Mish' Fiction

“What? How?” Mukundo was shocked and could not help asking at this point. She didn’t know. What she did know, however, that she had donated blood while in college and had been tested earlier. So, this was a recent development.

“Must be Pronab then,” Mukundo said looking horrified.

“He refused to get tested. He claims that even if he has it, it would be because of me… Because I…”

“He is accusing you of cheating?” Anger rose in him again.

She nodded.

“What the hell. He is… Oh my God!” it suddenly dawned on him why she was so reluctant to talk. “With me?” He asked incredulously.

She nodded.

“He thinks I have AIDS?”

She just bit her lips.

“Because I go to bad women?” Suddenly he didn’t feel awkward discussing this with her.

“Mukundo Babu, please…”

“That’s why he threw you out, instead of helping and supporting you? He thought you were cheating? Why didn’t you tell Mashi?”

It turned out that Debangi didn’t trust Piyali either. She herself had suspected Piyali’s and Mukundo’s relationship. And that was one of the reasons she had jumped on the first chance to get her married. “She asked me to stay away, to not bring ill-name to the family. She didn’t want to ruin Priyendra’s prospects.”

“And that’s why she asked you to stay away from me too?” Mukundo asked with a chill in his voice.

She didn’t say anything, but it was obvious that the answer was a ‘yes’.

“That has been enough of nonsense,” he said in the same voice, “Pack up whatever you have to, and come with me.”

“I can’t,” she panicked, “I will not come with you Mukundo Babu. That would…”

“That would what? Why should you suffer for other people’s stupidities?”

“It would upset Ma. Baba is bedridden for months, Mukundo Babu.”

“If she doesn’t understand her own daughter…”

“It is also your reputation…”

“My reputation? What reputation do I have that I have to think of?”

“Think of mine, then,” she pleaded, “I can’t go back to the same people with this scandal on me. I don’t have that much courage, Mukundo Babu. And how will it all affect Priyendra? He is young. He shouldn’t get caught up in all this and get distracted.”

Mukundo sighed. That logic was irrefutable. “But I can’t let you stay here.”

“I’m fine with it.”

“I’m not. Until I make other arrangements, you will stay in a good hotel. Let’s go from here. This moment.”

“I need to inform the landlord. There is rent to be paid… And notice period”

“Give me his contact. I will arrange for his payments.”

“Mukundo Babu…”

“Time for pretenses is up, Piyali. I should never have let you get married. Look at what has happened. Irreversible damage has been done. But, it can’t continue like this. Let’s go. I don’t want to stay here for another moment.”

—

Mukundo had started painting again. Piyali was settled in a well-furnished two-bedroom apartment. She had left the teaching job she had picked up at a school and had joined the university for her post-graduation. “I know you have started to like teaching. But you also wanted to study, remember? Do your post-graduation and teach at a college. Who will stop you?” Mukundo had argued.

He had taken her to a specialist doctor.

“It has been diagnosed very early on,” the doctor was encouraging, “We do not have a cure for it yet. But with medicines, viruses can be kept in check and there are all the hopes that, with some precautions, she would live a normal life for many years to come.”

Mukundo had beamed at the assurance, even as Piyali had shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She knew that the treatment would be expensive and the doctor also mentioned that next.

“So long as it isn’t beyond the money I have, there is no need to be bothered about it,” Mukundo had replied firmly, “And even if it is so, just tell me. I will figure out where to get the money from.”

The doctor had chuckled at that. He knew Mukundo’s background, “No. It is very much within what you have, Mr. Thakur. But it is still substantial. So, I had to mention it.”

Mukundo had shrugged at that. Before they left, the doctor had stopped them to give one final piece of advice hesitatingly, “Medicines or no medicines, the danger of transmission is always there. So, you have to be careful about that.”

Piyali had turned red on hearing that. Mukundo had held her hand tight as he had replied, “We understand that, doctor. There is nothing to worry about.”

He spent most of his free time at her apartment, giving rise to more gossips amongst servants and neighbors, who wondered about his regular absence from his house. She had refused to have any house help here and he had respected that wish. It was good in a way. There was no danger of any news of her traveling back to Debangi and others back in the house and neighborhood. Piyali could live her life secluded from her earlier society as her mother wanted and as she herself wished. But she wasn’t living with any compromises at least.

She cooked every day. For herself as well as him. “I had no idea you cooked so well, Piyali,” he had told her the first time she cooked.

“Nothing surprising. Ma had been training me since I was thirteen!”

“You never cooked anything for me earlier.”

