Devi Page 10

  “I have just married my youngest daughter. How will I… I have given away everything I had.” her father’s eyes faltered.

  “I know. I know,” her mother-in-law replied. “She is no longer your responsibility. She is ours now. You are only concerned about the whims and whimsies of your youngest daughter. Anyway, we can take it on loan! I heard you have a big piece of land, bigger than this village. You can give that on mortgage. Or are you saving everything for your son? Give your daughters a little bit also, they are your children as well. God has blessed you with a son. When he marries, he will recover it all.”

  Shyamlal Prasad left the next day. He did not go to the bank with Manoj. He turned at the gate to look at her. Aditi saw how sorry he was. Silent and mute, he was asking for forgiveness, explaining that had it been his way, he would have taken her straight back home. But she was destined to endure the misfortunes of his doings. And silently, he thanked her for enduring it all.

  Manoj was angry and beat her for days to come. More letters were sent, for a few months later, her father arrived again, this time accompanied by monstrous clouds marching over the village from south. He paid for the motorcycle. When Aditi asked from where he had arranged the money, he just smiled sadly and patted her head. “Anything for you, my princess!” And she didn’t have the heart to ask anything else.

  Manoj finally bought a blue Rajdoot. He had to wait for a few days because it had to be ordered and transported from Purnia and the roads were nothing but ditches and rubbles in rainy season. Aditi had to dress up and worship the vehicle when it arrived five days later. The marigold garlands on the motorcycle had not even withered when the news arrived. On his way back to Bhagalpur, her father had taken a boat across the flooding Ganga. A mighty storm broke out, and amid shouts and cries, the boat capsized. Mother Ganga took everyone away. None of the bodies were recovered.

  When the transfer letter to Purnia arrived in ‘97, Aditi saw it as an opportunity to leave everything behind. Manoj’s parents wanted him to stay back and expected him to travel a distance of 65 kilometres to Purnia, and back, every day. It was she who convinced him to shift to Purnia altogether. His parents paid regular visits to the small house they had rented, taunted him, nagged him to come back. She coaxed him into taking a house-loan. Then the construction began. Naïve and inexperienced as she was, she looked over the construction. Her dream began to take shape. She began to prepare herself for a quiet life with her husband, with a beautiful garden and sweet fragrance of roses.

  After the house was completed, she overheard someone talking about the benefits of opening a gas agency. More and more people were switching to LPG. Its demand was increasing day by day and distributors were so limited. She asked Manoj to look into it. They could open their own agency in Naugachia. Not Purnia, she reminded him repeatedly. Gas agencies had already started blossoming in Purnia. Theirs would not be able to compete in the market. Manoj found out that even Naugachia promised little business. He finally applied for a license in the neighbouring city of Madhepura under his wife’s name. They leased a shop in the main market of the city – M. G. Market. It was inaugurated in February, ’99 and handed over to Ajay. Manoj was beaming with happiness. Why wouldn’t he? He was the topic of gossip in his hometown. His hard-work had not only secured a top-notch job for himself, but also created a lucrative employment for his brother, who, till recently, did nothing but pretended to work in a hospital. His parents couldn’t stop boasting about their sons.

  And Aditi couldn’t help but smile on her way back to Purnia on the blue Rajdoot. Her husband was all hers now.

  CHAPTER 8

  THE FIELD TRIP

  It was Arvind who suggested that Aditi accompanied them for the field trip the next day. A jeep was waiting outside. Manoj was hurriedly gulping down his breakfast with water. He washed his hands and began shoving papers and files into a bag.

  “Madam, why don’t you come with us? See more, our village?” suggested Arvind, helping with the papers.

  “No, Arvind, I am fine here.” Aditi was reading a magazine on the bed. She had not even brushed or washed herself. As it was, they were already late and she didn’t want to cause further delay. But more than anything, she didn’t want to go with Manoj.

  “But Sir, what will Madam do here?” Arvind tried to convince Manoj.

  Manoj ran short of decision. Here was his staff, who was trying to brighten the mood of his wife and put a hold on the tension that was building up between the couple. On the other hand, they were getting late. He didn’t want to throw the entire trip off schedule because of personal reasons. But he did not have the courage to say this to his wife.

