Though he was called second time the man didn’t immediately go to her, he gripped tight the window bars. He stood silently. He had hoped to return in the evening but- He let loose the grip.
The sky looked like a kite torn into pieces by a child. The gentle wind brought some changes. But it was a part of his disillusioned senses. A long hair stuck to an earthen piece at the window flew a bit and coiled his finger. As he saw it, very carefully he removed it. ‘Didn’t you ask me to keep open the window?’
‘A cat comes regularly.’ As she spoke it seemed her voice rebounded somewhere else from the mouth. ‘She’s pregnant.’ Her voice fell more down. ‘Because of her arrival during the day- ’ And then suddenly it was lost in some corner. The man felt he quickly find out that corner and bring out that voice and to her he... He couldn’t find out the corner where the voice had been hidden.
Today, the night seemed heavier than the yesterday’s. Does the moon rise late in this region? Or is it hidden somewhere behind the clouds? People are habituated of such things, what else? Aren’t the people at the foothill of the hillocks submissive? These are the people you can call them tiny creatures who can’t think beyond the reality present before them.
The thoughts of the man turned out like the balance sheet of the last two day’s stay. This balance sheet came out weekly, fortnightly, or monthly. The nights of the city where this man lived opened up when he came here.
The man had his job in the city. The woman had hers in a remote village primary school, sixty kilometres away from the city. The woman faced problems for to and fro. The days would be hot and the village seemed very far. The woman’s hand often drew her sari-end on her belly and she felt shy to do so in the presence of the three wheeler passenger vehicle. It was difficult to wait as the vehicle only ran when it got sufficient passengers. The shyness grew bigger than the wait. The place for the job that way remained troubling. It’s never easy to hide bitterness on the face through looking repeatedly at the wristwatch. She reached the place no doubt but the students missed more songs.
‘Better you leave the job and manage the home. It’s evening and your complaints begin.’
‘Complaints? What complaints? If no sharing how I become burdenless?’
‘That’s why I say if you leave the job no issue of burden.’
‘Ye ye, it’s not so. It’s not burden but burden will have a new name.’
‘Should I put a truth before you? If a woman like you wants to do a job she should remain unmarried.’ The man’s would be the last opinion.
‘But if someone likes to challenge both the responsibilities, why shouldn’t she accept?’
‘O can’t deal with you. Enough’s enough.’
What one wishes more if their talk stopped there? But recently both faced the same working time and that was a great issue. Bitterness began to surge. Cups and saucers broke. ‘And now your hurried works made my tea tasteless.’
‘How much time you spoilt for shaving? Can’t you help in making tea? Should I chop vegetables or knead for roti? How easy to speak? Tea tasteless! It’s okay today but tomorrow a little one... ‘
It was not new that thoughts of dal and rice remained under the weight of other thought. The man’s face won’t be seen as it remained hidden behind a newspaper and then it became routine for her not to speak more. On such a time, on the excuse of demanding something of the kitchen a third party entered: ‘Still you not left Rekhaben?’
The woman had a good habit. She returned the full bowl always. And yet from the other side salty and pungent taste came: ‘Found something on your dry hair and so I felt... I think you didn’t have your regular... period... ‘
‘Nonsense is your talk. I am not meant to remain caged to lit the chulha.’ She turned almost furious. ‘It’s a job in the village, not the city. Problem are to remain. You leave my matters.’
Of course, no sooner she came out the house than the whole world watched her. She felt it. And on her belly she would draw her sari-end.
*** *** ***
Smoke rose from the southward huts and above them clouds. No, not the dark clouds. But the moonlight is growing. The man came to the back room door. The woman drew the stove wick out for more light but the lamp around the wick couldn’t help much. ‘I thought of more light but see the lamp, useless.’ The woman noticed the man’s shadow that seemed a bit eased and yet rigid one.
