Devi Read online

  “Yes. She can help you with your work. Yes… yes… and what’s the harm in a few lessons. Yes. You think about it Madam, if you think it’s not much of a trouble, I will send them to you tomorrow. And give them each some work to do after you have finished. And if anyone misbehaves,” she looked sternly at Zoya, “let me know, and I will tie their limbs and throw them in the river.”

  “You can send them in the afternoon. After lunch. I should be free by then. And tell me about the second thing.”

  “Second what?”

  “You were telling me something about the village.” Aditi lifted her cup to her lips and blew.

  “Ah that! Just tea, Madam? You, girl, go get Aunty some biscuits.”

  Laila waited for her daughter to leave. Then hunched forward. Lowered her voice. “My husband told Sir the same thing. And I am telling you now. You should visit that temple.”

  “Which temple?”

  “The Devi’s temple. It’s on the other side of the village. Near Mukhiya Ji’s house. It won’t be long before he calls for you, our Mukhiya Ji,” she paused. She seemed hesitant. Then she said it, “Bow your head and come back. Nothing more.”

  The path was all mud and dirt. Aditi covered her nose with her aanchal. Her husband peered out as fields and lone houses rushed by. The mango trees now formed an indistinguishable line on the horizon to their right. The sky was clear, a monotonous expanse of blue with the sun casting short shadows towards east. The road curved around a thicket of bamboos and a small settlement unravelled itself. An assortment of concrete and mud buildings on either side of an asphalt road. A big store house overflowing with corn-ears. Men operating chopping machines. Women feeding in fodder. Naked children prancing and running. Dirty buffaloes lazily chewing cud, froth dripping from their mouths. The smell of smoke and burning corn.

  They left the settlement behind and followed the road. Five minutes later, a huge peepal tree came in view. Hundreds of pieces of red and yellow thread had been tied to its massively wide trunk. On a circular cement platform that had been built around it, rested small idols of various gods, each shrouded with flowers and garlands and incense-sticks. Further off the road was a gate to a brightly coloured temple. Bells were ringing continually somewhere inside the shrine. A busy market thrived around the premise. Garlands. Flowers. Sweets. Cheap cosmetics. Candies. Plastic toys…

  The driver didn’t stop.

  “Shouldn’t we visit the temple first?” Aditi asked.

  “Temple? Yes, we can come here after lunch,” Manoj replied.

  Aditi bit her lips and looked away, irritated. He and his secret plans. It was bloody evident that he had brought her here to visit the temple, and yet he acted as if it had never even crossed his mind. Six years into the marriage and she still couldn’t understand why he did that – keeping her in the dark even though it was clear what his intentions were. Maybe it gave him a sense of pride, taking the lead, making the decisions…

  The Mukhiya’s house was further down the road. A two-storey square building with a veranda on the ground floor and a balcony on the first. Lots of pillars. Lots of windows. The boundary-wall was not more than four feet high. A pair of concrete pillars erupted from the ground to hold a set of ten feet high iron gates. Aditi couldn’t help but smile – what was the purpose of those mighty gates when even a child could see beyond the wall or hop over. The front courtyard was a wide expanse of mud covered with layers of cow-dung and husk. A variety of shrubs and plants blossomed in a circular ring within another ring of colourful seasonal flowers. On the left was a tin-shed with five cows tied to poles, their bells tinkering feebly on their necks. Everything was impeccably clean.

  On the right was a guava tree, its trunk whitewashed with limestone. Beyond it, three Boleros were parked along the wall, music blaring from one of them. A man sat on a jute cot under the tree. Dark-skinned. Curly hair. Massive frame. He eyed her as three men, farmers going by their malnutrition physique, sat on their haunches in front of him, telling him something. Another three muscular men stood behind him, their arms folded, leering at her as she walked across the courtyard.

  Manoj nodded at the man seated on the cot. The swarthy man stood up, folded his hands and gave a quick nod. “He is Mahesh, the Mukhiya’s son,” Manoj informed her. Aditi folded her arms and greeted back. “His younger brother works in some MNC in Bangalore. He too is here, on a holiday. Manish Singh. He is a decent fellow. Away from all this. He came to my bank a week earlier, asking for some loan.” He paused at the portico and had a good look around. “Pretty decent place he has setup, hasn’t he?”

