A Life Less Ordinary (5 page)

A few days later the man who had come with my uncle returned with two others. At the time, I was playing outside dressed in my dress. My stepmother asked me to come inside. I thought,
Why have these people turned up again? What do they want now?
Then my brother pointed to one of them and said, “Look, this man will be our son-in-law.” I turned to my stepmother and asked, “Ma, is this right? Will one of them be our son-in-law?”
At this my father, my stepmother, and my brother all burst out laughing. “You will always remain a
buddhu,
a fool,” my father exclaimed, “I don't know what the future holds for you. When will you get some sense?” I felt that Baba was not happy with me.

I could never bear to see Baba unhappy. Whenever he was unhappy, whenever he shed tears, I would also weep. I remember one day my Didi beat up my brother and Baba stopped her, saying, “Don't beat him, child. Now you are the only one he has.” He began to weep and my Didi and I had also burst into tears.

I suppose it was not wrong of Baba to call me foolish and mad in front of those people. I had not been able to say a word to them in response to all the questions that had been put to me. I felt too scared and tongue-tied. So Baba had answered them all—or rather, he had given them all sorts of evasive answers. When they asked about my brothers and sister, for example, Baba did not even mention the brother Ma took away with her when she left.

After they left, I thought of all the questions Baba had left unanswered. I thought,
If he had not even mentioned my little brother, why should he have told them about the scar he'd gotten on his forehead while playing?
One day, when I was still in class two, my brother had insisted on coming to school with me and Ma said, “Take him with you, if he wants to go.” So I did. On the way we came across a water tap and he said he wanted a drink of water, so we went over to it. Suddenly, he slipped and fell and cut his forehead. He was bleeding profusely. I was so frightened I began to cry loudly. I covered his wound with my headscarf and we staggered home. Baba was not at home, but my mother quickly took my brother to the hospital. I did not even stop to wash my hands and rushed off to school as I was. But when everyone saw my bloody hands, they told the teacher and he sent me home. On the way back I met my Baba's friend Dhananjay Kaku, who knew what had happened—he must have met Ma on the way. Dhanan
jay Kaku was a good man—he was a potter by caste—and he always had a kind word for us. His home was close to our school and we often went there during break to watch his father at the potter's wheel—the movement of that wheel, and the way his father so deftly shaped the clay, fascinated us. We couldn't understand how, almost in the blink of an eye, a bit of mud could turn into a beautifully shaped pot.

The same visitors who had come to see me had also asked questions about my Didi. And all Baba had told them was that she was now married and at her in-laws' home. Had I not been so frightened to speak, imagine the things I would have told them! At her wedding, I'd brought my friends Dolly and Tutul over and we had spent our time eating and drinking until Dolly's grandfather came to fetch her and Tutul, who lived close by. Dolly's father was a friend of my father's and they often spent a lot of time together, so when he came Baba invited him in to share some sweets with him. There was also a band at Didi's wedding, and her husband had brought nearly seven hundred people with the
baraat
, the wedding party. We didn't expect so many people, but somehow we managed because Baba still had the pension he had gotten from his job and this money came in handy to feed all the wedding guests. Whatever was left he frittered away on drinking and on searching for my mother. He'd also had some jewelry made for Didi, and I remember that she had asked him why he was spending so much money. “How will my sister feel if you spend all your money on me?” she had asked. “Why not get some made for her as well?” In fact, she told him that if he did not do so, she wouldn't wear any jewelry herself. So he made some small things for me, too—little earrings, and things like that. And Didi made me put them on—everyone thought I looked so beautiful!

One day, shortly after Didi's wedding, I'd gone to visit my aunt and while combing my hair there, one of my earrings got
caught in my hair and broke. My stepmother asked me to give her all my ornaments, saying she would have them properly made again, so I handed them over. For a long time after that there was no sign of them at all. No one said a word, and even when I asked about them there was no response. But soon afterward I noticed my stepmother was wearing new earrings…while the disappearance of my jewels still remained a mystery. If I ever asked about my things I was told they were at the repair shop, and after that I heard no more about them.