‘What I wanted to say was that- ’ The man’s both hands spread and touched the threshold frames. The stomach drew a bit inside. He’s making hurry to ask a question. There was a possibility of mixing a requesting tone. Moreover this question has often been asked and may have a response something like, ‘Hang the lantern a little upward so more light may spread.’ The question and answers like their odd presence till today never seemed strange to both of them. Neither the woman felt a shock that she used to have earlier nor did the man insist to respond. It seemed as if both of them were walking alone along on the opposite banks of the same river and dropped stones from their hands. ‘What I wanted to say was that – ‘
‘Now the number reached to twenty five’. The woman spoke in the middle but then the space limited to them merely to the rattling sounds of arranging things. The man bedimmed. Such a big number to his only and only asked question? Suddenly the woman laughed in such a way that the man forgot the outer world for a while and he stared at the woman’s moving hand.
‘Earlier ten to twelve children came. They were scared. Cried while coming. Unwilling feet. But things have been changed and little happiness sit on their faces. Now twenty five in all. She added the essence of pride in her talk. ‘Suppose their teacher sang a beautiful song and they shouldn’t have an empty pocket- Do you understand Sir?’ And then her sari-end shook with grace. Tiny feet impression on the soil come to you and demand the sky, though you wish to refuse it, how can you do it? How can you? Say.’
The man continued to tear the threads that came out his shirt sleeve. When he found the lantern hanging up above his head he tried to move from the area where the lantern spread the light. In the darkness of things arranged on the wooden kitchen shelves, the man drew his hands at his back and held his right forearm in the left hand palm. The fingers moved as if to hold something. The slow but weak steps in the room pushed the air out a bit. ’It’s okay. That much time passes, but then?’
The man showed eagerness to respond the question but then he thought: ‘Can’t it be done that the way life right now is going on can be tuned with little changes? Then why such a question? It’s better he put a straight forward thing this way: ‘spare time for weaving and knitting, home cleaning, preparing papad and pickles or with a long siesta. Ultimately for a woman day means kneading for three or four rotis. What else?’
‘Yes, what did I say?’ The man looked at the woman and raised brows. The emptiness between the woman’s fingers tried to settle at the belly under her sari-end: ‘I say. I have decided to offer to the God that- ’ and she stopped, turned to the other side, went to the door and tried to be with the passing time of the night. Then the man didn’t know when she took the needle and cloth, when she left the door, and when she sat down in the place where the lantern was playing the light and shadow game. He got up and tried to see the spread dim and sometimes bright moon light on the neem tree opposite to him. As he saw the woman he neared her and held her fingers. It seemed that all the fingers tips will have a blossom with warm kisses. But he feared all fingers will slip away so he held them tight: ‘What I was to tell you that-’
He couldn’t speak anything. He tried to scratch a black mark on her finger nail. ‘Did you go for voting?’ ‘It’s blood clotting. She drew fingers and gently rubbed them. ‘Oh, when did it happen?’ The man held all her fingers.
‘Don’t know. Mostly while closing this door it happens. On such a time – when the night so suddenly falls.’ The man looked at her for a while and said, ‘You should apply something there.’ The woman withheld her fingers gently. ‘People here have deep faith in local gods. Their demands are fulfilled by them. The woman brought a thread out of the thread coil. ‘Here’s a place of Gohmay Ma. On the fulfilment of their demand they drink wine and ... but we can offer til mixed with jiggery. It can be suitable.’
The man rubbed his finger on nose, wiped face, got up hurriedly and went to the outward window saying ‘Just coming...’ A dim sound of someone’s moving spoon in a glass came from the house behind the wall.
This small house was comparatively neat and clean. The dried socks on a string stretched from the window to the door seemed to have great attachment. The wavering cloth noise didn’t care the lantern-light that made a wall of light and the shadow was formed and broken as if searched a hanger on the wall. In the early morning cold there must be dewfall. A small container showed marks of firewood that was laid in a corner alongside the heap of dung-cakes and firewood. Heads of pen and pencils in a bamboo wood made flower vase, came out and a forgotten toy would be found with an open book on the table. When the man came he saw the basil pot wet. As if the droplets on the plant leaves were eager to fall.