  Aditi came to his rescue. “No Arvind. Some other time. The driver is waiting and I am not even dressed.”

  “Driver is waiting? So? Arey, driver sahib,” he shouted out of the window, “Madam is coming with us. You will have to wait. Go, do your job behind some bush if you have to.” The driver jumped out of the jeep, and instead of finding some place to relieve himself, he hurriedly began to dust the seats and wipe the windows. “See, Madam, he can wait. Now you will come with us?” Then he laughed and looked at Sir, “After all, how much time can women take to ready?”

  Zeba served Arvind tea twice while he waited for Madam to get ready, while Manoj took a quick nap in the hall. Aditi washed herself, got dressed and had her breakfast. And then they drove through the village, Arvind in front and Sir and Madam in the back seat. They passed huts and shops and men toiling in fields. The sky was patched with white clouds and the sun did its best to keep their journey hot and uncomfortable. The engine roared. The vehicle bounced and jittered, leaving a long trail of dirt behind.

  They stopped outside a small campus cordoned off with bamboo stalks and canes. Arvind went inside and called out someone’s name. A man replied. Manoj took out a brown file with the bank’s logo from the bag and nodded at Aditi. “Come.”

  A tiny, shagging hut sat in one corner of the campus, which otherwise was covered with potato plants on one side and watermelon climbers on the other, irrigated through a network of dykes connected to a hand-pump. A thin grey cow with small horns was swishing its tail lazily under a shade. A man in his thirties came out from the hut to greet them. He just had a rag wrapped around his waist and a gamcha on his shoulder, his skin leathery and dark. Three small, naked children peeped from inside.

  “Baiji,” Arvind said in his booming voice and put his hands behind his back, “Manager Sahib is here to see you.”

  Baiji folded his hands and bowed. He turned around shouted something and another boy, probably the eldest and in a pair of shorts, ran out of the campus.

  Manoj was struggling with the bag and the brown file in his hands. Arvind came forward, took the bag and stepped back again. “Baiji,” Manoj said, finally opening the file, “how are you doing?”

  “Well, Sahib, with your blessing.”

  Manoj looked around the campus. “This was the cow you bought?” he asked, glancing at a number branded on a rear thigh of the cow. Baiji nodded. His body was bent forward and his demeanour was that of a student called upon by the principal.

  The boy in shorts returned with two plastic chairs and placed them before the manager. Baiji wiped the chair clean with his gamcha and offered them a seat. Arvind continued to stand with his hands behind his back.

  “Why haven’t you reported to the bank?” Manoj asked once Aditi had settled in her chair. “You have taken a loan and you know very well what it means.”

  “You can see, Sahib, what the situation is. I could not buy fertilizers in time…”

  Manoj looked around again. Aditi followed his gaze to a small piece of land on the other side of the campus. It didn’t take long to understand that it was a tomato plantation in ruins. It was too late for fertilizers or pesticides.

  Manoj shook his head. There was no point asking more questions. “Still Baiji, you have to report to the bank. I have sent you two notices. You didn’t reply. Why? Anyway,
this is the third, and final.” He underlined Rs. 12,413 and handed him a piece of paper from the file. “Come to the bank tomorrow.”

  Baiji reluctantly took it. “Sahib, I don’t have any money.”

  “Whatever it is, you have to report to the bank tomorrow. This is your final warning. Come to the bank, deposit something at least. You cannot miss your instalment for more than three months. Do that first, then we will see what we can do.”

  Manoj closed the file and was about to get up when a woman came out of the house and placed a stool in front of them. On it were laid two plates with a small quantity of puffed rice, a quarter of chopped onion, a green chili and a little salt. After them were placed two glasses with lots of water. Aditi stared at Manoj for a moment, confused if they were actually supposed to eat. He nodded. They ate in silence as the three naked children watched hungrily from the hut. Arvind ordered one of the kids for a glass of water, drank two, then took the poor farmer to one side to discuss something.

