by Nillu Nasser
“I can only tell you the facts. It’s for you to decide what you believe.” Soraya paused. “I heard the rumours at university. I asked around. Eventually someone told me your address. A clerk at the university. She figured it would do no harm since you weren’t coming back. I guessed you’d be here. What woman would take back a man who cheats on her?”
The salt burned in the wound of Jaya’s broken heart. “Why are you here? It’s not for me, I know that much.”
“I need a fresh start,” said Soraya. “And the past, it has a trick of sneaking up on you.”
“And Akash?” Jaya formed no intention with the question, but his name rolled off her tongue and hung in the air, a question mark.
“He’s yours if you want him.”
Her nonchalance stung. Jaya reached for a scathing retort but found herself unable to deliver one in time.
“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re ok.” Soraya’s hand rested on the curve of her stomach.
“I don’t care what you think.” Jaya threw her one last venomous look, pushed back her shoulders, and walked home, one foot after the other, putting all her effort into a steady gait.
The smallness of Jaya’s life over the past months made her claustrophobic.
Ruhi’s words rang in her ears. You need answers. Your story might not be finished.
Try as she might to forget them, Soraya’s words haunted her too: his attention was a balm to my ego.
Her husband had betrayed her for a woman who did not even love him. More than anything, the knowledge that Akash had been there when she lit the match and had not returned to check her fate lay like a rock on her soul, obliterating the light, skewing her sense of self-worth. How could he have left her to burn? Still, she could not reconcile callous behaviour to that degree with the man she knew.
She bent over to put on a clean pair of socks, the old ones sodden with sweat, covered her head with a chequered cotton scarf and shut the door behind her. The night breeze chased her fractured thoughts around her head. She drove her chin to her chest, and walked first to Bandra Fort, where moss-covered stone walls loomed high over the Arabian Sea. A little further took her along Bandstand Promenade to Lover’s Point, where she and Akash had stopped once to eat spicy puris as the water thrashed against the rocks. For a moment, Jaya thought she saw him there amongst the crowds. She rushed to keep up, not trusting her eyes, such was her yearning for him. Her unsteady balance slowed her down, and by the time she had fought her way through the throng, the man had slipped out of sight.
She traversed the streets, hate mingling with love, second guessing even the harmonious times they had spent together. She wanted to believe in the good in him. If Akash was the villain, it would mean her own judgement was flawed, that she had loved foolishly. Had he always been thinking of Soraya? Plotting his escape? Could she wrestle back control from the other woman, despite it all? How satisfying it would be to have the last laugh, to resurrect her marriage, to create something out of the ashes, or to tempt Akash back only to spurn him, as he had done her. Either way, she steeled herself for the truth. Ruhi was right: she needed closure. Highly likely, Soraya had spun her a web of lies, and Akash had started a life with his lover. Jaya needed to know. More than anything, she yearned to know if Akash thought of her at all. He had not been her protector, but he was still her husband.
The hour grew late and the stars hid behind a laburnum tree as she approached the entrance to the house which had been her marital home. She still possessed a key, but instead of using it, she turned it over in her palm, rang the doorbell, and waited, gnawing on her bottom lip. A light shone at the back of the house. Eventually slow footfalls approached and the door opened, releasing a waft of incense.
Her mother-in-law appeared in the crack, a tea towel on her shoulder. She grasped Jaya, shaking her, no words of greeting, only anguish. “Where is he? Where is my son? Is it true you haven’t seen him?”
“I haven’t seen him. That’s why I’m here,” said Jaya, stepping back out of the older woman’s reach. How could she believe that Akash was not hiding behind these walls, that he had not contacted his family?
Her mother-in-law clutched her again and sobbed, her made-up face crumpling in the half-light. She had never shown such vulnerability when they lived under the same roof. Maybe she was telling the truth, Akash had disappeared from their lives too. Jaya’s heart clamoured in her chest like the hooves of galloping horses. If Akash was not here, was he with Soraya?
“The police won’t look for him. A family dispute they say. But we were happy, weren’t we? They say he’ll come home when he is ready. Four months. Four months with no word. Will he come home, Jaya?”
