Mish' Fiction

Mukundo was restless since his return from Delhi. The concert and the time he spent with Piyali on the following Sunday before catching his flight were his undoing. He realized not only how much he had missed her since she had left Kolkata, but also what he had missed in all those years before that. Never before had a concert or a conversation with her been so satisfying before. Now that she was expressing herself before him without reserve, he was even more enchanted than before. What was he to do about this ache he always carried around with him? His body and soul aching for her!

Soon Mohima noticed and she asked him, “Is there something you are not telling us, Mukundo?”

“What do you mean, Ma?”

“Ever since you have come back from Delhi… Was everything all right with Piyali? Is there any trouble?”

He was relieved. It was easy to answer that honestly, “No Ma. No trouble at all. She has adjusted to her independent life very well.”

“Then, are you in some kind of trouble? Why do I feel like you are never really here? You are lost, distracted, melancholy even.”

“You are writing poetry, Ma.”

“No. When you have to literally call you son five times before he realizes that you are talking to him, sitting right in front of him, you don’t write poetry. You worry.”

“Oh, Ma!”

“Either get a grip of yourself, or share with us what your problem is. It can’t go on like this.” She left him alone after this ultimatum. But Mukundo knew that it wasn’t the last he was hearing of it.

—

And the next he heard of it came in a different form. An alarming form too.

“Mukundo. When do you think you are getting married?” Mohima asked all of a sudden during dinner a few days later.

“What? Where did that come from?”

“From your mother.”

“You had promised me that you won’t be that kind of a parent–”

“Sure. But that promise was made when you were twenty-five. Now you are thirty-two.”

“That’s not fair, Ma.”

“Mukundo. We will not be around forever. Spending a lonely life will not feel like a good idea forever.”

“Can we just eat, Ma? Baba?” he looked at his father for support.

But all Aurbindo said was, “Your Ma is right.”

Mohima let it go after that and changed the subject. But Mukundo knew that his mother had figured out exactly what was going on with him and would not rest until she had made him confess. But why did she want to make him confess? She didn’t really think it was a good idea, did she?

—

This time Mukundo paid a visit to Mohima.

“Ma! You asked Piyali to find out why I won’t get married, did you?”

“I discussed it with her. This was not the first time.”

“I see. What is it that you want to know?”

“Whatever it is that you are not telling me.”

“Fine. You want to see me making a fool of myself. Then here it is. I don’t know why I have not married all these years. Just never felt right. But right now – yes, I like Piyali. Exactly in the sense that you had asked. I am in love with her. As absurd as it is, that’s the fact. Now you know it. Happy? Nobody else needs to know. I don’t know how I will get over it, but I will figure out. Now can we not talk about it ever again?”

“Why? Why not talk about it? I agree – there is an age-difference. But there is no law against it. There are all kinds of couples in the world. I am sure Debendra Babu and Debangi will be delighted–”

“Ma! It’s not about them. It’s about her.”

Mohima paused for a moment, then added, “Sure. But one needs to talk to her to find out what she thinks, right?”

“And if someone – say you – does indeed ask her, what do you think will she do? Will she be able to say no? Under the sheer weight of gratefulness, she will accept.”

“Wow! You have created a mountain so big in your head, Mukundo, that nobody can go past it. That will not do. Somebody has to talk. If not you–”

“You can’t talk to her, Ma.”

“I shouldn’t. You should.”

Mukundo had no option left, but to hastily promise, “Fine, I will. But don’t be after my life to do this. There has to be a suitable time and it may not be soon.”

“Fine!” Mohima acquiesced, although she didn’t look convinced.

