The Green Room & Devi Collection

by Nag Mani

  Arvind was an important person outside the bank. Since he worked closely with the branch manager, villagers would swarm him asking for loans, or to get their accounts opened or get something done that couldn’t be handled by the sweeper. He would arrange their papers, find someone to fill out their forms, take them to the manager’s office and make requests on their behalf. He then escorted them around the bank getting all the formalities done and when the work was complete, he would finally take them to the gumti by the market, reminding them again and again that their work would have been impossible had he not pleaded with the manager and had the manager not been kind enough. His customers would hand him his fees, buy him a paan and leave.

  Razzak came to the bank hardly once or twice, always accompanied with at least half a dozen men. Even if he was in a hurry, he always stopped to greet Aditi and have a small conversation. He would go to the manager’s office and sometimes stayed for hours, helping Manoj with requisite documents and forms. She never saw the guard, though she knew, he was somewhere around.

  Manoj had a small room to himself in the far corner of the hall. He sat behind a large wooden desk piled with files and papers. His chair was erect and stiff. For reasons unknown, a large, dirty political map of India covered the left wall. On his right was a window which he always kept shut lest the villagers bothered him from outside. Behind him, hung high on the wall, was a wooden board with the names of the managers who had served in the branch. His name was right at the bottom –

  v. Shri Pankaj Nath Kumar Shambhu| 1998 ~ 2000|

  vi. Shri Manoj Prasad| 2000 ~|

  An auto-rickshaw or two were always parked outside the bank, brought by customers from neighbouring villages. The gumti owner sent her diligently prepared sweet paan whenever she visited. He never charged her, but she knew very well that he collected his dues on monthly basis. Mr Sharma had made Arvind bring jalebi and samosa from the best sweet shop in the village the first time she had visited, and Arvind continued to do it on a regular basis. He didn’t mind borrowing someone’s cycle and pedalling all the way to the shop in scorching heat. She had a feeling that Manoj would tell her to stop accepting things. Once a while was fine, but not every time she visited. He would have to eventually pay for them. But it turned out that he was least bothered. All of them were indeed free. It so happened that he had given his staff far more than paan and samosa during his stay in the village and they were only returning their courtesy. They called him the best manager ever.

  While she was in the bank, she would help people with their forms and applications. Manoj sometimes even gave her bank’s internal work to do. Once she was given about eighty account opening applications that had been lying pending for over two months. He gave her his user id and password, taught her how to navigate through the menus on the screen and after that, all she had to do was type in the data, review it and authorise the account. She opened all eighty accounts in less than four hours. The bank was in a buzz! People couldn’t stop talking about the city lady who did what was till then perceived to be at least a month’s work within hours; something no man could have ever done, leave alone a woman!

  Two days later Manoj received a call from the zonal office in Purnia. It was just a casual conversation at the end of which his senior told him that he knew Aditi often visited the bank. After that Manoj never gave her bank’s internal work. She helped villagers with their forms, answered their queries and surprised them by not charging.

  Vegetable vendors sat along the brick road with their goods sprawled out in front of them. They would themselves pick out the best from their stock whenever Aditi approached them. Once, one of them carried a heavy bag of vegetables to the bank for her, and after that even carrying her vegetables became a custom. All she had to do was tell them what she needed, or tell Arvind, and everything was delivered to her in the bank.

  It was during one of these visits that she saw a small group of men carrying a dead body on their shoulders. A train of children ran along, carrying small poles with red cloth tied to one end, and pinning them into the soil as the progression marched forward. “Who is he?” she asked Arvind.

  “No one Madam! He sold fish there.” He pointed vaguely towards the market.

  She had often seen the man in the market. He and his wife, both wrinkled and grey-haired, his rusted iron brush with which he peeled off the scales of fish, alive, before cutting them…

  Aditi brought herself out of her thoughts. What was the purpose of her life, she asked the stars glittering cheerfully in the night sky. Manoj and Arvind were still talking outside. The night was moonless, the air still. She shifted restlessly, and her thoughts drifted again to her three younger sisters – Aakriti, Smriti and Urvashi – all married in well-to-do families, all happy with their caring husbands and beautiful kids. She was never the beautiful one – that was the bane of her life. Her mother didn’t love her as much as she did the others; she was a burden, like a bad item that must somehow be sold off. But nothing helped. Her sisters were the most popular girls in their school. They never allowed her to be with them and said it openly, that they felt embarrassed when she was around.

  Then came her brother, Uday, and he proved that not being beautiful wasn’t a bane after all.

  The true curse was that of being a girl.

  Her mother adored him, and her sisters loved him. They could bring havoc to fulfil his every wish. He was the star of the house. Her parents had always wanted a son, but were cursed to be given a daughter again and again. Until he finally arrived and brought a glow on their faces. Uday, they had named him. The sun had finally opened its eyes. Aditi lived along by the side. Only two persons in the world ever cared for her. One was her father. Though his decisions were largely influenced by her mother and the society, he did all he could to bring a smile on her face. She was his favourite, his princess. The other was the man she dreamt of spending her life with, away from her family and all the beautiful people.