Jaya didn’t know the steps to this dance. She didn’t know what to reveal or how to respond, so instead she said nothing at all.
Her father-in-law loomed up behind his wife, shaking his head. His voice was robotic, devoid of emotion, but something else prickled underneath. “You’ve said enough, Sheetal.” He put his arm around his wife. “Go inside. I’ll talk to Jaya.”
“But what has happened to our son?” said Sheetal, already scuttling away, wiping her streaming tears with the tea towel.
Her father-in-law turned to face her. “What are you doing here, Jaya?”
“I came to speak to Akash.”
“You see he is not here. We have given up hope that he’ll come back. Sheetal...she isn’t coping very well.” Her father-in-law’s demeanour hardened. He puffed out his chest. “Your father asked us not to contact you. I keep my word. Go. Go home where you belong.”
Jaya stared at him, reading the grief and pride on her father-in-law’s face. Akash was gone, but if Soraya hadn’t lied, then where was he? She would find no answers here.
“Papa called you?” Why wouldn’t her father have told her if the two men had spoken?
“Yes. He said it was easier this way. There is no marriage with one of you gone. Your place is back with your parents. Akash has disappeared. Your father suggested a clean break, that we keep the dowry.”
“I see.” Jaya drew in a steadying breath, determined not to fall apart here, or show how her spirit had found hope only to be crushed again. She pressed her house key into his plump hand. “Well, I won’t be needing this.”
Her father-in-law lingered on the doorstep. “You don’t look like yourself, Jaya. I am sorry it turned out this way. You were a good daughter-in-law.” He began to close the door, blocking her view of the inside of the house, and part of her longed to use her foot as a stopper, demand acknowledgement of her pain and loss. “Take care of yourself.” He threw the comment at her like a scrap, as if she had been discarded as easily as a piece of rubbish.
She turned into the night, where she no longer had to pretend.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Chapter 8
Akash teetered at the top of the ladder above J.R. Merchants, a hardware store in Andheri East. The sign swung next to him in air leaden with heat. Beads of perspiration clung to his forehead. Not an ounce of fat encumbered his body. Without the luxury of regular meals, he had grown lean with physical labour.
He stood five or six metres from ground level. Tariq steadied the ladder with one hand and reached up to hand him a paintbrush. It made sense for Akash, the more athletic of the two, to be the one at the top of the ladder. Tariq’s fear of heights had, in the past, proven to be debilitating, and he could not be relied upon to stay sober for a job. With Akash as the more responsible one, they contributed to the twilight economy as a pair.
It suited businessmen to give them a few rupees in hand for odd jobs such as hanging up signs, clearing away rubbish and carrying bags of shopping for customers. Men like them did not make a fuss about conditions or the level of payment. The jobs came with unreliable regularity, but amounted to enough to cover basic items they could not scavenge for, like toothpaste and alcohol. Both men had grown used to alcohol as a nightly sedative, especially to ward off the cold when the nig
hts cooled.
Akash brightened up the sign with careful strokes of white, and then climbed down rung by rung to the ground. Tariq had been in an effervescent mood since morning, giddy at the thought of the spending money they would receive.
“So, tell me, if money was no object, what would you do with our earnings?” said Tariq.
“We’re hardly going to be millionaires.”
“Play along, go on.” He grinned. “A movie maybe? The new Sri Devi one.”
“A romance? No thank you.” Even in theory Akash balked at the thought of having to watch love songs and big joyful dance sequences.
“Ok then, an action one with Amitabh Bachchan.”
“We play action heroes all the time. How it is that I’ve gotten into so many sticky situations since meeting you?” said Akash, a twinkle in his eyes. “I hardly need to watch action on the big screen. Besides, if we’re millionaires you should aim higher.”
“A bungalow then, on Juhu Beach where we’d hear the sound of the water. You’d love that.”
“I don’t know, Tariq. With money comes responsibility. I’m not sure I could live like that again.”