—

Mukudno’s promise to Mohima was not sincere. It was made only to get her off his back. But what that conversation did make Mukundo realize was that Mohima didn’t think his feelings for Piyali were absurd or wrong. Was it possible, then, that it wasn’t indeed as absurd as he had thought it to be? Should he be okay with how he felt? But even if he came to terms with what he wanted, how was he to know what Piyali thought. Any other woman and he would have known how to flirt just enough to see her reaction, then perhaps ask her out on a date, then see how both of them felt about it and so on. That was not a path open to him in Piyali’s case. It was all or nothing. It was forever or never. And if it was to be never, even the slightest attempt to make it happen could break that fragile bond of friendship he had so recently established. So much to lose!

But he must do something, even if he didn’t know just then what it should be.

—

To be continued

People often have a goal that define their lives. But for Piyali, it felt like her life was defined by her resentment towards Mukundo for that one stray statement. When Mukundo left after that clarification and unconditional apology, Piyali felt like her life was a balloon which had suddenly deflated. Was it that simple? That she should bring it up once and he will immediately apologize without trying to deny or justify his actions? She screamed her lungs out in frustration. Thankfully, her new flat mates were not in.

—

“No. No. You must tell him yourself,” Mohima barged into Mukundo’s room while speaking into her mobile, “Here Mukundo! Listen to the news.” She offered the phone to him.

“Who is it, Ma?”

“Piyali!”

Mukundo’s heart stopped for a moment. It had been over a month since he had left her at her apartment in Delhi. He hadn’t spoken to her since then. His ears strained to get any news he could from his parents. And now Mohima was thrusting a phone at him with Piyali at the other end. It took some effort to keep his hands steady and his facial expression normal as he took the phone from his mother.

“Hello!”

There was silence for a moment, then that familiar voice sounded in his ears, “Hello, Mukundo Babu. Are you doing fine?”

“Yes, yes. I am doing very well. What is the news?” He replied and wondered if in trying to sound normal to his mother, he had been extra-loud.

“Is Kaki there?”

“Yes.”

She sighed, then added, “I have gotten a scholarship. Just got the email. It covers the tuition fees and some more for other expenses.”

“That’s wonderful. Congratulations, Piyali,” and his next words were not deliberate or thought out, “Not that I am surprised. You will achieve more and go to places.”

She spoke after another moment of silence, “I would like to speak to you. Later.”

“Sure. Of course. I will call you?” Did he sound too eager?

“Yes. Please!”

Mukundo called her immediately after Mohima left. She was hesitant, could not talk much and finally blurted a request for him to come to Delhi to meet her.

“It’s still several months to the holidays when I can come home,” she added by way of explanation.

Mukundo assured her that he would come that very weekend. At home, he made up an excuse of a conference he had to attend in Delhi and took the first flight out on Saturday.

—

He was at her apartment by breakfast time. Her flat mates were still asleep. There was quiet all around. She had cooked for him.

“You didn’t need to cook. So much work, this early in the morning.”

She shrugged, “I felt like eating something good myself.”

Food was to Mukundo’s liking. All these years of helping Mohima in kitchen showed. They ate in silence. After finishing he complemented her on her cooking skills. She responded with only a nervous smile.

After the plates were cleared they came back to her room. Piyali looked fidgety, so Mukundo started the conversation and came straight to the point.

“Are you all right? Why am I here?”

“I am fine. I am completely fine, Mukundo Babu. I asked you to come… It was weird, but I thought that given how much you have done for me already, you wouldn’t mind one trip.”

“I don’t mind, Piyali. But you are making me nervous by beating around the bush. What is it?”

She met his eyes intermittently as she spoke, “All these years, I have resented you for what you said on that day. It came in the way of how grateful I always felt, because since then you have been nothing but kind to me and my family. I behaved towards you in ways I shouldn’t have. I don’t know if it mattered enough for you to resent me. Perhaps not. But it kept tearing me apart. The more time passed, the worse I felt. And I felt the need to run away. I don’t want to live like that. And I realize that I don’t have to. I just need to apologize to you and earn your forgiveness. I…”

She ran out of things to say and they looked at each other in stunned silence for a few moments, before he came forward, cupped her face in his hands, murmuring ‘Oh, Piyali!’ and the very next moment pulled her in a hug, one of his hands protectively pushing her head into his chest.