  Once they had finished, Baiji brought a mug and poured them water to wash their hands. He folded his hands as they got into the jeep, his family peeping through the many gaps in the bamboo fence.

  They set off again, roaming around in the neighbourhood and handing notices here and there. The last customer in that area fled to the fields the moment he saw them coming. He left his wife to deal with them, who stupidly stuck to her statement that her husband had gone to Siliguri and wouldn’t be back before two weeks. Manoj handed her a notice and then they drove deeper into the village.

  They next visited a customer who had taken a loan for an auto-rickshaw. His house was in a more crowded area. The sun was high in the sky as they walked through narrow streets, avoiding puddles and cow-dung, as many faces peeped through surrounding windows and many men looked up from the variety of work they were doing. The customer had a proper brick house and enough chairs to offer all three of them.

  “Sir, this loan is a headache. It is bad business. You tell me Sir, tell me, should I drive my tempo or stand in your queue all day long? You know how much money I lose every time I have to come to your bank?”

  “You wouldn’t have any potential money to lose had it not been for our bank,” Manoj replied, sipping his tea.

  “This is asking for blood, this is. Your bank sucks away all my earnings. I still pay my instalments. Why do I have to keep coming to you?”

  “We have to keep check on the loans we grant. What you are doing with the money we give, how your business is going, and all that. The bank can’t come to you every time. By the way, you have missed two instalments. You would have known that had you visited the bank.”

  “Instalment. And more instalment. There is no end to it. I can’t ruin my business because of your bank.”

  Manoj finished his tea, took out another letter from the brown file and handed it to him. “Report to the bank tomorrow.”

  “I will see if I can come. My business…”

  “Enough of your-business-your-business,” Arvind clapped his thighs. “Who tells you to come in morning, during rush hours when everyone is wanting loan and money. And why will not Manager Sahib make you wait. He too has business to run. And not just one tempo. Come in evening. Around four or five. You will get enough customers from bank itself to get your business running.”

  Aditi was hungry by the time they reached their last stop. The white clouds overhead had been replaced by rumbling black ones. Cool winds provided respite against the heat. They drove through a vast field being ploughed by numerous labours with a brick kiln at the horizon. Up ahead was a house built in a similar fashion as that of the Mukhiya. They were welcomed by a tall man with a thick moustache. To Aditi’s surprise, they were straight away taken to a room where food was already laid out for them – a big heap of rice and dal on a large plate. On two quarter plates – the size of normal plates she used at home – were three different vegetables, salad, a variety of pickles, papad, fryum and two slices of water melon. Arvind and the driver were served lunch in the front veranda.

  Heera Lal Singh, the tall man with the big moustache, settled on a cot in front of them. “Any problem, Madam? This is village food, I know. But this is what we can offer.”

  “No! No! It all looks delicious. But I can’t eat so much!”

  “Oh, you Geeta, come here! Don’t you see how much you have served our Madam. Her stomach is all full just looking at it.”

  A beautiful young woman glided into the room with a plate and began to quietly remove a little portion of the food, her head lowered all the time. When she was done, Aditi swapped her plate with the small portion the woman was going to take away. There was a little persuasion as the young woman tried to put the contents back into Aditi’s plate. Eventually, Aditi had to settle for twice the amount she usually ate.

  The men didn’t talk business. Their conversation was casual and sometimes even personal. Aditi focused on eating the food. She had never realised that eating could be so difficult. When her stomach was on the verge of bursting, she looked up to find that Manoj had left most of the food untouched. He had not even bothered trying. Heera Lal Singh asked, “Do you drink milk, Madam?”

  “No… I…”

  “Just a little…”

  “No, I am full…”

  “Just a tiny drop…”

  “Okay, yes. If…”

  “Listen, Geeta. Where are you? Bring us some milk.”

  Two large glasses of milk were placed in front of them. Not boiled, but slightly warm – straight out of a cow! Aditi found a tiny bit of grass floating in hers. She looked at Manoj to help her out. He smiled – who told you to say yes! He waited for her as she tried to gulp down the milk without throwing up, and then took one sip from his own glass and he was done. Aditi threw at him a cold glare – that was an option!