“Ma bothered me so much about it that I used to get annoyed. So, I never did it willingly. Although what you ate at home once in a while would have had something cooked by me.”

“Hmm…”

He often cleaned the house while she was at the university. She had been horrified the first time she had come back to squeaky clean house.

“Who did this?”

“I did!”

“You?” she was shocked, “Oh God! That’s… absurd Mukundo Babu. I would have done it. How can you…”

“I am fairly fit and fine, Piyali. I am not that old. I can do a bit of physical work,” he had joked.

“It’s not that. Mukundo Babu. If you are worried about my studies, fine. I will keep a house help. You have never lifted a finger all your life. Why would you…”

“Because I like it,” he had told her sincerely, “Because I want to make this place a home. Something I haven’t felt in a long time about any place. Not since Ma died anyway…” His voice had drowned.

“I’m sorry. Please don’t be sad,” she had urged.

He had smiled sadly, “Am I imposing myself on you?”

“No,” she had been overwhelmed, “If you like it, do it. But if you stop liking it, if you get tired, or if you find it to be drain on your time, please stop doing it. I am used to it and I can do it very easily.”

He hadn’t stopped doing it. Instead, she had gotten comfortable with the idea that he would work around the house. Slowly, she even started coming forward and asking him for help, when she felt tired or felt that she could use help.

They bought grocery together. He insisted that she should buy more dresses for herself. After initial hesitation, she had given in. She even got him a few new shirts and kurtas of her choice.

She had hung the painting on the wall. “You don’t have to keep it, Piyali,” he had said, “It must give you pain.”

“I don’t associate it with him, Mukundo Babu. You had given it to me. That is all that matters,” she had replied with a disarming smile.

Life had fallen in a rhythm. If someone watched them, they would have looked as good as a married couple. Except that he never stayed there at night. If someday her secret life and existence was to be revealed to anyone who knew her, they need not raise finger on her character. He wasn’t bothered about his own!

—

To be continued

“Why did you go to meet him?” Pronab demanded of her when they were preparing to go to bed.

“Whom?”

“Mukundo Thakur!” Don’t take his name, she wanted to cry. But she swallowed her bitterness.

“How could I come here and not meet him?” she said plainly.

“His character is well-known to everyone. Don’t forget that you are a married woman now.”

“He has always been my friend and guardian…” she retorted despite herself and was greeted with a slap. Back in Haldia, she wouldn’t have been surprised. Even if she managed to not provoke him the entire day, he got a kick out of slapping her in bed. But she hadn’t thought that he would do it here too! She was stunned into silence. He dragged her and pushed her on the bed. She bit her lips and tried to keep it noiseless. The servant quarter had a single bedroom and her mother and brother were sleeping in the hall right outside. What if they heard!

—

Her letter had come by post. It didn’t carry her name anywhere. His neither, except on the envelop with the address. “For my sake, if nobody else’s, please don’t drown yourself in alcohol. Please take care of your business and don’t let the artist in you die.” That was all it said.

After she had left the room with her brother, he had noticed the diary. It wasn’t where he had left it. When he picked it up, and flipped through it, it opened naturally to certain pages. The pages that had recently been read and where pages were pressed. And then on one page, he had noticed the stain. Of teardrops! That explained her changed behavior. She had read it all. She knew! And when that letter came, he had to pull himself together. She shouldn’t feel guilty for him. He hoped that Promila or Piyali’s mother or Priyendra, somebody will convey to her that his drinking was back to normal. And that she would be able to infer that he was attending to his business again. In fact, he was getting more involved than earlier. Because do what he may, inspiration for a painting would not come. What could he do with the time in hand, except attend to business? In few months time, it became known to the servants and the neighbors that he was going to office. They wondered and gossiped about what could have happened? Was he going to get married? To whom? They hoped it was not to one of those bad women he visited, and not to one of those strange ones he used to bring home.

—

Mukundo brought his car to a screeching halt at the bus stop. She recognized it and started walking away before he could pull the tinted windows down. Surprised and worried, he got out, without caring that he had left the car standing where a bus normally would.

“Piyali!” he shouted after her.

She had no option now. She stopped and turned to him. “Mukundo Babu!” she feigned a surprise. But she acted badly. He was sure she was trying to avoid him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

She fell silent.

“Are you with someone?” he asked next.

She shook her head.

“Get in the car,” he said.

She silently followed him. That was no place to avoid or explain.

Mukundo started driving towards home.

“Don’t drive to home, Mukundo Babu,” she requested.

“Where to, then?”

“Take a left at the next circle. I will tell you the way.”