  The Mukhiya was a huge man in his seventies, with a protruding belly and dyed black hair and moustache. He greeted them with folded hands in a white kurta and dhoti. Two heavy gold chains and a gold watch dazzled in the otherwise white attire. They sat in a square inner courtyard surrounded by narrow corridors on each side with many doors leading to dark rooms. Mosaic pillars ran along the corridors, supporting the storey above, which too was constructed in a similar fashion. A group of children looked from the railings above, and every now and then, a woman would take a quick peek and dash away. Aditi noticed electric wires along the walls. This side of the village had power supply, though most of the rooms were dark. She heard the distant puff-puff of a generator and a lone bulb flickered to the tune of the machine.

  “Ah!” the Mukhiya noticed her observing the bulb, “we do have electric supply here. But it is very erratic. Can’t do without a generator. But the cost of diesel! You officers are lucky. You have a bank to pay for it. But enough of us men talking. You have been sitting here all quiet. Let our women also talk.” He looked at his wife, Sumitra Devi, sitting quietly beside him. She was in her late fifties. Grey haired. Fat and wide. The wrinkles on her face and hands made her look much older. “So, Madam,” he continued, “Manager Sahib tells me you are very fond of gardening?”

  “Yes,” Aditi smiled, “I maintain a garden in my campus, back in Purnia.”

  “It must be hard, to leave everything behind…”

  “It was… I didn’t…”

  “What was that hard in leaving it all behind?” Sumitra Devi asked curtly.

  Aditi gaped at her for a moment, unable to register the tone of her voice.

  “Manager Sahib can leave everything behind. He didn’t bat an eye when he did. His house. His comfort. All, so that he could provide for you. I wasn’t born with grey hairs. I have seen years. You have no joy of a child, at the least you can take care of him, cook him good food, clean his clothes, take care of his needs! All you care about is your garden.”

  Aditi was too stunned to speak. She looked at Manoj, but he just hung his head, looking at his shoes, playing the victim. The Mukhiya opened his mouth to speak, but Sumitra Devi had already started again. “And I have heard you are preparing for some sort of exam?”

  Aditi nodded. “It’s just something I always wanted to be.”

  Sumitra Devi didn’t seem to hear her. She turned to her husband. “These city women. Can’t they just leave men to their work? A woman’s place is at her home. Taking care of her husband, her children. And tell me, what will happen to your children while you work in your office? Who will raise them? Who will teach them the tradition we inherit from our parents? Manners? Our generations old culture? These are the kids who later turn out to be criminals. Murders. Rapists. And what not. Are you not happy with what your husband earns? Listen to me, my child, these gold and diamonds are worthless. A woman’s true jewellery is her husband’s happiness. Leave all these preparations and jobs. Take care of your husband. Least you know – and I am telling you because I have seen years come and go – he seeks his happiness somewhere else.”

  “Oh, now leave our Madam alone,” the Mukhiya waved his hand. His wife had opened her mouth to speak, but shut it immediately, and instead, glared at Aditi. “You are done with your lecture? What do you know about the fast lives of cities? You have wasted your life in this village here. Why shouldn’t ou
r Madam try for a job? Everything is not just about money. It is about self-respect. Power. Independence. Now go and call Gauri and lay out lunch for our guests!” Sumitra Devi glared at Aditi a moment longer, then stood up and disappeared down one of the corridors. “Madam, please don’t mind that miserable woman. She doesn’t think before speaking. I personally feel you are doing the right thing. Manager Sahib surely supports you too, doesn’t he?”

  “Of course, of course,” Manoj replied immediately, “I have bought her all the books she needs. It was one of the reasons I wasn’t bringing her here in the first place. But what can I say, she…” he gave a quick glance to check if she would let him continue. Aditi just looked away. What was the point of spilling their personal lives all over the village? “…hard times!” Manoj concluded and cleared his throat.

  “What is life but a complex problem we all must keep solving!” the Mukhiya said and rubbed his thighs. “You study, Madam. You study. Make us all proud. But will you remember me if I come to visit your office?”