“You mean with money comes options,” said Tariq. “We could start afresh, have families even. We’d have something to offer.”
“Other than our bare wits,” said Akash, a wry smile playing on his lips.
“Yeah, and our bodies.” A goofy grin transformed Tariq’s face, instantly making him appear younger than his maltreated body indicated.
Akash’s spirit lifted in response to Tariq’s playfulness, and then immediately plummeted when his friend spun in a circle with the tray of paint, almost splattering its contents onto the pavement.
Akash’s hand snapped out to steady him. “Watch it!”
“Relax, yaar. Always so uptight. You know, the old shamans used to have a way of finding out if members of their tribe were fully healthy. Do you know what they asked?”
“Surprise me,” said Akash.
“They used to ask: when was the last time you danced, when was the last time you sang?”
“I sing sometimes.”
“No, you don’t.”
Akash smiled. “No, I don’t.”
Together they folded up the ladder and walked towards the back alley. Akash rapped his knuckles on a flimsy door. A moment later the owner of the hardware store appeared. Akash allowed his gaze to rest somewhere around the elderly man’s shirt collar. The old man treated him kindly, but Akash understood that adopting a subservient manner was expected of him as a homeless man. It fed the ego of his transaction partner and led to easier interactions.
“Janghir Saheb,” he said, careful to use the deferential mark of respect, reserved for elders or better men. Handing over the remaining materials, he continued, “We’ve finished. Would you like to have a look?”
“Lead the way.”
They walked towards the front of the shop, the old man using a cane to support himself. Once there, he surveyed the paintwork and nodded with satisfaction.
“You missed something there, but overall you’re a good worker, Ash. I like you,” said Janghir Saheb.
It wouldn’t have done to use his own name. In many ways that man had died with his wife.
“This can be messy work, but you clean up after yourself. You show initiative beyond other men of your sort I’ve employed.” He pushed a small stack of rupees into Akash’s hand. “Next time, you work quicker, I pay you more.”
Akash crumpled the notes in his hand, enjoying the feel of the currency.
Janghir Saheb glanced at Tariq. “Tariq here tells me you studied to be a teacher. It’s strange, living the way you do when you could earn a decent living. And that,” he gestured to the wedding band on Akash’s finger, “tells me you have family.”
Akash experienced a spark of fury and abandoned his calm exterior. His eyes flashed a warning. “With all due respect, it’s none of your business, Janghir Saheb. Thank you for your payment.” He turned on his heel, leaving Tariq to make excuses and scamper after him.
They bought spicy potatoes from a street vendor with their earnings. Back under the railway bridge, they ate in silence with their fingers and licked them clean. Turmeric turned their fingers yellow. When they were finished, Akash left for his nightly ritual at the shore and Tariq pocketed the remaining money so he could go in search of some alcohol.
Akash’s feet knew the route by now. This time, he took a detour, drawn towards a block of flats. He hurried along, glancing furtively behind him, clutching a plastic bag with a t-shirt and pair of shorts he had stolen from a market. Rickshaws hurtled past, jostling for space on the road. Yards ahead he caught sight of a woman’s silhouette. It could have been Jaya, apart from a limp. He blinked back his tears and bumped into a couple walking by hand in hand.
They tutted and crossed the street when they noticed him watching them, jealousy wrapping itself around his blackened heart. He didn’t blame them. He looked unkempt, dangerous.
Sometimes, looking through the windows of apartments at family life brought him solace. He imagined he was not alone, that he could be part of a family, worthy of the intimacy they shared. He drew close to a window facing the street, and as he watched, a young woman in a high-waisted polka dot salwar kameez wrapped her arms around her young son. Her hair fell into her face as she spoke to him. The boy giggled and buried his head in the fullness of her skirt, then darted underneath its folds as she scolded him.
Akash held his breath, trying not to rustle the carrier bag in his hand. He almost believed he could be them, and for a moment, a flicker of happiness touched him. A clatter behind him alerted him to the fact he had company. Akash turned, his face flushing.