Piyali stiffened in surprise at first, but quickly relaxed and reciprocated.

He continued to hold her by her arms even after breaking the hug, “You don’t have to apologize, Piyali. You don’t have to earn forgiveness. I have to. You were a child. I was the one who knew what I had done. It was bad enough that I never came forward to clear the air and apologize. What is worse is that I never thought about how much harm I had done to you. I have apologized, but I know that it is not enough. If it takes all my life–”

“Mukundo Babu! Stop.” He did. “You are over-reacting. I was childish. I should never have–”

“No. You don’t understand how important this is! How important you are! How much I care! More than–” he stopped suddenly and bit his lips. He could have revealed more than he should. But he had said a few things, and he needed to close it, “You may not have realized, but I care for you, Piyali.”

She didn’t cry, but Mukundo could see that she was choking. Although he wanted to hold her and assure her that everything was all right, he was afraid of his own heightened emotions now. So, he asked, “Do you need a moment?”

She nodded.

He left the room and decided to wait in the hall. Her flat mates were still enjoying their Saturday morning sleep; so thankfully it wasn’t awkward.

She came out after a while, her face washed, and sat down beside him. “Can we leave this behind us?” she asked.

“Yes. Provided you can tell me honestly that you are no longer worried about or affected by any of this.”

“I am not, Mukundo Babu. Thank you so much. For putting up with all this.”

“You just said we are leaving this behind, didn’t you?”

She finally smiled and said, “Yes!”

They sat in silence for a while, then Mukundo asked, “Do you want to rest now?”

“Till when are you here?” she asked in return.

“I am yet to book the ticket. But I have lied at home and said that I have come for a conference. Else they would have worried about you. So, to keep that up, I will return tomorrow.”

She found that funny and chuckled, “You lied?”

He shrugged.

“If you are staying, there is a concert today. I have bought two tickets…”

That offering lifted any remaining traces of gloom off him. She had planned for a reconciliation!

“That sounds great,” he said sincerely.

He hadn’t yet been to his hotel. It was decided that he would go there, take rest and then pick her up in the evening for the concert.

“Oh! And there is stuff for you in the car downstairs. Kaki and Ma each had a bag to send. I will bring it up.”

“I will come with you.”

—

To be continued

As Mukundo emerged from that dreadful twelve-year old memory, he realized that something extraordinary had happened. Piyali had left crying. He had never seen her cry. Not even when she was hurt while playing as a child. Not when she had fallen sick with Dengue, not when she was scolded by someone, not when she was nervous before an exam. For the first time in these twelve years, he had witnessed her cry. The alarms bells rang loud. What if she did something disastrous?

He ran out of the study and hesitated for a moment. She may not want to see him right now. He should perhaps send someone else. But who could he send? Not Sonelal, surely. He wouldn’t know what to do if he found her in a vulnerable state. Mohima? But what would he tell her? How will he convey the emergency? No. There wasn’t time for any of that. He would have to go out himself.

Once he stepped out of the house, he spotted the banyan tree in distance. He remembered her sheltered behind the tree the previous day and he instinctively knew that that’s where she was. He ran through the garden, not caring about what plants he stepped on and what flowers he crushed.

As he neared the tree, the sound that was coming from behind it was clear. She was crying. He resisted the urge to go and face her directly. Instead he called out her name, softly, “Piyali!”

The sobbing stopped immediately.  He heard her standing up, sliding her back up along the trunk of the tree. He imagined that she was dizzy and weak from illness and crying; and needed support. But he dared not intrude.

“What is it?” she asked, still sheltered behind the tree.

“You have cold. The garden is still damp from the rain. You can’t stay here. Go home and rest.”

“I will go.”

“Come with me, please.”

Some scuffle, perhaps a frantic attempt to wipe the tears off her face, blowing of her nose into her handkerchief, and then finally she emerged. He pretended not to notice the obvious signs of crying. He offered her his hand, she took it and he walked her home, breaking his silence only at the end to exhort her to rest.