My stepmother and my father had had a love marriage, and that, too, in a Kali temple! Baba and she both drank. At first they would drink when we were not around, but as time passed, they lost that discretion and were often drunk and boisterous in front of us. We did not like this, but no matter what we said to try and embarrass them, it made no difference. They just drank if they wished to, and heard what they wanted to hear. Strangely, we were the ones who ended up feeling ashamed, and we'd then make ourselves scarce and get out of their way! We were at a loss to understand what we could do. Baba and my stepmother continued to be in love even after their marriage. Every day at mealtimes, they would argue: if one did not eat, the other refused to do so, too. They had special names for each other. She would say, “Mana, you eat first.” And he would say, “No, Rani,
you
eat first.” And if sometimes Baba lost his temper and refused to eat, he'd stomp off to work and then she would refuse to eat as well.

All this went on, and before I knew it I was twelve years and eleven months old. One day I saw Baba and my maternal aunt coming back from the bazaar with bags full of vegetables. They gave the bags to me to empty out and I did that carefully. As I came out, I noticed a suitcase lying nearby. I asked Baba about it and he told me it had things for my wedding. My stepmother and aunt opened the suitcase and showed me what was inside. I was so
happy to see all those wonderful things! The next day, Baba brought me a new quilt, a mattress, and a pillow and I was beside myself with joy! Outside the house, some people had put up a sort of awning, and beneath it sat a large
chulah
mounted on bricks. The whole neighborhood was filled with music. I was watching all this and playing with the children outside when my aunt called me inside and asked me to be seated on a
pidi
. My stepmother then began to smear turmeric paste on my body, and then others came and joined in. I was told that I could not eat that day, that I had to fast. I was surprised: as far as I knew, fasts were kept on religious days, but there was no festival then…

Now, when she thinks back, Baby wonders how she spent that day of sorrow in such merriment. Little did Baby know that this was the beginning of her days of grief and pain, little did she know what the future held for her. On the seventeenth day, a Wednesday in the month of Agrahayan, Baby was married.

 

ON WEDNESDAY NIGHT, I WAS MARRIED. BUT I SPENT THAT
entire night chatting with my friends, some local girls and an older woman from the area. The next day was a Thursday, and Ma said she would not send me away on such an inauspicious day. Before I knew it, the day became like every other and I quickly lost myself in household tasks. Every now and again, I'd sing and jump about and play. There were no tears in anyone's eyes that day: not in my mother's, not in mine. I was carefree and happy. And I laughed a lot that day. In the afternoon, after I'd bathed, I got dressed. I pulled out a dress and when my aunt saw me she laughed and said, “No, no, not that! You should wear a sari.” I did not know how to—my wedding day was the first time I'd actually worn one. So I asked my aunt if she could help me to tie it, and so she did.

On Friday, one of the women from the neighborhood came and helped me dress. She'd done that for me and my husband on the wedding day, too. Then a taxi was called and my husband and I were seated inside. My mother's brother and sister and my own brother also sat with us. I had no idea where we were going or why. As we sat down, my aunt came up to me and put a handful of rice and dal in my
aanchal
and whispered to me that I should give these to my mother, and say: “Ma, with these I pay you back for all the days you have fed and clothed me, and looked after me.” I did as she asked, but I noticed that as I said this, Baba began to cry. I looked at him and I also burst into tears. At this, he cried even harder. With tears running down his face, he clutched my husband's hand and said, “Son, I've given you my daughter: now it's up to you to look after her. She's a motherless child.”

The taxi started off. My husband's home was not far from ours—the bus fare was only three rupees. When the taxi pulled up a woman from the neighborhood came up and took my hand to help me out. She then led me into my new home. People crowded around, offering me sweets, urging me to eat, but I was so terrified, I could not even open my mouth! Even when my uncle and aunt pressed me to eat, I refused. All I could do was to stare at all the people collected there.