‘How’s the morning? Cold?’ The man asked when he came in but in the question awareness to leave early in the morning was seen. ‘Do you feel it very much?’ she asked. ‘Not feeling means?’ From the spread lips of the woman ease and something other fell down under the broken glance of the man and to avoid that the man let loose his tongue to the silently slept village, he said, ‘How deserted it looks!’ On each visit with slight word changes the man made this utterance. The reason wasn’t unknown to the woman. In its response she slid the needle into a cloth. Her cheeks pulled up as if she had to use a little force to stitch. Her eyes raised up once. The cloth side changed. Suddenly her lips opened and began to shake. The fingers began to search the torn part.
*** *** ***
Whenever the man visited after a week or two the man and the woman both in the afternoon went to the village. The visit ended in the few places of like Das Uncle’s house, a couple of old women of the street and a memorial at the outskirt of the village. From some of the huts that looked like pushed ones by a dozen of well-built houses of the village, the sight of earthenware cleaning made the man crazy. He spate often because of it as if to vomit. The women moved with biri smoke and checked whether their ghagra were okay. But more he saw liquor smelt men loitering everywhere. He would become restless. How could I be among illiterate and mannerless people?
The women had good rapport with the retired teacher Das Uncle. They offered help to his wife. Anything they did, whether to fold clothes or chop the vegetables. ‘Uncle in your juice no salt, ok?’ ‘Yes it’s so.’ He would say and out of his mouth brought out a beetle nut piece move round on his head and then threw it away in the backyard. The man stared at him. Das Uncle said to him, ‘Look dear brother Hasubhai. This is the area where people in the fear of bewitching eat the cheap things. Wine or liquor not strange to them. We are higher class of Chaudhry and we have to deal lower class Chaudhry. Takariya and Valvai people are common here. They dare not enter to our house. It’s the great service of Ramaben. Due to her all community children began to sit together at one place. I had demanded a school with five children only. How many? Only five. Before thirty years. And among them three were of our houses.’
‘Both of you deserve Padmashree.’ He rubbed his knees and spoke and spread his lips.
‘Now we take your leave Das Uncle. Darkness would fall swiftly.’ The woman said and quickly rose up to go. The man watched chickenpox marked face of Das Uncle. At that time he watched the old man swaying on the swing. A thought came to him, ‘Did he always wear such a transparent dhoti?’ As he stood up he said, ‘The Lady Teacher has tuned well with the village currents, isn’t it so Das Uncle?’ His jaw looked like as if something struck up inside it. A different sort of attitude he had. He realised that the world of the people is nothing else but dirty houses, thin and starved children wandering in the streets, and goats and hens.’ He hated the stinking smell and pressed his nose to save himself. To this he woman said, ‘It’s the smoke mixed smell of millet and corn seeds put to the stoves. Dinner time almost, no?’
In the clarification of the woman, the man felt he belonged to the rich class. He would try to put her where she stood with jasmine flowers braid in her hair at a beautifully carved window of a balcony of a pakka two storey house. A dreamy world he saw like a foolish one. ‘What do you see? How I know, eh?’ The woman asked him and sulked, ‘Yea, you become the Headman of the village. A twenty four hour job.’ The lines on her forehead appeared but no sooner the lines disappeared than she came across the faces of greeting children on the way. They offered her baked corn seeds from their pockets. The woman’s hands then moved on their cheeks and heads. ‘Bright student is this Gemu. Knows full alphabet, isn’t it my child?’
‘I know. Should I speak?’ he said. Then the children one after another showed willingness to speak. ‘Tomorrow in the school, ok? Right now you play.’ She walked through the dust cloud formed by these sporty children feet. The man wiped dust on his clothes and tried to be with her.
Small hut-shops too marked the man’s presence. ‘O Sister, ‘sir’ has come. O! It’s good.’ A sweet whisper came from a head laden under a Timaru stick bundle, ‘O Sister, does he like to be in the village?’