—

Mukundo couldn’t have laid out his step by step reasoning that helped him reach the conclusion. But he was soon convinced that it was his presence in Piyali’s life that was creating all the troubles. So as difficult as it was for him to let her go out of his sight, he argued and fought with everyone to let Piyali go to Delhi for post-graduation if that’s what she wanted. Her father was concerned about the expenses, but Mukundo, taking the baton from his own father, made him accept that expenses will be borne by him.

But the next moment of reckoning came when it was time for her to go to Delhi. Mohima told Mukundo that he should go with her to help her settle down.

“Ma. I can’t go!” he blurted.

“Why? I am sure you can get leave for a few days from the university. Classes won’t pick up for a few weeks anyway.”

“Baba or Debendra Kaku can go…” he offered a feeble alternative.

“You know your Baba is not keeping well. And Debendra Babu would be quite lost there. You need to go. What is going on here? Even Piyali was making excuses that you won’t have time and what not. When have you not had time for her?”

“Ma. She is not a child anymore. It won’t be appropriate for her to travel with me.”

“Oh, come on, Mukundo! You are like a—” she stopped suddenly, gave Mukundo a long look, and then finally asked, “Do you like her, Mukundo?”

“Of course, I like her. We all like her, don’t we?”

“That’s not what I am asking.”

Mukundo blanched. He had to think of something that will do the damage control quickly. “You are getting funny ideas in your head, Ma. Fine, I will go. Rest your brain. But I won’t have time to go by train. We will take a flight. If she has too much luggage for a flight, let’s book it through transport.”

—

Her admission had been a breeze, she had done so well in her exams. But getting a hostel accommodation was another beast. So, they had to find a private accommodation. It was a shared apartment. Piyali said that a cheaper, shared room would be fine, but Mukundo insisted on getting her a private room. He would have rented an entire apartment for her, but staying alone was not a good idea.

Finally, everything was settled and it was time for Mukundo to leave for the airport.

At that moment, Mukundo finally decided to voice his feelings.

“Piyali. This is a new city and can be challenging. You are intelligent, and wise, beyond your years. But I will still say this. Don’t do things that you know very well aren’t right or safe. Here, people… especially men, can take advantage of you if you let yourself be vulnerable and there won’t be anyone to help. And now that I won’t be there to bother you, you will be all right, won’t you? Are you happy?”

His question was sincere and the suffocation that she so wanted to avoid returned all at once.

“Are you not happy,” she croaked, “That there will be one less undeserving refugee crowding your favorite Kolkata? If you are, then I will be all right. This city will not care about who I am. I will not come in anyone’s way and nobody will need to bother me.”

It’s not like it was not coming, but those words felt almost like a physical blow to Mukundo. He rubbed his temple and took a long time to collect himself.

“I was twenty-years old,” he finally spoke, “Still in college, a spoilt brat, drunk on the fantasies of youth. You are the same age now. But you are nothing like that. So, I can’t tell you that you should understand. You won’t understand by looking inside your own self. But perhaps you have friends who are intellectually and emotionally as hollow as I and my friends were back then. Those who know nothing, but think the world of themselves and of their ill-formed understanding of the world. Those who think that they own the world and have the wisdom to dictate how it should be run. It didn’t give me the right to say those hurtful words, but it does explain where they came from. From nowhere, Piyali. And I am sorry, not just because I uttered them, but also because in all these years, I didn’t apologize for them, didn’t try to make amends. Not because I didn’t care for you. But because I was scared to bring it up. I was hoping against hope that you had forgotten. But you have that sharp memory of yours, don’t you? You never forgot. I don’t think I can ask for your forgiveness now. But I am sorry nonetheless. You can continue to hate me for rest of our lives. But please don’t let me be the reason that you take even a single bad decision in your life. I am out of your life. Please take care of yourself.”

