because of one accident. I have so much respect for you. But what good is all this, if you are killing all the joys of your life with this self-loathing. And that too because of me–”

“And I realize what a vicious cycle of misery my self-loathing is pushing all of us into. I promise it will change.”

“How?”

“Because of one word you just uttered – respect. I was sure of your forgiveness, Piyali. But forgiveness still makes me a culprit. But respect? That is something to live up to. I promise to you that I will live up to it. And to be able to do that the self-loathing has to go away. So, it will happen.”

“I had never known my father, Mukundo Babu. Ma was all I had. But this is the house which gave me not just a roof over my head, but also a family, even after Ma died. There is no place in the world that I would rather live in than here–”

“Then don’t. Please.”

She averted her eyes to hide the tears that were flooding up again. But she nodded to express her consent.

“Come inside. This is too hot a weather to be outside, even under a tree shade.”

—

To be continued

Mukundo was baffled out of his wits. How could that chit of a girl create this storm in his life? He, Mukundo Thakur. Thirty-three years old, a well-respected university professor, known for being level-headed, father to a three-year old girl, a widower who just couldn’t fall in love again or make up his mind to remarry even for convenience’s sake.

How had that twenty-year old girl managed to turn his head and make him behave so impulsively? And how was he to ever fix the mess that had resulted? What was she feeling just then? Did she hate him? Was she hurt or scared?

He made to step out of his room to go and find her, when Mohima appeard in the doorway.

“Ma!” he stopped in his tracks. Had Piyali told his mother?

—

Piyali sat motionless after Mohima left her. Mohima had practically begged her not to do anything in a rush. Piyali’s own mind refused to even try to make sense of what had happened. Why did Mukundo Babu behave in such a fashion? What had she done to attract such attention from him? He had been nothing but polite and cool with her in the last one year she had spent in this house. What had possessed him then? Could just an accidental physical proximity lead a man like him to lose control? She had been trying to reach for a book in his library. He had come forward to help as it was on the top shelf. The thick book had fallen when he had tried to hand it over to her. They had both tried to pick it up and in trying to avoid banging her head against him, she had ended up banging it against the iron shelf. “Oh God!” he had exclaimed and tried to massage her forehead to prevent a swelling. Even as she was assuring him that she was fine, his hands had cupped her face and then before she knew it his lips was against her. What was even more inexplicable than what he had done, was how she had reacted. Despite the shock and confusion, she had responded to the kiss. Only for a moment, but she had reacted, before breaking it and pushing him away. The realization of what he had done had dawned on him immediately and after shooting a puzzled, horrified look at her, he had turned on his heels and strode off. It was only then that Piyali had turned back and seen Mohima at the other end of the row shelves. She had forgotten to breathe for a long moment on realizing that Mohima had seen what transpired. How was she ever to explain what had happened to her benefactor? Forgetting all about the book lying on the floor, she had run away to her room and had started packing up her clothes. It had been such an instinctive thing to do that she had started doing so without sparing even a moment’s thought to where she was to go. Her frenzied packing had been interrupted by Mohima.

And the she had broken down.

“Kaki!” she had sobbed, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please trust me, I didn’t do anything…”

The sternness had disappeared from the older woman’s face on seeing her so distraught.

“I know,” she had held Piyali and assured her, “I know.” She had witnessed the going-ons after all. “I have come for you, Piyali. Are you all right? What are you doing?” she had shot a quick look at her half-packed bag, “Are you scared? Talk to me.”

“Kaki, I didn’t do anything…”

“I know, Piyali. Listen to me. Has this happened earlier?”

“No. No. Oh my God! How am I to ever…”

“Sit down, my child.”

She had sat with her for a long time. Mohima had finally managed to calm her down and had convinced her to stay.

“I’m so ashamed that my son should have behaved so, Piyali. I could never have imagined… But this is my house. You don’t have to feel insecure or be afraid here. I will have a word with him.”

“No, no, Kaki,” Piyali had become agitated again, “He didn’t see you there. You must not talk to him. I don’t want to embarrass him. He has been kind to me, always. I don’t know what…”

“But Piyali–”

“No, Kaki. Please.”

“Fine,” seeing that Piyali won’t have it any other way, Mohima had lied. But it didn’t matter how old her son was. If he did something so abominable, he deserved a telling off, and more than that.

—

“Mukundo. I was there in the library,” Mohima told her son without any preamble.

“Oh Ma!” he fell on his bed with a thud and buried his face in his hands, “I’m so, so sorry.”

“It wasn’t her doing, was it? Did she expect it?”

“No, Ma.”

“How could you do something to make her feel insecure in this house, Mukundo? You know why she is here, don’t you? What I had promised her mother?”

He knew all too well. Before promising the unfortunate woman, Piyali’s mother, that she would bring Piyali to her home should something happen to her, Mohima had taken Mukundo’s consent. A consent he had given without thinking twice. If his mother wanted to help a young girl, and if it made her happy, Mukundo saw no reason to object. Having another person at the house, especially a woman, would also have helped with Sumedha, his daughter.

He hadn’t given it another thought, even after Piyali’s mother had died, and she had been brought to his house and settled there. She was studying at the university and so he would give her a ride to and back from there. She came across as a quiet girl, sincere about her studies, and perhaps subdued by her circumstances. The teacher in him had instinctively reached out and tried to encourage her in everything she did. She had responded well to his friendship, and while she continued to be quiet, she seemed comfortable around him.

It was after a month or so, that he had heard her practicing music. It was a cool, evening. But he had felt some warm stirrings. What a mesmerizing voice she had!

“I must go and apologize to her,” he said presently to his mother.

“No! I mean – perhaps yes. But don’t let her know that I have spoken to you. She didn’t want me to.”

He looked at Mohima quizzically.

“She didn’t want to embarrass you. So do whatever you have to do. But she must not know about this meeting. And don’t make her more uncomfortable, please.”

“Ma, please!” Mukundo looked close to tears, “I have made a terrible mistake. But I am not a monster. Don’t treat me like one.”

Mohima closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Then she said in a low, tired voice, “I’m sorry. It’s just that—one doesn’t face situations like these every day. The last time I had felt so mortified on your count was when I had been told by your school principle that you smoked. I had felt like a failure. ‘How could my son do that?’ I had asked myself. But at least–”

“I stopped smoking, Ma.”

“Yes. But back then someone else was not affected by what you did. Today that poor girl is distraught. She was packing her clothes, when I went to meet her–”

Mukundo did not let her finish, stood up abruptly and left the room to go and meet Piyali.

—

To be continued