  Manoj didn’t hand over a letter this time. He opened his file and discussed a few things. He made Heera Lal Singh sign somewhere and they were done.

  Going from one stop to another, Aditi hadn’t realised that they had gone so deep into the village. They returned home after dusk. She was tired and shaky, dirt sticking to her sweaty body. She had no intention of having dinner, but she had to do something about the men. She was about to change her clothes when Zeba came to ask what she would prefer – chicken or mutton. Manoj and Arvind had the brown file open by a lantern in the veranda and were discussing something.

  “Why?” Aditi asked.

  “Don’t you know? Today’s dinner is at our place.”

  “Tell your mother she can make anything,” Aditi almost cried with joy. “And tell her that she is the best woman in the world!”

  Zeba ran out, only to return three minutes later, panting and puffing. Aditi was already sprawled on her bed. “You must be tired, Aunty. Let me massage your head!”

  Laila called them for dinner earlier than Aditi had expected. Manoj was taken to a room on the ground floor. Half a dozen men were already waiting for him. They stood up and folded their hands as he entered. Aditi followed Zeba to the first floor and into a small room with lots and lots of clothes and tin boxes. A dim bulb hung in the centre of the room and a table fan was placed next to a square bed. Zeenat, who had been lying on the bed, sprang to her feet and hurriedly tidied the bed-sheet.

  Laila came in to chat for a while. She, and the other women of the house, were busy preparing dinner in the kitchen. Aditi was eventually left with the three girls, while other kids peeped from the door and ran away the moment Aditi turned.

  “So, Zoya,” Aditi asked the youngest sister, “from when will you start your tuitions?”

  Zoya opened her mouth wide and then clapped her hands over it. She looked at Zeba. Zeba blushed and in turn looked at Zeenat.

  “Ammi didn’t know when you would be free. You go to the bank…” Zeenat replied.

  “I told her I would be free after lunch. And I don’t go to the bank anymore.”

  “She thought…”

  “Or is it something else?�
� Aditi asked scratching her head.

  “No. We thought…”

  “Aunty,” Zoya cut in between, “do you have lice?”

  “No, dear, I…”

  “Then why are your scratching your head?”

  “Because it’s itchy.”

  “Or you have lice. I had loads of them when I was a kid. I am still kid but that time I was more kid. I scratched a lot, like you do now. You should apply neem paste. Ammi did to me. Then they all died. They used to fall off my head every time I combed. Your Ammi didn’t have neem when you were a kid? Zeba likes to kills lice. She is very good. Ammi sits in front of her every day and gets her head checked.”

  Aditi had no response. Zeba was watching her nervously. “Well,” Aditi said, “what’s the harm in getting it checked!” She knew she had no lice but it felt kind of good when someone scratched her head and stroked through her hair. Zeba knelt on the bed behind her and soon fingers began ruffling all over her head.

  “So Zeenat, you are the eldest, tell me, what do you want to do in life?”

  “I…” Zeenat thought for a while, “I want to become a wife.” It was more of a question in itself than an answer.

  “Well, that is one thing to do! And you Zeba, what do you want?”

  “I want to see the Taj Mahal,” replied Zeba from behind, her eyes squinted as she searched for lice in the dim light.

  “Taj Mahal?”

  “Yes, under a full moon! I want to sit in front of it and watch it all night.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it is beautiful. And it glows under the moon!”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “I will find out when I see it for myself. I know it glows. I just know it!”

  “And you Zoya, what do…”

  “I want to see city lights!” Zoya blurted out.

  “City lights?”

  Zoya ran out of the room and returned shortly afterwards with a folded piece of paper. She unwrapped it to reveal a fading picture, probably cut out from some magazine. The photograph was taken from inside a car moving over a flyover. The sky was dark and had a yellowish tinge because of the many street lights planted along the road. Another row of lights ran away towards the horizon on a broad, and rather empty road below. “I want to go to the city and stand on roads that fly! And yes, I want to see city lights also. And I want a rose garden. And I want those shoes that give light when you walk. And yes, I want to see the Taj Mahal also, but not at night. It will be scary at night. I want to see it in daytime when it is not scary.”