He didn’t have the heart to see her reaction. So, he immediately turned on his heels and left.

—

To be continued

It was when he had seen her with a boyfriend that the realization had first struck Mukundo. His fascination with Piyali was no longer just that of an adult for a precocious child. But that of a man for a woman he desired. It was a disturbing realization. The woman was really a child, who had grown up in front of his eyes, still barely on the brink of adulthood, the same age as his students at the university. She was in the forbidden territory. Until now, when he had worried if his interest in her would make her uncomfortable, it was only a consideration for her apparent shyness before him. But now he knew that he could actually be guilty.

He had resolved to keep his distance and do so discreetly so that nobody, least of her she, noticed any change. But over last two years, she had made it difficult for him to do that. Because a childishness that had never manifested in her when she was actually a child had started creeping into her behavior in the first years of her formal adulthood. And somehow, he seemed to be the only one noticing that. He didn’t hear any murmur of concern from either his or her parents. Perhaps because she was so sharp that despite missing classes, hanging out in the company of people who didn’t look reassuring to him, and having even tried drugs on an occasion or two, she had managed to do well in academics. That was enough to hide her growing reckless and wild side from both sets of parents. While he was bound by his words of not poking his nose into her life, he couldn’t help noticing what was going on and worrying over it. Once in a while when he had found somebody at home wondering where Piyali was, he had gone to look for her and brought her back from places he would rather not have set foot in.  The only reason he noticed, he told himself, was because he was at the university every day. It was impossible not to notice. What he overlooked was that a lot of things happened at the university, which he wouldn’t have liked. He was perfectly capable of ignoring them. But not her.

Then her final exams were over and Mukundo thought that it would rid him of the constant torment that came from watching her. Torment from his desire for her and torment from worrying about her. But yesterday she had disturbed the precarious equilibrium he was still trying to achieve. It was a Saturday morning. It had been raining hard since last night. And she was nowhere to be found at the breakfast time. Soon everyone started worrying. Her phone was not reachable – and the task for finding her naturally fell to Mukundo. Rains seemed to congest the mobile networks for some inexplicable reason and it took him some time to reach out to her friends.  Apparently, a group of boys had left last night for Muktamanipur. A group of girls was supposed to meet them that morning, have a picnic and then come back by the evening. But none of the girls left that morning because of heavy rains. Could Piyali have? How?

Her father’s scooter was missing.

“She was angry last night,” Debendra confessed.

“What for?”

“She wants to go to Delhi for her post-graduation. We didn’t think that was a good idea.”

She wanted to leave Kolkata!

To everyone present he announced, “I will drive towards Muktamanipur. She couldn’t have reached far in this weather.” He hoped for that more than believed it. You could never tell with Piyali. What was wrong with this girl? Was it the culmination of a slow suicide mission she seemed to be on for at least two years now?

Even the car was difficult to handle in that downpour. How would she have managed an old scooter? Mukundo was driving slowly, partly because the visibility was negligible, and partly because he needed to keep an eye out for her and her scooter.

After getting out of the city, he drove for almost half an hour before spotting the scooter parked by the road. But she wasn’t there. He panicked, braked hard and jumped out of the car. A few meters off the road, there was a thick tree and he felt like he got a glimpse of a bare arm behind it. He ran towards it and called out her name, “Piyali!”

“Wait!” he heard a panicked cry and stopped in his tracks, “Don’t come yet.”

It was difficult to make it out in the rain, but he heard what seemed like scuffles and then she emerged. Thoroughly drenched. But her top looked a little better. She must have taken it off behind the tree and wrung water off it. He wanted to do two contradictory things. He wanted to hug her tight and thank God that she was all right. And he wanted to scream at her and shake her hard until she came to her senses and promised not to repeat such a stunt ever again.

But he did neither. “Let’s go home,” he said in a calm voice as if he was picking her up from the university.

She hesitated and then said, “The scooter!”