It was then that he noticed. All the changes introduced in her by her marriage had reverted. She wore a salwaar-kameez, had her hair in a pony tail like earlier and there was no sign of sindoor. It was all so mysterious. But he decided to wait with his questions, until they had reached someplace they could talk. It had been nine months since her visit home. What was she doing in Kolkata alone? And why would she not go home?

The car had to be left at the main road. The streets of the slum area were not wide enough for it. Mukundo’s heart sank as she led him through those stinky, narrow streets to a three-storied, dilapidated building. They climbed up the stairs and finally entered a house on the second floor. It was just a small room, that served as the bedroom, kitchen, dining as well as the living area. The painting he had given to her stood out as the only adornment the walls had. There was no furniture in the room, only a thin mattress covered with a clean, but old bedsheet. He could not see any bathroom. Everyone in that building, or at least that floor, must be sharing one. Even in his servant quarters, Piyali was used to much more comfortable living. And after marriage, it must have been better. What was going on here? Something drastic for sure. And she hadn’t told him! Hurt and anger surged through him at the same time. But he kept his outward reaction in control. Don’t let the monster rise in you, he told himself, not now, not before her!

“I will make some tea,” she said wanting to avoid discussion for as long as possible.

“We can get tea outside, if you need it. Sit down, Piyali. And tell me what is going on,” he seated himself on the mattress hoping that if he acted relaxed, she would relax too.

“I have left his house.”

“Your choice?”

She shook her head.

“How long has it been?”

“Little over a month.”

“Why didn’t you come home?”

She stood silent.

“Does Mashi know?”

She nodded.

“She asked you to keep away?”

She answered with a nod again.

“What the hell, Piyali,” he got up from the mattress and came near her, “Why did I not know? I may never have said it in so many words. But was it not understood that you could always come to me? In fact, you should have,” he emphasized ‘should’. “You owed that much to me,” he finally added. She knew all about him. She had read his diary. She had sent him the note asking him to pull himself together, showing that she cared and she was not disgusted.

“If I came to you,” she said in a quivering voice, “It would only have given credit to their accusation.”

“What accusation? What has happened?”

She shook her head, not wanting to talk.

“That won’t do. That won’t do at all. You have to talk to me.”

“Why did you come after me?” she started crying, “You shouldn’t have.”

“Why did I come after you?” he was offended, “You know very well why I did. And I didn’t come after you until I thought that you were settled in your own life, did I? Even though I had my doubts. But now? With this?” He pointed at the room with a sweep of his hands. “You are asking why I came after you? What would you do in my place? Don’t do this to me, Piyali. For God’s sake. Talk. Tell me what has happened. What accusation were you talking about? Did it have to do something with me?”

Her shoulders stooped. She was giving in to his insistence, even as she continued to cry. He held her and led her to the mattress. He made her sit on it and held her hands. “No matter what happens, till I am alive, you are not alone. I am sorry that I left you to your own devices all these months. I thought it was for your welfare. I was wrong. But don’t punish me for it, please. Talk to me.”

A blood donation camp was organized in the town. Piyali had wanted to donate and thankfully Pronab did not stop her. He went with her. The blood was to go in the blood bank only after testing it. There was an option for donors to receive the blood reports for free. Piyali had opted for it. When the report came, her life fell apart. She was HIV positive.

—

To be continued

Mukundo was alarmed on seeing the door open. Nobody was allowed in that room! And Piyali was no longer around.

“Who is it?” he asked sternly as he entered. And then he stopped in his tracks. It looked like he didn’t even breathe for several moments. Her appearance had changed substantially after marriage. Her hair was parted in the middle and tied in a single pigtail at her back. Earlier, she mostly left it open or tied it a ponytail, and it was always parted on the side. A thick line of sindoor was visible in her parting. Girls these days didn’t wear sindoor that prominently. But apparently she did! She was also wearing a saree. He didn’t remember seeing her in one except for some stage performance once in a while. Despite all that, even in the badly lit room, he could not mistake her! “Piyali!” Words barely came out of his throat, when he did finally speak.

“How are you, Mukundo Babu?” Piyali tried to converse normally.

What he did next, startled her, but it could no longer surprise her. He took long, urgent strides towards her and hugged her. She didn’t remember when it was last that he had even touched her. Not since she was twelve probably. That was all she could do to stop herself from reacting. She broke into sobs again.

“What happened?” he got worried. He broke the hug and held her by her upper arms, “What’s wrong, Piyali? Is something the matter?”

She wiped her tears and replied with a lie, “I was just overwhelmed to be back.”