  “Night of Amavasya… not good time to die for old man, just yesterday…” she heard Arvind say. “And it’s hot. Why don’t you get battera? Now that Madam is here.”

  “Ah! Yes,” Manoj started in a high tone, then dropped his voice low, something he did when he wanted not to speak about something. “It takes time to settle. The rain is about to come. And she has almost sorted out everything. You can yourself see the change.” He and his beating around the bush.

  “Yes, I have never seen it this clean. That’s what woman’s presence does. You should get battera though.” Arvind seemed determined to stick to the subject. “Madam lives here day and night. No fan. No light. How will she cook? There are even good radios in Nepali market. Something to give her company. I can arrange battera and inverter. Second hand.”

  “Yes. It’s the weather here. In my time, the houses were not this small. The roof was higher, far more comfortable to live under. I remember my mother, she used to cook by the fire and not need a fan even in the middle of summer. You see, proper ventilation plays a vital role.”

  “Ah, yes Sir, it does! Houses earlier were naturally ventilated. So, this battera, Sir, I know this man. He is giving good offer. Battera and inverter. Complete. I know him personally, that is why you won’t find cheaper set. Good man he is…”

  “What is his name?”

  “Tulsi Kumar.”

  “Where from?”

  “That Ranibag you heard of, far south? He lives there. His father. Three brothers.”

  “A farmer?”

  “No, Sir. He works in medical shop in Forbesganj. That is where he gets all these electric things and all.”

  “This Ranibag, I tell you. There was this customer who had opened an FD for his minor son. He gave his son’s home-name that time. He didn’t have a legal name. Around eight years later, that was about three months ago, his son came to me to close the account and withdraw the money. He said his father had died and he needed the money. You see the problem here? He had obviously adopted a different name. His p
hotograph didn’t match, neither did his signature. And there was not a single ID card with his old name.”

  “What happened? This is complex problem. And there is no father to verify his claim.”

  “What happened? I told him to get it written in the notary. That he is who he claims to be. His father’s name. His address. I gave him his money.”

  “Only you could do that, Sir. No one else bothered. That Pankaj Shambhu before you, he wouldn’t even break regular FD account. He made customers come back day after day. So Sir, should I ask him?”

  “Ask what?”

  “This Tulsi. Ask him about inverter?”

  “How much?”

  “Three thousand.”

  “Three thousand!” The words boomed across the quiet village. Then there were hushed talks. Aditi heard Manoj say one thousand and that was that. She didn’t bother listening further. She would have given Arvind a thousand rupee just for caring enough to think of a battery-inverter set.

  Her mind began to stray again. She remembered herself crying at her father’s feet after her wedding. Manoj was sitting in a hired jeep, looking straight ahead. She didn’t want to go. She wanted to rush back to her room and reclaim it. Her house. Her rooms. Her walls. Her bricks. They had all been hers, just moments ago. But now she had to leave, rather, she was made to leave, denouncing everything she ever owned. She knew she couldn’t go back. So, she just clung to her father’s feet and cried. The cameraman hopped around trying to get the best angle. He would later mix it with the latest Bollywood songs and special effects. Her mother, for the first time, cried with her.

  The reception was held in Naugachia, a small town across the Ganga, about 25 kilometres from Bhagalpur. She sat in a dingy room, all draped and covered in glittering red clothes. Arms heavy with bangles. Neck covered in artificial jewellery. Visitors came in one by one to see her. Her mother-in-law led them inside carrying a lantern and uncovered her face for them to see. They hunched over and looked in awe, then placed some money in her hands and left.

  The first beating she got was one week after the marriage. Manoj wanted to take his younger brother, Ajay, and his parents along for their honeymoon to Mumbai. Aditi insisted they go alone, it was a private affair after all. That night he came from the bank and beat her in front of everyone. No reason given. His father just sat on a charpoy with a tin box opened in front of him from which he made himself a paan. His mother plucked dopants from a plate of rice. His brother roamed around the house with a radio blaring on his shoulder. When it was all done, he dragged her to their room and left her alone to cry. An hour later, he came in and cleared his throat – it was time for dinner. Holding back her tears she served them their food. They talked and ate, as if nothing had happened.

  “Don’t you think you are lucky?” Ajay told her one afternoon, sitting in their front yard as she came in with a can of milk. He had a handsome face with thin moustache, which he trimmed everyday with utter care, and ample lush black hair on his head. “I mean, Bhaiya married you. For a bank manager your father got off with a pretty good deal. Just thirty thousand! What about a motorcycle?”

  “Why? Your brother cannot buy his own motorcycle?” she replied without stopping.

  There was a pause. Aditi crossed the yard, thinking she might have gone a bit too far. She was at the main door when he spoke again. “You won’t last long here!”