Screaming ‘to hell with the damned scooter’ was his instinctive response which he curbed again.

“Let’s park it off the road. We will send somebody to pick it up.”

“It won’t start,” she said sheepishly and handed him the keys.

He nodded, unlocked the handle with the key, dragged it off the road and parked it behind the tree so that it wasn’t visible from the road.

He drove her home without speaking a word on the way and after handing her to the care of her parents, locked himself up in his room.

—

He couldn’t take it any longer and after agonizing over it the entire night decided to confront her this morning. He sent Sonelal – their old house-help – to her and summoned her to his study. He hadn’t asked her into his study in a long time, not since she was in school and he would tutor her. At the University, where he taught Physics, she had opted to major in Maths and had only a few Physics courses. Hence their academic paths hadn’t crossed much. But he needed to feel and act authoritative for today’s confrontation. And he hoped that the study room, where he had been her teacher a few years ago, would help him with that.

All that preparation came to a naught when she entered the study. Her nose was swollen and red. She was barely able to keep her eyes open.

“You are unwell,” he cried out, “Why did you come then? You could have told Sonelal–” He forgot his self-imposed restriction of not touching her. He held her arms and helped her into a chair.

“I wanted to thank you for helping me yesterday,” she said.

That brought back all the anger that had diffused on seeing her plight.

“Thank you?” he spoke through gritted teeth.

She didn’t notice his reaction, and added, “And sorry for all the trouble.”

“For God’s sake, Piyali,” the dam broke, “I am not looking for your sorry’s and thankyou’s. What I want to know is what has come upon you? I will not even speak for your parents or mine. Why should I? I am sure they have conveyed to you how much they care and worry; and perhaps you even understand them. But what about me? I have been witnessing your recklessness for God knows how long and it has worried me to death–”

“Stop pretending, Mukundo Babu! You hate me, you hate my family, and I know it. There is no need to—”

—

To be continued

The scrawny East Bengali refugee girl had blossomed in the days to come, Mukundo reminisced. Debendra Banerjee was a respectable farmer back home. He was literate and wise of the ways of the world, even though not highly educated. With his illegal status, the only job Aurbindo had been able to find for him was that of a security guard at a nearby store, part of an upcoming store chain. He had worked diligently, earned the trust of his employers, proved his street smartness and had risen to man the cash counter. His lack of formal education and shaky papers made through typical underground channels meant for illegal immigrants prevented his further rise in the ranks, but he had started earning a decent salary as Piyali grew up. It helped that Aurbindo never let them move out of the house. “If you are moving to something better Debendra Babu, I won’t stop you even for a moment,” he would say, “But if not, then you won’t insult our friendship by insisting on leaving.” Many other necessities also got taken care of informally by the Thakur household. In return, equally informally, Debangi helped Mohima around the house. More like a family member than a servant. Piyali also learned most of her cooking and housekeeping lessons in their house. Debendra Banerjee was free to spend all the money he earned on Piyali’s education. And she didn’t disappoint. She was intelligent, and was also endowed with extraordinarily sharp memory. Using them both she sailed through school, topping throughout. She was quick to lose her East Bengal accent and to everyone’s surprise, she picked up English and Hindi in no time. But even before all her talents had come to fore, Mukundo had been mesmerized by her skill in something close to his own heart. Music. A few weeks after their arrival, he was in his study on the first floor when he heard someone practicing. Without any instrument. No tanpura, no harmonium, no accompanying tabla. Just a strong, feminine voice, coming straight from naval as his own Guru would have asked for. Fascinated, he had come downstairs and then followed the voice to outside the main house. In a few moments he had realized that he was moving towards the little outhouse the refugee family had been settled in. At first, he thought it was the mother. He couldn’t imagine a malnutritioned eight-year old girl having that strong a voice. But on closer hearing, he knew it wasn’t the older woman. Overhearing Debangi’s conversation with his mother –the next day, his suspicion was confirmed. Debangi as well as her husband were pretty much tone-deaf. It was that chit of a girl.  An old neighbor had taught her back home. He had died a few days before they had to flee.