He took a deep breath and calmed himself down. “When did you come?” he asked after releasing her from his grip.

“It has been an hour or so.”

“Your… husband?”

She could feel the pain and hesitation in his voice. “He is also here,” she replied in a small voice, which he attributed to her recent crying. “We will go back tomorrow afternoon.”

“So soon?”

“He doesn’t have any leaves left after the wedding. We will have to go back.”

“And our lover boy can’t leave you behind. I am happy Piyali, that you are happy.”

She just gave a small smile in reply. Her inner turmoil after reading his diary was almost giving her physical pain. She was unable to decide how to react. She was trying hard to behave just the way she had planned to before she read that cursed diary. What all had she thought of talking to him about? She tried to think hard and finally blurted out.

“Won’t you like to meet Pronab, Mukundo Babu?” she asked him about her husband, as he made to switch on the tubelight. Now that she had already cried before him, she didn’t care how her face would look.

As the room lighted up, she could notice the split second stiffening of his face.  She regretted asking this. But he turned back to her with a smile. “You have so little time. I am sure Mashi would want to have her jamai to herself so that she can feed him well. I won’t intrude.” He would have liked to say a plain, simple ‘No’. But he tried hard to be reasonable for Piyali’s sake.

What else had she thought of telling him? She was going to complain to him about not trying to contact her. But she didn’t have the heart now. She stood there in awkward silence.

“You… look different,” he broke the silence finally.

She chuckled slightly, “Must be the saree.”

“No. No. That I had imagined you very well in!” Yes. He could imagine her perfectly in a bridal dress. He must be able to imagine her in a saree, then. “It’s something else. Tell me honestly, Piyali, you are happy, right?”

She sighed. What could she honestly tell him? She herself didn’t know. She didn’t know how to feel about the situation where she hadn’t been able to visit her mother for two months. Haldia was not that far. The reason was that her husband was not willing to let her go without him. And even now, he wouldn’t let her stay for even one full day. Her mother told her that she should be happy that he loved her so much. “Women all over the world have only one worry. What if their husbands stopped loving them? You are so lucky. And what is a mother’s house to a married daughter? Nothing. It is now that you can think of visiting within months. In our days, years went by and the daughters never came back to mother’s home. In some cases they never came back for the rest of their lives.” She should feel lucky. Probably! But what about him being paranoid all the time? He didn’t like it if she as much as stepped outside the house in his absence. “Why do you want to go out, if he doesn’t want it? Take care of your home. You are lucky that you don’t have to slog to earn your keep,” her mother would argue. “There are all kinds of people in this town, Shona. I won’t be able to bear it if they so much said something bad about you.” “Shona! He called her Shona. A term of endearment. But for some reason, she cringed at it. He never noticed. Not even in the bed, where her reaction was no match to his passion. She just went through the motion, while he whispered all kinds of things in her ears. Some sweet nothings, some suggestive stuff, and some outright lewd things – turning her off even further. He didn’t notice. But he could not keep his hands off her. Even when they stepped out, he kept her close, often with his hands around her shoulder or waist. Everyone found it romantic that he was smitten with her and the few friends that she did manage to make teased her constantly about it. She smiled and blushed dutifully. But despite what everyone said, she didn’t feel lucky. Should she feel lucky that he wouldn’t even let her choose her clothes? He loved her so much! “I like you in sarees. And why shouldn’t you wear your sindoor well? The world should know that you are mine.” And he also didn’t like her open hair, or her ponytail. That made women look ‘available’ according to him. She would have liked to ask Mukundo Babu if she should feel lucky, and happy. But could she?

“I am fine, Mukundo Babu,” she said outwardly. Non-committal, but also non-alarming.

He looked hard at her. She felt like he would see right through her. She averted her eyes, and turned her head slightly away, in the process exposing the side of her neck to him. He noticed the scar.

“What is it?” he asked suspiciously.

“What?” she didn’t realize what he had noticed.

“That scar on your neck?”

She was flustered for a moment.  “What? Nothing… This was… I had stumbled once and… a door had a sharp edge…”

“A door? It hurt your neck? And also this?” he had noticed another one on the inside of her arm and pointed at that.

