Mish' Fiction

Supporting her against his body, he clumsily took off his shawl and wrapped it around her. Then he picked her in his arms. She was small and slim. But the deadweight had him panting by the time he laid her down in one of ground floor bedrooms of the main house. To avoid general panic, he did not call anyone for help and himself got water from the kitchen. He had meant to sprinkle water on her face, but was spared the need.  She was stirring by the time he came back. Gently calling her name and rubbing her hands roused her.

“Water,” she mumbled.

He helped her sit up and pressed the bottle directly to her lips. She took a couple of sips and then pushed the bottle away.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded.

“You want to come upstairs and lie down in ou… the bedroom?”

“Where is Sumi? I thought you would be with her…”

“Sumi and Adi are with Ma. Champa has also come.”

Her legs gave way when she tried to stand up. He supported her and helped her sit back. He sat beside her, leaning forward, his elbows on his thighs, head bowed, his eyes glued to the floor, looking the exhausted, dejected man he truly was. He stayed silent for a long minute. When he finally looked up, his eyes were brimming with tears.

“A panic attack? Has it come to this that my presence brings a panic attack on you? We used to be good friends, Piyali? What went so wrong that you could not talk to me? Were you pressurized by Ma or Banerjee Babu? Did they know?”

She shook her head.

“Why then?”

“I didn’t think that a previous relationship would make it impossible for you to accept me.”

“What I am asking is why did you agree to this marriage?”

“It was a decision I took, considering all things…” she explained miserably.

“A decision that can be reversed. Unconsummated marriage shouldn’t be difficult to dissolve… It was difficult; so difficult to get my head around this, Piyali. You are so young and hardly ready for this life…”

She broke into sobs, “I tried… I can’t manage the house like Didi did. Kaki has to do it. But I thought that at least children… I was good enough with them at least…”

“Who said anything about you not being good enough?”

“I know that you agreed to this wedding for their sake. And you never wanted me for yourself. But still… I had hoped… with time, you might be able to accept me.”

He grew quiet. When he spoke, his voice had lost its edge. It was calm and collected. “Are you even listening to me, Piyali? Why do you want to make this marriage work, when you love someone else and I am giving you a way out?”

“Because I have loved my family, my sister and you from before I ever committed anything to Pronab. After Ma died, Didi was the one who made sure that I was fed and that my school dress was ironed and that I did homework in time. If I could not be the mother to my own sister’s children, how could I expect another stranger woman to do that?”

“For the children? And you were accusing me of doing it only for the sake of children huh? What have you done?”

“Are you even listening to me? I said I loved my family, my sister, you and these children from before…”

“Me. It wasn’t the same thing.”

“No. It wasn’t. How could it have been? And yet when it came to choosing, it was deeper and more a part of me than what I left behind. Pronab is a great guy. I regret what I put him through. But he will recover. And I couldn’t have lived knowing that I didn’t do all I could by you and by these children. It wasn’t the same thing – yes – but did you also not have some affection for me?”

“Why are we talking in past tense?”

“Present tense then. Do you not like me at all?”

“I like you. I like you and care for you too well to make a sacrificial lamb out of you.”

“And do you trust me? Can you trust me when I say that I have left him behind? And I have enough love and respect for you to… Provided you can be patient with my deficiencies…”

“There are no deficiencies, Piyali.”

“But there are…”

“You don’t know how often I had wished that Baishali was a little more like you,” he paused awkwardly, “That was… probably… a boorish thing to say. But I have said it. I don’t want you to be burning your hands with hot vessels or poking your fingers with needles to become like your sister. Yes, don’t look startled. I have seen you struggling to embroider table clothes. God is my witness; I cherished her for what she was and have been faithful to her. But Piyali. You must be your own self. You cannot change to be somebody else. I want to be able to discuss politics with you, even if you make unsound arguments. I was to play chess with you and to practice music with you…”

“But I don’t make unsound arguments,” she raised her eyebrows.

Laughter and tears came to him together.

“No then. You don’t. And I want you to start working like you have always wanted to.”

She frowned at that. “But the children…”

“They need a mother. It doesn’t have to a stay-at-home mother, Piyali. Champa is there. And Ma is there to supervise.”

She stayed silent for a long moment. Then she spoke softly, words barely escaping her throat, “Hold me, Mukundo Babu. Assure me that it is not all a dream.”

He stood up and gave her his hand, “Can you try and stand up?”

She could! He drew her in an embrace. A protective, innocent embrace, but she was satisfied with it. For the time being.

His hands stayed on her arms even after he broke the hug. “Now that you are back on your two feet,” his smile was mischievous although the moisture in his eyes had still not dried, “Can we start this over? The right way?”

“What is the right way?”

“We will have breakfast and then go to the market.”

“Market?”

“To buy a crib or baby cot for Sumi. Adi’s older one was not usable and I never got around to buying one for her all these days.”