Mukundo’s mother Mohima was a headstrong woman. But she had a soft corner for her only child. So, he had always found it easy to plant an idea in his mother’s head. He planted one soon. And Mohima arranged for Piyali to have music lessons from one of the best teachers available in the neighborhood. Every time Mukundo planned to go to a classical music program, he invited Piyali. She always accepted and Mukundo felt strangely elated when he saw her enjoying the concerts. He was particularly fascinated when for long stretches she would close her eyes, and throw her head back, as if wanting to shut out everything other than the performance of the singer, for which she only needed to use her ears.

What he always found difficult was to engage her in a proper conversation. She always answered his questions. Whether about her studies, or about a performance they had just attended, or about a recent political event. She always answered intelligently and with lucidity. But she never offered anything more. She never started a conversation and never carried one on. It frustrated him. Especially because he would see her have a normal conversation with his parents. He chalked it up to her feeling shy in his presence. He also wondered if his interest in her made her feel uncomfortable. He tried to keep it in check. Aside from invitations to concerts, he never offered her anything himself. If he did want her to have something – a dress, a trinket, a good hobby class, an educational trip, a bar of Swiss chocolate – he went the roundabout way of putting the idea in his mother’s head, who had also grown very fond of the girl over time, perhaps seeing in her the daughter she had always wanted.

—

Piyali felt suffocated at times. Not so much in their small one-bedroom house. But more in the bigger Thakur mansion. The continual kindness of Mohima and Aurbindo Thakur and the simultaneously pleasing and oppressive presence of Mukundo Thakur. She felt guilty about her feeling. She had been extremely fortunate to have the support of this family. She should have been happy. Most of the time she was. But when the suffocation dawned, it’s sheer force dwarfed all other pleasures of life. It was almost to rid herself of that oppressive feeling that she had a string of boyfriends in last two years. And because it was at the university, all too often Mukundo had run into her when she was with one of them. He would look uncomfortable in such situations, though he acted gracefully. And for some reason she felt like screaming at him. She wanted to tear him apart. For what, she didn’t know. Once she had tried to pick a quarrel with him.

“You can’t tell anyone,” she had run after him after his chance encounter with her and her boyfriend and demanded.

“Can’t tell anyone what?” he had asked uncomfortably.

“About who you saw me with.”

“What is wrong with anyone knowing about your friends?”

“You know very well that he is not a friend. He is my boyfriend and Ma will kill me if she as much as got a whiff.”

He had given a discontented sigh, which had infuriated her. Then he had said, “It’s your life. I am not going to poke my nose into it.”

Even though that’s what she had asked him for, the answer had left her annoyed and miserable.

—

To be continued

“Stop pretending, Mukundo Babu! You hate me, you hate my family, and I know it. There is no need to–” Piyali was screaming one moment and in the very next she fell dead silent. Mukundo hadn’t yet registered her insinuation, but he noticed the reason for her abrupt silence. Huge tear drops had formed in her eyes and she must have choked on her words. In another moment she was gone. Only after that did it dawn on him that she thought he hated her.

As hard as that blow was, Mukundo had to admit that he wasn’t surprised by it. That’s what came out of such a sharp memory. The damned girl never forgot anything. She hadn’t forgotten their first meeting either. Even though she was barely eight-years old then.

Mukundo cursed himself. He should have known. Beneath the politeness with which she had treated him all these years lay this old wound which he had let fester. Because he hadn’t had the courage to own up that he had inflicted a wound, much less apologize for it or try to remedy it.

What scared him the most now was the amount of time that had gone by. Twelve years! What could he do to disabuse her of a belief held fast for such a long time?

—

“Stinking refugees!” Piyali had never forgotten those words. Or what followed, “They destroy Kolkata. They don’t belong here.”