Everyone was happily responded. She found a great joy in presenting the asked questions in a polished manner. The man only came to know that they possess little education and hence their innocence mistreated. The children played a game but the woman cared not to disturb them. She crossed the children but the man stopped to watch them. He began to count the pebbles laid in circle.
When the evening approached they came to an almost de-peopled small temple. At that time the heavy clouds turned their backs. This change immediately brought shadow into her eyes. She said, ‘This is how the evening everyday falls. Did you see that pond? Lone, getting dry. As if it would be lost soon.’
When the dusty hot day slowly cools down at the goat shade, the woman looked at the swaying weaving bird nests hanging on the well grown babool trees of the pond. ‘Good reputation you’ve made.’ The man took his hand on his back neck, scratched there and said, ‘This is my response to repeatedly turning back and smiling at me.’ The woman said, ‘Taking a turn into the unknown street you be with me not behind me. To tell you such a thing I turn...’
‘Oh, I see. I thought that...’
‘Is this a recent habit? It’s of past.’
And then the feeling as if they didn’t walk at all made them numb.
It happened just yesterday. The couple had already crossed the well at the village outskirts. The temple was not far away then. The evening was clear but had no brightness. While they were crossing the well the man threw a small stone into it. ‘Oh! It seems the well’s filled.’ The woman couldn’t stop laughing. First of all it comes to my mind that ‘filled’ means what?
How much water? What water level be considered as ‘filled’?
‘Filled’ means... means... Let me push you into the well automatically you’ll come to know and the confusion will be solved.’
‘I’ll never come to know it I know well.’
‘Ohho! You say as if...’
‘Jumping into the well... knowing or getting the thing? Ultimately I’ll have to know all alone myself. You mean it?’
Then the topic got changed. ‘Nothing I liked. Everything was tasteless so I changed the restaurant.’ This was the hurriedly given response to the question raised by her regarding his noon and evening meals. There was no return question and yet she said, ‘For me no problem. How much do I need? Handful of hotchpotch suffice me.’
They were now at the old temple. It was almost in ruins. There were a few stones arranged as for the seating. The man had no interest to see the village which was left behind a little away. While walking he jumped over many footprints that the far going path bore. A little water at its middle in the pond behind the temple was shining. It was reflected into the woman’s eyes and only faded after sometime.
‘Often I feel that I made a big...’ Suddenly the man stopped and began to look at the sky. ‘Do you find those birds everyday over here? Are they flamingos?’ The woman stopped picking up equal sized and weighed stones. Then each stone slid from her hand. When emptied she tapped both hands to remove dust. The hollow sound that came from those hands made the man restless. ‘I mean to say that here you are living all alone...’
‘All alone?’ she wanted to defeat the question but the words didn’t support her. The eyes got wet. ‘I would fetch out our reports and sit at the threshold’ said she and sat on the stones. In the confusing evening light her face revealed helplessness and that pierced the man’s heart. Her hands held together when parted fell like dry leaves. ‘Till now why did you keep those reports?’ She looked down and twisted the feet finger ring. He went to her and sat beside her. With a gentle trembling she rested her head on his shoulder. ‘Why can’t these reports of mine be false? You say. See these reports say that...’ Her voice grew louder but waned with wind.
‘Because they are .. they are.. of the expert doctors. You should understand this.’ At some intense point the man’s voice stopped. The silence that wanted way spread. The woman too weaved silence. The stillness that saved some sounds kept the pond alive.
‘I say how it would be if you start up and down?’ as the woman said the man suddenly looked at her. He didn’t move eyes for sometimes. For him it was an unexpected proposal. The woman held his hand gently. ‘See, your job time can be adjusted. Moreover you – to a man - won’t have to face problems like me. Even if you leave at eight o’clock...’ The man made a punch of his fist on the stony seat. ‘O Woman, do you wish that I wander here and there into this forest and bring the home here? Do you get even a small thing like green coriander leaves? Wise people move towards civil life- move towards city and here you are saying me for up and down.’ This time the silence didn’t go far. ‘Will you do one thing, darling?’ The man took her long braided hair in his hands and began to open up the curls. And suddenly he realised he showed unnecessary feelings. The braid slipped away from the hands. ‘I don’t understand. Why can’t you leave this job?