Damn! Pronab called them a sign of his love. If he lost his temper, if he hit her, it was because he loved her so much, cared for her so much. These marks seemed to make him happy. He was happy even to nurse them. “If you won’t act so childishly, I won’t lose my temper, would I? But you understand that now, don’t you, Shona? Huh? Tell me,” he would ask while putting a band-aid or antiseptic cream on her wounds. She would mumble a ‘yes’ to avoid enraging him again. “Of course. And you know, how much I love you, don’t you? I had to convince my parents to go to your mother for this match. Who has ever heard of boy’s family doing it? You are so precious to me. I will never let anybody lay eyes on you.” But he would do whatever he liked with her! She hadn’t told her mother about the physical assaults. What if Debangi told her that that was normal too. She would lose all hopes, then. She didn’t know what exactly she was hoping for; but whatever it was, she didn’t want to lose it.

“It’s an old house Mukundo Babu. And I am very accident-prone. But I am learning to navigate my way,” she stepped away as she said that with a hint of labored humor in her voice and a forced smile on her lips. She didn’t want him noticing anything else. She herself had stopped keeping track of small, little wounds. And her mother seemed blissfully unaware.

“Piyali…”

“Enough about me. What have you painted new?”

“Nothing,” he sighed.

“Promila Kaki told me you have been drinking non-stop.”

“What is the news in that?”

“More than usual.”

“I am the same, Piyali.”

“Why no paintings in two months, then?”

“Inspiration didn’t strike. It happens.”

“Have you been attending board meetings?” she didn’t know that he hadn’t been. But something told her that he wasn’t all right. So, she asked.

He looked surprised at her question and then could not lie. “No.”

“Promila Kaki is right then. Please don’t do this, Mukundo Babu,” her voice quivered. It was all because of her!

Mukundo looked at her puzzled. There was something in the way she spoke that he couldn’t quite explain. But before either of them could say anything else, they heard a knock on the door. Priyendra was there. Debangi was looking for Piyali and was getting furious. Piyali followed him, not wanting to create a scene while Pronab was around.

—

To be continued

That was the last he had seen her in two months. After she had gone out, he had slumped back in a chair and buried his head in his hands. He had let the tears flow out of his eyes. Not a manly thing to do and especially embarrassing at his age. But who was there to witness it? Why should he care? Then he had looked at all of her paintings he had made in last twenty years. There was at least one for each year of her life. Probably he should pack them all up and send them off with her. But… He couldn’t do that. He figured that those would be his lifeline from then on. For as long as he was cursed to live.

His drinking had become more pathological, he had even skipped the board meetings for last two months and he hadn’t painted anything new. He had tried bringing in models – old and new. He had tried reading for inspiration. He had tried his favourite haunts in the city for that. Nothing worked! Now even his beloved room felt suffocating to him. Frustrated, he got up and decided to take a walk in the garden.

—

Piyali entered the room with feelings she could not comprehend. Never before in her life had she stayed away from this room for more than three days. Two months! If she could, she would never get out of it again. She would roll up in one corner and sleep off. Peacefully!

He wasn’t there. He didn’t know she was coming. Else he would have waited for her. Or would he have? After running away from her wedding like that! It was obvious that he wasn’t happy about her wedding. But he did nothing to stop it. He didn’t even ask her to stop it. If he had said it even once…  And he didn’t try to contact her in these two months either. She looked around the familiar room. Nothing had shifted from it place since the last time she was here. There wasn’t even a new canvas around. In such a situation, one unfamiliar thing could not help catching her eye. There was a diary lying on the table. Curious, she picked it up. As soon as she turned the page, she realized that it was his personal diary. Manners dictated that she shouldn’t read it. But she could not stop herself. She leafed through the pages. There were some short entries about the business. In some others he had detailed in words some inspiring scenes. Piyali could relate them to some of the paintings he had drawn later. And then she noticed references to a woman. Always in pronouns. “She”, “her”, never a name.

“Her expressive eyes. Can I ever get them right in a painting?”

“She makes me want to be normal. To love, to marry, to have a family. But no. I can’t. Because seeing her also fuels passion. And passion can become dark soon. Very soon. Especially when violence is in your blood. If it was only my conscience I had to fight, I would have taken a chance. But how can I take a chance with her? If I become the monster I am capable to becoming, what would happen to her?”

What was he talking about? And whom?

Piyali flipped through until she found a reference to “her” again.

“’Why don’t you sell any of my paintings?’ she wanted to know.” Piyali forgot to draw breath as she read that. It was her! “What should I have told her when she asked if those paintings were not good enough? Should I have told her that once, only once, had my agent gotten a glimpse of one of her paintings. ‘Mr. Thakur,’ his eyes had shone greedily, ‘Where have you been hiding this gem?’ I had to curtly tell him that it was personal and not for sale. How disappointed had he been! But I could not tell her that. She asks uncomfortable questions these days. This one would have opened a can of worms. I just told her what I had told the agent. That I consider them personal. That I never tried to sell them. I did not tell her that I cannot imagine sharing her with anyone. Even if it is a painting. How could I have told her that? It is such a foolish thing to wish for. She won’t remain with me forever. She can never become mine. Why burden her with my impossible wishes! She must live her life, and live it well.”