  “Why not, Mukhiya Ji,” Aditi put on a big smile, “how can I forget you?”

  “And how do you study here? Manager Sahib, have you got her some inverter set?”

  “You sent for me?” a beautiful voice said from somewhere. A woman was standing in the corridor, thin and curvaceous, her aanchal hung over her face. Judging by her arms and waist, she seemed young. And extremely fair.

  “Ah! Yes! Lunch is ready?” A slight nod. “Manager Sahib, why don’t we go upstairs for lunch? And while the food is being laid, Madam can go outside and have a look around.”

  Aditi knew a look around meant a visit to the temple. Nevertheless, she simply sat on her seat and waited for Manoj to unravel his mysterious plan. He cleared his throat. “You should go with her. Take a look around…”

  She clenched her teeth. He still couldn’t tell her straight! “No,” her voice came out louder than she had intended. “I am fine here. I will come with you.”

  Manoj looked at the Mukhiya and let out a snort sort of laugh. Women are so difficult, right? What did the Mukhiya know that she hadn’t been told about the purpose of their visit? For him it was just another city woman throwing her tantrums.

  “Oh Madam,” the Mukhiya stood up and beamed at her, “we villagers pay our respect to a temple just close by. Since you are new here, you should go there and take its blessing, just once.” He then folded his hands. “I would appreciate if you could pay your visit. It’s not far. You will be there and back within five minutes.”

  Aditi turned to Manoj, surprised. “Temple? Are we going to a temple?” She gave a moment for Manoj to feel awkward while the Mukhiya eyed him questioningly. Then she stood up and smiled, “Why didn’t you tell me before, Mukhiya Ji? I would love to see this temple.”

  Gauri was younger than Aditi had judged. And more beautiful. Dense black hair. Flawless skin. Stunning features. She threw back her aanchal and led her down one of the corridors. “This way, Madam.” They stepped out into a back courtyard. Like the front, it too was surrounded with walls on three side, though higher, and in place of iron gates, was a set of old wooden doors. A pair of cows sat under a shade on her left. A calf nibbled at a stack of tender grass.

  “Where are we going?” Aditi asked. No matter what she told herself, her heartbeat had quickened. “Wasn’t the temple in the front?”

  “No, Madam. That is not the temple we are going to.” Gauri turned around and smiled. “It’s this way.” Then she disappeared through the doors. A narrow, foot-trodden path ran under a dense bamboo thicket ahead. “You see all these fields here, this bamboo plantation, all this is ours.” As they marched under the tall, green stems, Aditi could see a large barren field on the other side. “You take that path and go right,” Gauri pointed at another path that cut through the thicket. “It goes around the house and to the Kali temple you saw on you way here. And if you go left, it will take you to the Nepal border. And all this land you see, that field in front of us, the lands along the road, they all belong to us. Even that Kali Temple, it is on our plot. Mukhiya Ji had it constructed for the village, not more than three years ago. He even leases small plots to poor farmers. We do what we can to help the needy.”

  “Your father seems to be a very nice man.”

  “Father?” Gauri covered her mouth and let out a short laugh. “He is not my father.” When she removed her hands, her cheeks had turned red.

  “Oh! I am sorry. I thought, you know…”

  “He is my husband,” she said quietly.

  “What?” Aditi stopped dead on her tracks.

  “Yes. He is my husband.”

  Aditi didn’t know what to make out of it. How to react. She stared at Gauri. So young! “What is your age? Twenty-one?”

  “Nineteen.”

  Aditi gasped. Then looked away quickly. When her eyes fell on Gauri again, she realised that she was indeed very young. Her face had matured far earlier than her body. She noticed small hairs encroaching her forehead and temples. Her eyes held the restlessness of the young, though they had lost their lustre.