It took her a moment to understand the significance. When she did her cheeks flushed hot and she looked away.

“Can we?” he insisted on an answer.

“Yes,” she whispered and raised her eyes to meet his, feigning a boldness she didn’t really feel.  His hands moved up her arms, caressed her neck and then cupped her face. He bent down and pressed his lips to hers.

– The End –

And he fretted. She was making a martyr of herself. She had put everything that mattered to her on the back burner and was trying to become Baishali. She had left behind her lover, her job and her ambitions.

“You are never ever to do THAT again,” his mind wandered to a day soon after his wedding. Piyali was visiting and they had just finished a game of chess.

“Do what?”

“Let me win.”

“Arr… That’s a tall order, Piyali. How can I win every game? I am no Vishwanathan Anand!”

“Don’t pretend ignorance. You let me win deliberately.”

He had mounted a feeble protest, but had to accept his doing, when she questioned him move by move.

“Guilty as charged,” he had thrown his hands up dramatically.

“The whole point of playing against you is that I can improve.”

He had discovered a respect for the fifteen-year old then that had only increased with time. Even if she was childish at times.

“Yes, yes. People shouldn’t have to die in an ideal world. But what is the solution to Pakistan? What is the identity of that country except a hatred for India? If they become good, they lose their identity. There is no option, but to crush them, to wipe them out.”

“When has crushing anyone ever led to peace, my little lady? First they tried to crush Jews, now Jews are trying to crush Palestinians, and it just goes on and on.”

“Not if one side is really wiped out.”

“How will you wipe out entire Pakistan? Even if you dropped an atom bomb on their territory, will you go to Turkey, to every European country, to US, to middle east to find and kill every Pakistani living there?”

“You are taking me literally. What needs to be done is to give them a crushing defeat, and annex the country. They had their rebellious years; now it is the time to come back to their parents’ fold.”

“If only things were that simple.”

“What is complicated about it?”

“Give yourself a few more years, Kiddo. You would know what complications are all about. Not only with Pakistan, but entire world, even our little lives.”

“Thus waxed eloquent Prof. Mukundo Thakur, forgetting that he teaches Psychology, not Philosophy. Anyway, you want some tea? I could use a cup.”

“Sure!”

“I’ll make it,” Baishali had gotten up, “I am more in need of tea to rouse myself after listening to you two defending you political science Ph. D. thesis for hours now. You can continue.”

“She hates me,” Piyali had whispered conspiratorially, “But she doesn’t realize what favour I am doing her. If I weren’t there to discuss Pakistan with you, wouldn’t you eat her head up back home?”

“Undeniably!”

Baishali had tried to play the mother at times. “Great that you can make tea, but that really isn’t enough to feed yourself. Even if you aren’t going to go into a huge joint family, you should at least be able to cook for two people.”

“I will earn enough to employ a cook, Didi, even if my husband is a miser. And don’t worry, I will find a husband who isn’t fussy about food.”

“A nice matrimonial ad it will make – husband wanted, shouldn’t be a miser and shouldn’t want to eat anything decent at home.”

“Let her be, Baishali,” Mukundo would intervene.

“You spoil her most of all. Baba is no help either, but at least he doesn’t stop me from drilling some sense into her.”

“You’d do better to accept that she is different from you and she’d live her life differently.”

“Everybody has to eat!” Baishali had whined and Mukundo and Piyali had grinned.

And now, she was trying to become Baishali. He needed to grow some guts and put an end to this. They were his children. He had to figure out how to bring them up. It wasn’t Piyali’s fault that her sister was dead, nor was his home her responsibility.

—

She fed Sumedha and wondered what to do until dawn. Sleep had eluded her that night. There was no point going back to bed and tossing and turning some more. She sat staring at his face for a long time. It was one thing to admire him as a mentor, a friend, family member and not even think of being romantically involved with him. It was another to be his wife, to be so near and still not being able to love him. Durga Ma was failing her. She was unable to do anything to win his heart and she was unable to bear his indifference. And she was this close to falling into depression.

She needed to hold on to something, else she would lose her bearings soon. Looking at him she knew what it could be. She climbed out of the bed, washed her face and tip-toed out of the room.

The music room was separate from the main house; so she was assured she wouldn’t disturb others with her early morning practice.

She didn’t realize when the darkness faded and sun came up blazing in the sky. After hours of vilambit, she took up drut with

“More piya, ajahun na aaye
Kaise bitaun kaari ratiyaan.”

(My beloved didn’t show up even today. How am I to spend these dark nights?)

That’s when Mukundo couldn’t remain standing at the door listening; he stormed in.

“Who was he, Piyali? What’s his name?”

She went so limp that tanpura would have fallen from her grip if he hadn’t caught it. With her sitting on the floor and him standing, he towered over her fearfully. Her throat turned dry as desert sand. She could not force a single syllable out of it. Not even a startled cry.

He kneeled, but his height still overwhelmed her.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why this misery?”