  “What did you just say?” She turned around, her nostrils flaring with anger. She had had enough. Back in her home, it was her sisters who disrespected her. Not here. This was a new start. Whatever her relationship might have been with her husband, she knew he wouldn’t let anyone disrespect her. She, his wife, was the pride of his family.

  “The first one fell off the stairs. We will find a suitable way for you.”

  “What did you just say? The first one?” Her mind began to race. What the hell was going on?

  “Oh, my child! My child!” Her mother-in-law rushed out through the door and pulled her in. “Don’t listen to him! Doesn’t think before opening his mouth.”

  “What does he mean? The first one?”

  “Nothing. He is just teasing you, don’t you see? Now come on. I have a fire roaring. Now make me some strong ginger tea!”

  When Manoj returned that evening, she asked him if he had been married before. His jaw dropped, ever so slightly, but then he recovered. “Who told you?”

  “Your brother.”

  “Did you get in a quarrel with him? He is a just a child. He will say anything to win. Don’t listen to his rubbish.”

  “I think he meant it.”

  “Oho! Stop behaving like a child yourself. Don’t let these petty fights get into your head. Ask your father if you have to.”

  Aditi didn’t need to ask. She knew her father wouldn’t have married her if what Ajay said was true.

  A beam of light crisscrossed the sky. “Good night!” Arvind said and she heard his heavy footsteps retreat. Aditi watched him through the window as he walked along the path, switching on a torch for some time, then switching it off, a common practice to increase battery life. Manoj came in, pretended to go through some books on the table, then shut the windows.

  “It’s suffocating in here,” she complained.

  “You shouldn’t sleep with the windows open. It’s not safe.”

  “Should have thought of that before bringing me here.”

  “I brought you here? I did? You came here on your own.”

  Aditi sighed. She knew it would eventually come to this, that she came here out of her own free will and should not blame Manoj for the consequences. “Anyway. Open the window. It’s open every night.”

  “It’s a tricky weather tonight. Cold outside. Hot in here. You might fall sick.”

  “Now cut this weather nonsense!” she snapped back, “and tell me straight what is going on!”

  Manoj considered answering for a moment. “It is a, err…, a custom in this village that we keep our windows closed at least for seven nights when someone dies during the new moon cycle.”

  “Why? The dead will rob us if we don’t?” Aditi retorted.

  Manoj shut the windows and bolted them without saying another word. He placed one lantern in the hall and another in the backyard. After a quick prayer to the gods in and around the niche, he went to bed and fell asleep in no time

  Hours passed. A strange buzzing came from the fields. The lamp burned low, casting flickering shadows all over the room. Aditi lay drenched in sweat, trying to ignore the sounds that came from the hall – movements, something breathing. She knew it was very likely coming from the veranda where the dog was sleeping. She eyed the window beside the bed. It stared back, tempting her to open it. Going against her own logic, she refrained from doing so. She felt she was in danger. Call it intuition, but there was something frightening the way Manoj had shut the window. And it couldn’t be a coincidence that Arvind happened to warn him about the village custom the same night. She listened to the time tick away. The radium on the clock hands indicated around quarter past one. The buzz began to grow until her entire body felt some sort of feeble vibration. She could no longer tolerate it. She went ahead and opened the window.

  The stars cast a silvery light on the corn plants, all dark and indistinguishable. The air was cold and a refreshing breeze reminded her how comforting nature could be. She peered out into the depth of the space, exploring the eternal universe through the window of her room. Stars and so many stars… old beyond age, living in dimensions beyond human imagination…

  And then she saw it.

  A figure moving in the cornfield.

  She watched as he came out in the open, his body hunched, staggering a little. He stood under the stars, looking straight ahead towards the forest. Took a step forward. Then another. And then, collapsed, as if his legs had snapped.

  Aditi grabbed a torch and rushed out of her room. Just as she did, something yelped and sprang up from under her feet. She lost balance and went sprawling int
o the hall.

  “Who’s there?” Manoj had woken up.

  It was the bloody dog! He had somehow managed to sneak into the hall and was scurrying around trying to find a way out, his tails in between his legs. Manoj came out, and before he could utter a word, Aditi opened the door and ran out. Switched on the torch. Two steps down the veranda. Turned right. Onto the mud path. Torch held in front, searching for the fallen man. “Hello?” she cried. And she stopped dead.

  Her eyes fell on the man.

  He was crawling towards the forest. One by one, he put a hand out and dragged himself forward. His legs trailing behind lifelessly. The humming intensified. The torch began to flicker. It allowed one glimpse before dying completely.

  Aditi turned around and saw Manoj standing on the veranda. “He… I think I know him!”

  “Come inside!” he scolded with gritted teeth.

  “He sold fish in the market. With his wife.”

  “Come inside. Let’s close the door.”

  A light appeared outside a hut across the main road. A window opened in Laila’s house. Someone was peeping.

  “Come inside! I told you to keep the window shut!” Manoj barked.

  Aditi didn’t budge. Two men carrying lanterns emerged from Laila’s house.

  “Don’t create a scene now! Come inside.”