  “I am sorry,” Aditi tried to cover up. The Mukhiya she met didn’t seem like a person who would take in a second wife right under the nose of the first, and that too, someone his daughter’s age, maybe younger – grand-daughter. And that Sumitra Devi… hadn’t she taken caring-for-your-husband a bit too far? “I really am. No one told me and I assumed you were his… you know…”

  “This village surely has loads of surprises for you! Anyway, there is that temple for you.” She was pointing at a crumbling structure surrounded by low walls across the barren field. A beautiful arch had been built over the main gates. The campus was big, indicating that like the other temple, this one too had once seen throngs of devotees, but now all that was left was emptiness and sad reminder of the past. The temple was built under a bare mango tree, its branches sprawling out from the main trunk – diving low, reaching far and high, trying to cover everything around – until life drained out and stalled their progress. Unlike the barren field in the front, a sparse vegetation of young trees and bushes grew behind the temple.

  “This temple?” Aditi asked mockingly.

  “This is the oldest temple in the village. It was built for the goddess of the land – Ma Puran Devi. Devotees came from far to worship here. I am talking long before Independence.” Gauri walked in through the gates. “But we villagers took her for granted. We insulted her and she left the temple.”

  The shrine was a simple, square room, not more than seven feet high. Pyramidal roof. A broad corridor ran along the periphery with a pillar on each corner supporting the eaves above. The walls were stained with years of neglect and erosion. Small plants were struggling to grow in the many cracks along the walls. In front of the shrine was a cemented sacrificial platform with a rotting plank of wood erected in the centre. A deep ‘U’ had been cut out on the top of the plank and a rusting iron rod inserted across the gap. The platform seemed all and washed clean.

  “Then who is this Devi you worship here?” asked Aditi.

  “She was a queen. She was sacrificed in this temple. Right there!” Gauri raised her chin towards the sacrificial platform. “You see, this temple is haunted! We keep her pleased lest something bad happens in the village.”

  “What bad things?”

  “Oh Madam! You are taking all this far too seriously!” Gauri shook her head, as mothers do at the stupidity of their children.

  “Now stop calling me Madam, will you? I am like your elder sister, your didi…”

  “Okay. Didi! Right? My grandfather used to tell me these tales. All that happened more than half a century ago, if they happened at all! All that is left is belief.” She noticed Aditi’s eyes fixed on the sacrificial platform. “Yes, we still sacrifice a goat here every month. Keep the Devi pleased. But that is a tradition. We do it just because our ancestors did it. And if you want to hear my thoughts, I would have never bothered you with this visit. But you do what your
elders tell you, don’t you?”

  Footsteps. Crunching of twigs. They turned around to see an old woman coming towards them. Hunched forward. Hands behind her back, squinting. She came closer. Her face relaxed. A feeble smile. She folded her hands and bowed slightly. Aditi greeted her back.

  “The food must be getting cold, Didi,” Gauri touched her arms. “Let’s hurry. Just bow your head. That is all that is required.”

  Aditi made for the temple. The shrine was dark. She couldn’t see anything inside. She walked past the sacrificial platform. A small iron hook hung above the entrance, two links of what would have been a heavy iron chain attached to it. That was where the bell must have been. She looked around. There were no flowers. No garlands. No incense-sticks. She climbed the two steps to the veranda and peeped inside the shrine. Still, all she saw was unnatural darkness. She folded her hands. Bowed her head. And closed her eyes. Remained silent for a moment.

  From the veranda, Aditi saw a wide cavity in the ground behind the temple, beyond the wall. Probably a pond, its water now lay confined to the deepest part. A man sat on its edge, his hands entwined around a wooden stump across his shoulders. A herd of goats were drinking from the pond, others just sniffing through layers of dried leaves and grass. Cultivated fields lay beyond at some distance, visible through thickets of trees and undergrowth. A dozen or so people were working there – bent over on their instruments, ploughing, digging, resting.

  A waft of air ruffled her hair. And then there was this terrible stench that made her look for the source. Her eyes fell on the dead mango tree. Saffron and maroon twined threads were tied around the trunk. A dozen or so severed heads of goats lay in a rotting heap by the roots protruding from the ground, dark stains of blood splattered all over. Aditi covered her nose and hurried away.

  The old woman was clearing a patch of soil in front of the temple, sweeping the twigs with her feet and then fanning the dirt away with her aanchal.

  “What is there in the shrine?” Aditi asked as she tip-toed down the stairs. “It’s all so dark, I couldn’t see a thing.”