Moon-like eyes sat in a child’s grubby face. She must have been about seven or eight. She clambered onto a nearby crate and looked back at him, unblinking, parents nowhere to be seen. Her wordless scrutiny made him feel dirty. Did she need his help? He couldn’t rescue himself, let alone her. Akash rushed past her, yearning for the cleansing power of the sea and prayer.
At the seashore, he checked he was alone then dropped his plastic bag on the sand. The starless night offered him some privacy. He stripped down to his briefs, all haste, his fingers fumbling with the buttons on his speckled shirt, and kicked off his sandals. Then he walked into the cool black water, shivering as it caressed his body.
“I’m not sure I can survive without love, Jaya,” he whispered into the night. The finality of her death pained him. It left no room for his redemption. He talked to her to retain some kind of connection, but at times he struggled to imagine what her answer would be. Sometimes she appeared to him as a loving friend; at others, she transformed into someone vindictive and vengeful; most often, she remained silent, her judgement of him all too clear.
Tonight, he heard nothing, just the spray of the water and the echo of his own thoughts. He turned onto his back and floated, holding his breath until his lungs cried out for air. He inhaled, angry at himself for giving in, for having a life, however small that life was. Still on his back, the waves rocked him. He pressed his head back, immersing the crown of his head, his ears, until just the oval of his face showed above the water. He tried to talk to Jaya again, listening for her response above the churn of the water in his ears. Would it be a release to let the water swallow me, as the fire did you? he thought. Would anyone look for me?
Nothing.
Am I too cowardly to even take my own life? Akash shook his head, banishing his dark thoughts like orphaned planets across an endless universe. He dropped his feet to the seabed, his toes mingling with silt. Collecting his dirty clothes from the sand, he bent over, bare back and briefs to the beach, to give them a cursory wash in the surf. Once he’d wrung them out and packed them into the carrier bag, he slipped on his clean set of clothes and turned in the direction of home, of Tariq.
Tariq sat with his legs splayed wide, a bottle of whisky between them. The bridge had felt claustrophobic, so they h
ad come to a park.
Akash laid out his newly washed clothes, now stiff with saltwater, to dry on a park bench.
“Want a swig?” said Tariq. He swung a bottle of malt in a wide arc towards Akash.
Akash grimaced. “Not tonight.”
“You know,” Tariq slurred, “after what happened with my job, and losing my money, my girlfriend, I lost my humanity for a while.”
“Your humanity?”
“Yes, my joy, my empathy, what makes me, me.”
“Why do you think you lost it?”
“There was this older guy, on the streets you know. He looked out for me. Not a lot, but you know, would give me a heads up when trouble was coming. Then, one night, we set up camp next to this abandoned bus stop. And in the morning, Rohit was really still, and I knew, I knew he was gone. Taken by the cold, or an infection, or heartbreak, who knows? And I waited. I did nothing, man. I carried on cooking and sleeping next to this dead man for days. I didn’t report his death to the authorities, I just carried on until the stench overwhelmed me and someone realised. And then I left, before they came to take him, and I didn’t look back.” He shook his head and tipped the whisky into his mouth. “I’ve never told anyone that. He was my friend.”
Akash reached across to rest a hand on Tariq’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. It’s tough out here. What could you have done?”
“Acted like he mattered. That’s what I could have done. We may be out here, but we matter.” Despite the alcohol he had consumed, the hopelessness of their situation, and the guilt he bore for abandoning his friend’s body, a gentle wistfulness played on Tariq’s features.
“Do we matter? Do we really?”
“Do you doubt it?”
“Sometimes,” said Akash.
Tariq grimaced. “‘Sometimes.’ I hate that word.”
Chapter 9
Jaya’s life with Akash, culminating in the fire, became a central point around which everything revolved. While she recovered, her parents’ house became her prison; she, a caged bird, restricted from her natural purpose of living, singing solely for the benefit of others. Only the painting class, her means of escape, kept her sane. In time, the need to breathe away from her familiar circles overwhelmed Jaya, and not even her nightly walks soothed her. Only then, with Ruhi cheering her on, did she step out freely during the day, and make slow steps towards wider integration.