‘Do you see the village there?’ She braided the hair and said to the man. To this the man said, ‘Yes. Very dim.’
‘But it’s because of evening time. I have passed two years before marriage and two years after marriage – in all four years over here. Here’s I have seen goats and cocks butchered for rituals, huts scared of witches, iron keys hanging necks to save themselves from ghosts and witches, and women means witches.
‘May it be so. You have seen all this, that’s true. But you are an M.A and a B. Ed degree holder. Sacrificing your future and serving here as a teacher in this dirty and stinking village? You clean children too? I don’t like this at all, not a bit.’
‘But I like. Not considering my liking? The women eyes made a hole into the man’s eyes. ‘Yeah, I consider it’, said he and spat towards the village direction: ‘Here’s a room, tile-less passage, door with a weak chain, and few plants...’
‘Don’t forget my twenty five children.’ As she completed braiding her hair she smiled and as if that sight was unbearable the man was more confused: ‘Do you wish to set up a society? As if you are only the great care taker. You take them as if they are born to you.’
Little light whatever was left was now gone and the evening fell. ’See, it’s dark now. We should go back.’ Her eyes went far away to the horizon but she returned them. She took time in arranging the sari-end on the belly. Meanwhile the man tapped the ground with his toe. With a chorus some birds flew and their reflection broke silence of the pond. The pond missed their love and its silence narrowed.
*** *** ***
The woman fingers have found out the torn part of the cloth and yet the fingers were shaking as still something needed to be inspected. The man is standing at the door. He stood for some time in the same position and then he began to play with a small piece of split wood of the door. ‘Don’t take it at your heart. But just I say. It’s your obstinacy that at the cost of our life together you keep intact your teacher’s image, isn’t it?
The woman no sooner saw the ceiling than she drew her back from there. At no cost the eyes expect anything. There’s nothing that she can hope. At the ceiling from many places the colour peals started coming off and that hasn’t been out her mind. To repair her hands cannot raise up to that much height. Even to reach there the lantern light turns rough. Yes, she had a chance while selecting the school. At the office she might have rejected this school. A muddy puddle behind a school room had stopped stretching to a limit but then it grew and grew and came up to the school yard. In it can there be her fault? Now? Later?
The cloth in her lap turned... Just now needle and thread were here. Where did they...? ‘I too often feel that like two tongs – well, suppose I may leave the job. In such matters women have to make compromise. But can’t there be a better option as I suggested that you do up and down. ‘Shouldn’t have I thought of it? Of my calibre?’ The woman looked at him: changed hair style, a grown black mark on the nose, set moustache and ear hair.
The man tried to laugh but in that effort mixed up another element. It was not of laughter. He began to move eyes over the place and rubbed slowly his palms together. ‘Don’t take my words contrary... To live with a woman like you there must be something that may make- ’ He stopped, rubbed eyes and said, ‘Means your life without children... suppose I forsake you tomorrow, what will happen? Not a possibility, not at all but such a question may come. In a way our ...’
The woman kept her head down and turned the cloth. How can anything be unknown to him? He rubbed the eyes and behind these eyes shades of yellow, red, black and such colours are found – and she’s trying to search a needle that had been lost there.
And at that time a finger oozed. At the tip of searching fingers. The needle was found from the very cloth she had taken for stitching. The man bent himself and took away the needle from her hand. Watching her sucking blood from the finger he asked, ‘Did it prick’. She nodded to say ‘no’. The man eased himself and sat down beside her. It seemed that he would suck that blood oozing finger.
He said, ‘Give me thread, where’s it?
‘No, you won’t be able to do.’ So she said and took back the needle from his hand. Some word in lantern light clothes came out and shone bright in to the outdoor darkness. ‘Tomorrow you have to go. In the morning. Should I prepare some namkeen or sweet? Though the fingers were sucked often, the blood was oozing continuously. Again and again the fingertip continued oozing.