They still rang fresh in her ears as if they were being spoken just now. By that rakish young man whom she had eyed from afar and who had brought a smile to her face because he had resembled a handsome, local actor back home.  And then he had come within earshot and destroyed that content smile forever.

Piyali’s father, Debendra Banerjee, had been speaking to Aurbindo Thakur with as much dignity as he could summon in his dire circumstances. The young girl was hungry. But she was thankful that her father had not been reduced to tears like she had seen some other grown-ups do. And her mother was holding up too. She didn’t like crying. She hated it even more when grown-ups cried. And she would have been scared to death if her father or mother had cried. No. Thankfully that didn’t happen. She knew that they had fallen on hard times. That they had lost their home. She knew that her baby brother had died of starvation. She was bone tired from the long on-foot journey they had made across the border and then to Kolkata in a crammed local train. But it had felt like living through one of the stories she had read. Stories always ended well. She will pull through. Her parents will pull her through it.

“I know, I know, Debendra Babu. Subodh has told me,” she heard Aurbindo speak, “You and your family must be fed and rested first. And then we will figure out the rest…” One of Debendra Thakur’s cousins, Subodh, was married to an East-Bengali woman, who in turn was a distant relative of Piyali’s mother – Debangi. When in dire circumstances they had to enter India illegally, they had approached the only relative they knew on this side of the border. But Subodh’s village was close to the border, and the political situation not exactly favorable. It would have been better for the family to hide themselves in the big metropolis of Kolkata. So Subodh had sought Aurbindo’s help. His wife would vouch for the integrity of this family. Aurbindo Thakur was making a reference to this mutual relative of theirs.

She hadn’t heard anything of Aurbindo and Debendra’s conversation after that because she had been distracted by the sight of Mukundo. He was coming towards them. She had smiled to herself. Aurbindo had noticed his son and had gone towards him to fill him in.

They had spoken in low tone and Piyali hadn’t been able to hear them. But Mukundo’s voice was loud enough when he had expressed his outrage at his father’s decision to give them shelter. “Stinking refugees.”

Piyali grinded her teeth once again. She hated her strong memory in such moments. If only she could forget! Her parents must also have heard it. But they didn’t seem to remember it. They had never shown anything other than gratitude towards the entire family, including Mukundo. Even in private, they had never shown any signs of resenting Mukundo. So Piyali had followed their example in her behavior. She had been polite, grateful all along. She had acted normal. She had taken his help in her studies when his or her parents had suggested that, because getting tuitions would have been too expensive and not as effective. She had helped his mother prepare his favorite dishes which, by now, she could make as well as her. She had listened to Mohima’s despair over Mukundo not getting married – “I and your Kaku had promised him that we will not force our choice on him. We didn’t know that he would never choose himself!” She had assured Mohima that it would be all right. She had gracefully accepted his invitations to go to the classical music concerts with him. After all he came in a package. The package that included his parents. His parents who had shown nothing but kindness towards her and her family. She had to act normal.

But there were times, even after all these years, when she was filled with self-loathing. It was finally today that she acknowledged the real source of that self-loathing. It wasn’t so much because of those damaging words. But because whatever she kept telling herself, her hatred for the man who had uttered those words was not strong enough. With a sinking heart she acknowledged that she loathed herself because she could not keep her admiration for him in check.

She wanted to cry. But she wouldn’t get enough privacy in the one-room house she still lived in with her parents. The house that was located at the periphery of Thakurs’ property and where Aurbindo Thakur had allowed them to take shelter all those years ago.  The house that had felt nothing less than a palace after months of persecution in their old home and weeks of traveling to find a place that will accept them. That house was too small for her wretchedness now. She will have to take shelter in the little nook in the garden on the opposite side of the property. An ancient banyan tree behind whose thick trunk her petite form could easily hide from the world.

She rushed there and threw herself on the ground although it was still wet from yesterday’s downpour. She buried her head in her knees and started sobbing uncontrollably.

—

To be continued