Tears welled up in Piyali’s eyes. What would it have taken for him to give her the wedding present then? Anyone else would have been surprised to see the painting. He had painted her, in her wedding attire. How could he do that without ever seeing her in the dress? Others would have wondered. She didn’t. He had always painted her like that. He had never asked her to pose. She had never thought much about it. But it dawned on her now that how extraordinary it was. It was as if all her features, all her expressions were itched perfectly in his memory. That painting in the wedding attire… She could see her anxiety and confusion reflected perfectly in the facial expressions he had given to her. Did he understand her feelings? If he did, why didn’t he talk to her even once? Or was it his own anxiety and confusion that he had painted on her face?

“And as if the monster in me is not enough of a problem, I can’t help feeling how perverse it would sound to anyone. She is so young! She has grown up before me. I was twelve when she was born. What business do I have having such feelings for her?”

A lump formed in her throat. She flipped through some more pages. And then she came across the entry after which she could not stop the tears from flowing down her eyes.

“’Why not me?’ she asked. How innocently does she torture me? I shooed her away. I couldn’t have told her that if I ever saw or painted her nude, I would not be able to do it with an artist’s eyes. I will see her with a lover’s eyes. And then… All hell will break loose.”

She started sobbing. She didn’t have the heart to read more. What would he have written about her wedding? It was bad enough to make him run away on that day. She couldn’t read it.

She heard some footsteps approaching the room. He must be coming back. And her face must be all puffed up from crying. She reached out for the tubelight switch. She had switched it on while picking up the diary. He wouldn’t find it odd if it were switched off. That’s how he had left it. It was just getting dark. There was enough light in the room to not make it necessary to switch the lights on. And it was dark enough so that he won’t notice her swollen face.

—

To be continued

“Mukundo Babu?” she found him waiting for her at her college gate was taken by surprise. It had been three days since their last meeting. It was very rare for her to not go to him even for one day. The only times she did avoid him was when she would pretend to be angry with him for something. But in those cases within couple of days, she would still be back and wait in his room for him to start reconciliation. That was not the case this time…

“I was coming back from the board meeting. So, I thought I would pick you up on the way.”

Despite what most of his servants and neighbors thought, Mukundo wasn’t ignoring his family business. He didn’t take part in day to day management. But despite his drinking, and visits to the escorts, and the habit of bringing ‘strange’ women home, he did keep an eye on what was going on in the business. As the largest shareholder he took his board duties seriously. Except for attending monthly board meetings, and other occasional meetings, he did not go to the office regularly though. And people assumed that he didn’t care; and was only living off what his grandfather had built and earned; and was wasting time in paintings no one had seen or cared about. He didn’t bother correcting them. He didn’t want to. He was happy being left alone. He didn’t even tell them that his paintings sold. They sold at pretty good prices. But under a pseudonym. He didn’t want to be visible to the world. It was bothersome dealing with people, judging them, correcting them… He didn’t want to do any of that. The only person who knew anything about him was Piyali. She had known since her childhood. And somehow, since early on, she had learned to keep it to herself. A little, pleasant secret of her own!

Presently she didn’t say anything and followed him to his car. After they had started driving, she spoke, “Board meeting usually happens in the first week of the month.”

He was caught. He was lying! He had come only to see her. It was ridiculous to come all the way to her college to see her. But at home, he couldn’t ask anyone. Both her parents worked in his house. Her mother as a cook, and her father as a driver. They stayed in the servant quarters attached to his bunglow. So, if he asked his mother, she wouldn’t be able to rebuff him. But she would frown, and everything in her facial expressions and body language would tell him how unwelcome his queries about Piyali were. Most of the time he wouldn’t be bothered with such behavior. But when it concerned her, he couldn’t tolerate it. He would react. And that cannot be good for anyone. So, the only way out was to not talk about her before anybody. When she did not come back to him after their last meeting, he grew anxious. He was left with no option, but to find her outside the house, in her college.

“You are angry at me,” he said.

“Me?” she almost jumped out of her seat, even within the confines of the seat-belt.

“Ummhmm… I haven’t seen you for last three days.”

“I thought… you were angry at me,” she said in a small voice.

“Don’t be silly, Piyali.”

Her heard her let out a breath. She had been anxious. As anxious as him! It felt good.