Later, in the afternoon, one of the women came and dressed me up, sprinkling fistfuls of vermilion powder on my head. I just sat quietly in a corner. People had gathered there to get a glimpse of the new bride, and I had covered my hair according to my aunt's instructions. They came to see me and they gave me money and utensils or other gifts. Then they sat down to eat. When they'd finished, someone from outside called for the new bride to be sent out. A woman caught hold of my hand and pulled me outside to where everyone was sitting. She handed me a
handi
full
of sweets and said, “Now take this and serve everyone. Put two pieces on everyone's
pattal
leaf.” I was so nervous and my hands were shaking so much that every time I put a piece on someone's plate it would end up somewhere else! I didn't know what to do, whether to make sure my head was covered because the
pallu
kept slipping off, or to serve the sweets.

All the time my aunt's instructions to keep my head covered were buzzing around in my head. Frustrated, I angrily put the
handi
down and started to set my sari
pallu
right on my head when everyone started to laugh. I was mortified. I wished the ground would open and just swallow me up! I left the
handi
right there and fled into the house, where I cried and cried. Meanwhile people started to tease my husband. “So, Shankar,” they said to him, “you've brought home a mere child! What are you going to do with such a young wife?” Then the woman who had taken me out came back and again took me by the hand, saying, “Come along, today is the
bahu bhaat
. The new bahu has to serve everyone.” So I went out again and this time, somehow, I managed to serve everyone. I felt as if every part of me was trembling as I did this. When everyone had finished eating, it was my husband's turn. And then, when he had finished, my aunt said I should eat from his plate.

I began to insist that I wanted to eat with her and my uncle, but my uncle scolded me, saying, “We're not going to be here forever, you know. You're the one who has to be here. Just be quiet and eat.” And as soon as they finished eating, my uncle, aunt, and my brother left.

Now I was alone with my husband. I kept looking at him and wondering what he would do now, but he did not utter a word. I kept watching him quietly. For a little while, he did this and that, all sorts of little chores in the room, then he spread a mat on the
chowki
and indicated to me that I should sleep there. I lay down
on the
chowki
and fell asleep immediately. In the night, I woke up with a start and found him lying next to me! I sat up, frightened, then I moved away and spread a small mat on the floor and went to sleep there.

In the morning when I woke up, I noticed that my husband's house was by a
pukka
road, and it had a tiled roof. The rent for the house was one hundred rupees—this I found out from the woman who had helped me out of the taxi. She was called Sandhya. My husband addressed her husband as Dada, elder brother. Sandhya called me “sister” and I referred to her as Didi, elder sister. They lived across the road from us. They had a tap in their house from where I would get water. We even had to go there to use the toilet, since we didn't have one in our own home. Sandhya-di told me I should look upon her husband as my elder brother-in-law. “Your husband calls him Dada,” she said, “and whenever you are in his presence, you should cover your head.” Her husband had a lot of regard for me and whenever I was around someplace, he would quickly move away. He had a machine for cutting fodder, which he would buy in the market, cut at home, and then sell. Talking to Sandhya-di, watching
chara
being cut, the days passed well enough, but no sooner would evening come than I would be filled with fear and dread. My heart would start beating frantically. I used to sleep on the same mat as my husband, but I'd turn my head the other way. Three or four days passed like this and then, suddenly, one night, he caught hold of me and pulled me roughly toward him. He put his hand on my breast and told me in a gentle voice that he did not like living like this and he no longer wanted to do so. And so saying, he began to press his body against mine. I started to cry out in fear. But then, I thought, what's the point? I'll just wake everyone by shouting like this, so I shut my eyes and my mouth tightly and let him do what he wanted. I just endured everything.

The next morning when I went to see Sandhya-di, she took one look at my face and asked me what was wrong. “What happened?” she said. After a short while, I told her I wanted to go back to my father's home. Then I came back home and began to prepare the fire to cook. It was then that I looked up and saw my brother walking down the road toward our house. The moment he stepped through the door I announced, “I'm coming back with you.”