She felt a sudden chill penetrating her bones and started shaking involuntarily.

“You are… You are shaking. You are scared of me? Piyali! Piyali!”

“You are not well. You have been practising for hours. Let’s put you to bed…” His fury had disappeared. His voice was soft and assuring, like speaking to a scared child. He pulled her up, but felt her entire weight in his arms. She had passed out.

“What have I done?”

—

To be continued

The wedding ceremony was the very next day.  The earlier the better, their parents had declared. Even though the plan was to keep it simple, both families had too many relatives in the city, who could not have been avoided. Doing anything then would have meant a huge scandal. He went through the ceremony, his heart sinking with every passing moment. He hadn’t expected her to be immediately comfortable as his wife. But he had hoped that with time he would be able to ease her into it. That seemed impossible now. Impossible and cruel. But he needed some time to figure a way out. Probably dissolve the marriage – an unconsummated one should not be difficult to…

“Let her be here,” he heard Piyali telling someone as he dragged himself to his room at night, “She is used to sleeping in this bed.”

“But Boudi, Kaki asked me. To bring the baby to her for tonight,” The newly appointed aayah, Champa, presented her case in a flat, bored voice.

“Let her be,” Mukundo added his voice, “Piyali is right. She is used to sleeping here.”

“As you say, Dada.” She retreated. He bolted the door after her.

She had worn a maroon lehanga for the ceremony. But right now she was wearing a baby pink saree. He had never seen her in a saree before and could not help noticing how feminine and mature she looked wearing one. And how vulnerable.  He also noticed her stiffen once they were left alone. He willed himself to not feel offended.

“I am extremely tired. You must also be. Change and go to bed. Sumi would wake us up several times at night.”

Emotions of relief and fear hit her simultaneously. Did it mean that he cared for her too much, or did it mean that he intended to remain indifferent to her? All things considered, she decided, it was better for that night, avoiding having to figure out their relationship. She rummaged through her suitcase, found a simple cotton night dress, changed in the bathroom and lied down on the empty side of the bed, baby Sumedha safely separating them. She wondered if she should switch the light off. She didn’t have to, because Mukundo reached out to the switch on his side and the darkness descended to mark the closure of her wedding night.

As Mukundo had warned, they were woken up thrice by Sumedha. Both of them had practiced sufficient nappy changing and feeding to do it fine even while struggling to stay awake.

—

The outward rhythm was easy to set into. Not much had changed really. She was already staying with them on weekdays. She still did that. She still visited her father over the weekends. Sometimes she took the kids along. Sometimes Mukundo himself drove them there. At night, she put Aditya to sleep in the nursery and set up the child monitor. Sumedha slept on their bed, between them, keeping them safely apart. They had started taking turns at changing the nappies and feeding her at night.

But the heart ached.

Piyali had left her past with Pronab behind. But it looked like her past with Mukundo had also been left behind. The camaraderie was gone. They didn’t play chess, or discuss politics, or practice music together. And the future didn’t seem to hold anything either. She could not resign herself to the fact the Mukundo would not love her as a woman as she had hoped to do. That the children were fine was her one solace, but she was lonely. She had to do something!

“Ouch!” she had underestimated how hot steel utensils can get on the stove.

“What the hell, Piyali!” Mukundo rushed to her and dragged her hand under the tap, switching off the stove with his other hand, “What are you doing in kitchen?”

She was startled to find him there too. “What are you doing in the kitchen?”

“Didn’t see you at the breakfast table; so I came looking for you. What were you up to?”

“Making breakfast.”

“Why? What happened to Sonelal.”

“I told him I will cook today.”

“Is it still burning?” he asked turning the tap off.

She shook her head.

“What has come upon you? What’s wrong in Sonelal’s cooking?”

“But Didi used to cook…”

Mukundo fell silent for moment. Baishali did indeed cook herself quite often, and supervised cooking at other times. She was good at that too. As she was at managing the house, keeping the décor consistent, knitting sweaters and embroidering table clothes. Most of the table clothes and wall hangings in the house were her doing. She had never shared his intellectual pursuits, that was more to her little sister’s taste, but she had never failed to provide him with all the homely comfort. He felt guilty that he wasn’t particularly missing her cooking though. Probably it was her training, but he thought Sonelal cooked just fine.

“Don’t be silly, Piyali. You are not Baishali and you are not expected to be. Come out right away. Let Sonelal make breakfast.”

Her attempts at embroidery and craft had to be abandoned even before someone could catch her in the act. It wasn’t possible to develop either aptitude or skills overnight. She was frustrated and morose. Mohima hadn’t failed to notice and had asked repeatedly if something was the matter. That Piyali vehemently denied even as she hoped for Mukundo to notice and ask. After rescuing her from her cooking attempt, however, he seemed content to skirt around her presence. He had two long months at home before the university reopened. But he divided his time between kids and his library.

—

To be continued