—

“So! Big girl, eh? Getting married?” he put up a brave face and teased her about the news. She had just finished her final year exams. Mukundo was returning from a visit to his agent, when he had found Debangi excited distributing sweets amongst all the house staff.

“What is going on?” he had asked.

“There is great news Mukundo Babu,” Debangi today was cheerful even before him, “God bless the girl! Piyali’s marriage has been fixed.”

Mukundo had gotten the shock of his life. Piyali? Married? Already? But he had managed to respond appropriately, “Congratulations Mashi.”

She had taken care of him as a young boy, when his mother was alive, and after she had died. She herself was fairly young then. But he used to call her Mashi. Any bonds of affection had long been broken. The way of addressing had still lingered on.

While picking up a Shondesh from the packet Debangi had offered him, his eyes had fallen on Piyali. She was standing near the kitchen door, look pale and anxious. He did not eat the Shondesh and walked away to his room. Waiting for her to come.

And when she came, he didn’t know what to say or do. So, he had tried to hide behind the humour which would be considered natural under the circumstances.

“You look happy?” she merely said that in response.

“What is the hurry, Piyali?” he shed the façade and asked her miserably. She had always wanted to study further, to get a job, to be independent. And he had encouraged her to. He had financed her education. In one of the best schools in Kolkata. To avoid gossips, he had done that for her younger brother too. Unlike him though, she had done very well in school and got admission and scholarship to one of the most sought after college in the city. And then there was her dance. Something she was devoted to. What would all of it come to? Nought?

“Since Baba’s illness, Ma can’t think of anything else. She can’t focus on Priyendra’s future if I am sitting at home.”

Right! Every Indian mother’s worry. Daughter’s marriage. And a concern for her son’s future if the daughter is not sent away at the earliest. He found it ridiculous. But that couldn’t change other people’s concerns. Debangi would act on hers. And apart from the issue of seeing him, Piyali was an obedient daughter. She wouldn’t defy her.

Mukundo knew exactly what he had to do if he wanted to save her from the potential disaster. But he wouldn’t be able to do that. He just did not have the confidence. He couldn’t be a good husband, or a good family man. His grandfather wasn’t. He still shuddered to think of how violent and abusive a man he was. Thankfully not towards his grandson. But otherwise…  And then his father. It was witnessing his father’s most cruel act that had been Mukundo’s undoing.

“Who is the boy?” he asked presently.

“A senior from college. Apparently he…”

“Apparently he?”

“He had noticed me in the college and wanted to… He sent his parents…”

“What does he do?”

“He is an upper division clerk. He stays in Haldia.”

“What? Haldia? You are going away from Kolkata,” he looked crestfallen.

She just nodded.

Feeling miserable was going to be of no use. He shouldn’t make her feel bad about it. It was a question of her life’s happiness. Since he could not change anything, he should at least try to ensure that she was satisfied and hopeful. Her life need not become a disappointment like his own.

“Don’t look so sad, Piyali. Obviously, he loves you. I’m sure he will support you too. In all your dreams. You will be happy.”

—

“Where are you going?” Piyali was panting as she entered his room. She must have been informed just then!

“To Delhi. My agent wants me to meet someone.”

“When will you be back?”

“I don’t know. It might take a couple of weeks.”

“You won’t be attending the wedding?”

He smiled. A sad; and a brave smile! “Here is your wedding gift,” he handed her a rectangular wrapped package.

“I am not asking about the gift,” she cried in anger.

“Piyali…” he didn’t scold her for being impertinent; just tried to calm her down by gently calling her name.

“Your work can’t wait a week?” she asked miserably.

He looked away for a moment before answering her, “I am afraid, no. But that doesn’t mean that my wishes and blessings are not with you. Here. Take this. And open it after your wedding. Okay?”

She took the package with trembling hands and tearful eyes. She did not answer or acknowledge his question and walked out.

—

To be continued

“No. No Piyali. Don’t see that…”

Mukundo was too late. She had impertinently uncovered the canvass. As he had anticipated, she was shocked. But only for a moment. Then she turned to him. Her face was red and there was a hint of nervousness in her countenance. But her voice was clear.

“It is the woman who had come with you the other day.”

“Yes,” now that she had already seen it, he decided to act the way he would have acted before anybody who was not expected to understand. Nonchalant. But when she continued to stand there, silent, and not giving any hint of how she felt, he grew concerned. He had this strange relationship with Piyali. She belonged to his world. At least a part of her. But for the rest, she had been brought up conservatively by her parents. Although rare, there were parts of his world that he hadn’t exposed her to. Because those would be blasphemy in her world and too scandalous. To top that, she adulated him. This exposure could be confusing, potentially traumatic for her. She was barely nineteen. “Look Piyali,” he decided to explain gently, like he explained Mathematics and History to her, “This is nothing bad… Drawing or painting a nude model is a common practice in art classes. It is nothing…” He stopped. He had meant to say ‘sexual’, but felt odd before her.

“Why her?” her question took him by surprise. His brows furrowed as he tried to think what exactly she wanted to find out.

“Well… there have been others,” he replied hoping to clarify that she wasn’t a lover.

“Why them?”

This girl would drive him crazy. What was she up to?

“They are…” he tried to think of an appropriate answer on the go, “They are my muses.”

“So am I.”

“Excuse me?”

“I am also your muse. You have done my paintings. Why not me?”

“What!” he was lost for words for a few seconds. “Run away, you stupid girl,” he finally managed to say, “And don’t talk like this before anybody else. They will think you are foolish and dep…” He stopped once again. He knew exactly what people would think of her if she talked like that. Deprave. But he couldn’t use that word before her.

He turned away from her pretending to pick up some book to read. He didn’t want to continue this conversation. He was acutely aware that he was acting like a parent trying to avoid an embarrassing question from a young child. But what could he do?

He was relieved as well as worried when he heard her stepping out of the room. Or was she running out? What did she think of his admonition? Damn! Did he not handle it right?

What should he have done? She had now grown up! Right before his eyes. And with every passing year, she had placed herself even more firmly in his life. She was the only one who came to this room. The room where he painted; and read; and wasted his time. Her mother, Debangi, believed that he did only the last of those. In the room and outside. Wasting his time. Because he could afford to. With his family wealth. She didn’t want Piyali to be spending any time with him. But that was one thing in which she defied her mother. She didn’t listen to her. She came there and sat with him for hours. Talking about everything under the sun.  Doing her homework. Looking at his paintings. Reading with him. Not bothered about his reputation. And hers for that matter.

When she was younger, she would innocently ask him about every objection made against his character.  “Do you drink too much, Mukundo Babu?” she had asked innocently once, “Everyone says it is not good.”

He had laughed, “Who says that?”

“Ma,” she had replied sheepishly. At that age all the opinions and information came to her from her mother only.

He had shaken his head trying to avoid talking further on that. But she had pressed on, “Why do you drink?”

“It gives me peace, and inspiration. To paint.”

“But it is bad, isn’t it?”

“It would be bad, if it made me a bad person. Am I one? A bad person?”

“No.”

“Then? What is the problem?”

She had not argued further then, but she had come back at a later occasion.

“I don’t like it Mukundo Babu. Ma says you are not a good person.”

“Tell her, Piyali, that I might be a bad person. But I will never let any harm come to you.”

“She is never convinced with that.”

“Then probably you should not come to me.”

“Why not? You don’t drink before me.”

Memories of yet another day crossed his mind.

“Why don’t you get married, Mukundo Babu?”

“And who is asking that, now?”

“Everybody.”

“I don’t want to get married.”

“Why not?”

“Why should I get married?”

“Ma says that if you got married, you won’t go to bad women.”

“Why would your Ma say such a thing to you?” he was perplexed. Her mother was the kind who believed in keeping the minds of their daughter ‘pure’. She wouldn’t be discussing that with her.

“Not to me. She was telling this to Promila Kaki.”

“Stop overhearing elders, and troubling yourself. Okay?”

“Are they wrong, then?”

He had sighed, “When you grow up, you can decide for yourself, Piyali. What can I say? But if you must decide now, you should probably listen to them.”

“Why do you always talk like that? You don’t like my coming to you?” she had been irritated.

“That’s not the case, Piyali. You know that very well,” he had said in conciliatory tone. And he was honest. She was the only creature in the world that made him feel good about things. In everything and everyone else, he saw either treachery, or cowardice.

As she grew up, she stopped asking those questions about his “bad” habits. Probably she had started understanding better. Her mother was more worried about her keeping his company. She was growing up into a beautiful woman. Her reputation was more at stake than it would have been in childhood. But she continued to defy her mother’s wishes of avoiding him and kept coming to him.

Grown up she had! He couldn’t ignore that. And it looked like that if she did ask a question now, it would be for herself. And increasingly answering them would be difficult; so would be ignoring them.

“I am also your muse. Why not me?” Her bold question rang in his head. He picked up his diary and started scribbling. That was one thing he did in this room, which even she didn’t know about. Writing his diary.

—

To be continued