by Nag Mani
“Sir, this loan is a headache. It is bad business. You tell me Sir, tell me, should I drive my tempo or stand in your queue all day long? You know how much money I lose every time I have to come to your bank?”
“You wouldn’t have any potential money to lose had it not been for our bank,” Manoj replied, sipping his tea.
“This is asking for blood, this is. Your bank sucks away all my earnings. I still pay my instalments. Why do I have to keep coming to you?”
“We have to keep check on the loans we grant. What you are doing with the money we give, how your business is going, and all that. The bank can’t come to you every time. By the way, you have missed two instalments. You would have known that had you visited the bank.”
“Instalment. And more instalment. There is no end to it. I can’t ruin my business because of your bank.”
Manoj finished his tea, took out another letter from the brown file and handed it to him. “Report to the bank tomorrow.”
“I will see if I can come. My business…”
“Enough of your-business-your-business,” Arvind clapped his thighs. “Who tells you to come in morning, during rush hours when everyone is wanting loan and money. And why will not Manager Sahib make you wait. He too has business to run. And not just one tempo. Come in evening. Around four or five. You will get enough customers from bank itself to get your business running.”
Aditi was hungry by the time they reached their last stop. The white clouds overhead had been replaced by rumbling black ones. Cool winds provided respite against the heat. They drove through a vast field being ploughed by numerous labours with a brick kiln at the horizon. Up ahead was a house built in a similar fashion as that of the Mukhiya. They were welcomed by a tall man with a thick moustache. To Aditi’s surprise, they were straight away taken to a room where food was already laid out for them – a big heap of rice and dal on a large plate. On two quarter plates – the size of normal plates she used at home – were three different vegetables, salad, a variety of pickles, papad, fryum and two slices of water melon. Arvind and the driver were served lunch in the front veranda.
Heera Lal Singh, the tall man with the big moustache, settled on a cot in front of them. “Any problem, Madam? This is village food, I know. But this is what we can offer.”
“No! No! It all looks delicious. But I can’t eat so much!”
“Oh, you Geeta, come here! Don’t you see how much you have served our Madam. Her stomach is all full just looking at it.”
A beautiful young woman glided into the room with a plate and began to quietly remove a little portion of the food, her head lowered all the time. When she was done, Aditi swapped her plate with the small portion the woman was going to take away. There was a little persuasion as the young woman tried to put the contents back into Aditi’s plate. Eventually, Aditi had to settle for twice the amount she usually ate.
The men didn’t talk business. Their conversation was casual and sometimes even personal. Aditi focused on eating the food. She had never realised that eating could be so difficult. When her stomach was on the verge of bursting, she looked up to find that Manoj had left most of the food untouched. He had not even bothered trying. Heera Lal Singh asked, “Do you drink milk, Madam?”
“No… I…”
“Just a little…”
“No, I am full…”
“Just a tiny drop…”
“Okay, yes. If…”
“Listen, Geeta. Where are you? Bring us some milk.”
Two large glasses of milk were placed in front of them. Not boiled, but slightly warm – straight out of a cow! Aditi found a tiny bit of grass floating in hers. She looked at Manoj to help her out. He smiled – who told you to say yes! He waited for her as she tried to gulp down the milk without throwing up, and then took one sip from his own glass and he was done. Aditi threw at him a cold glare – that was an option!
Manoj didn’t hand over a letter this time. He opened his file and discussed a few things. He made Heera Lal Singh sign somewhere and they were done.
Going from one stop to another, Aditi hadn’t realised that they had gone so deep into the village. They returned home after dusk. She was tired and shaky, dirt sticking to her sweaty body. She had no intention of having dinner, but she had to do something about the men. She was about to change her clothes when Zeba came to ask what she would prefer – chicken or mutton. Manoj and Arvind had the brown file open by a lantern in the veranda and were discussing something.
“Why?” Aditi asked.
“Don’t you know? Today’s dinner is at our place.”
“Tell your mother she can make anything,” Aditi almost cried with joy. “And tell her that she is the best woman in the world!”
Zeba ran out, only to return three minutes later, panting and puffing. Aditi was already sprawled on her bed. “You must be tired, Aunty. Let me massage your head!”
Laila called them for dinner earlier than Aditi had expected. Manoj was taken to a room on the ground floor. Half a dozen men were already waiting for him. They stood up and folded their hands as he entered. Aditi followed Zeba to the first floor and into a small room with lots and lots of clothes and tin boxes. A dim bulb hung in the centre of the room and a table fan was placed next to a square bed. Zeenat, who had been lying on the bed, sprang to her feet and hurriedly tidied the bed-sheet.
Laila came in to chat for a while. She, and the other women of the house, were busy preparing dinner in the kitchen. Aditi was eventually left with the three girls, while other kids peeped from the door and ran away the moment Aditi turned.
“So, Zoya,” Aditi asked the youngest sister, “from when will you start your tuitions?”
Zoya opened her mouth wide and then clapped her hands over it. She looked at Zeba. Zeba blushed and in turn looked at Zeenat.
“Ammi didn’t know when you would be free. You go to the bank…” Zeenat replied.
“I told her I would be free after lunch. And I don’t go to the bank anymore.”
“She thought…”
“Or is it something else?” Aditi asked scratching her head.
“No. We thought…”
“Aunty,” Zoya cut in between, “do you have lice?”
“No, dear, I…”
“Then why are your scratching your head?”
“Because it’s itchy.”
“Or you have lice. I had loads of them when I was a kid. I am still kid but that time I was more kid. I scratched a lot, like you do now. You should apply neem paste. Ammi did to me. Then they all died. They used to fall off my head every time I combed. Your Ammi didn’t have neem when you were a kid? Zeba likes to kills lice. She is very good. Ammi sits in front of her every day and gets her head checked.”
Aditi had no response. Zeba was watching her nervously. “Well,” Aditi said, “what’s the harm in getting it checked!” She knew she had no lice but it felt kind of good when someone scratched her head and stroked through her hair. Zeba knelt on the bed behind her and soon fingers began ruffling all over her head.
“So Zeenat, you are the eldest, tell me, what do you want to do in life?”
“I…” Zeenat thought for a while, “I want to become a wife.” It was more of a question in itself than an answer.
“Well, that is one thing to do! And you Zeba, what do you want?”
“I want to see the Taj Mahal,” replied Zeba from behind, her eyes squinted as she searched for lice in the dim light.
“Taj Mahal?”
“Yes, under a full moon! I want to sit in front of it and watch it all night.”
“Why?”
“Because it is beautiful. And it glows under the moon!”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“I will find out when I see it for myself. I know it glows. I just know it!”
“And you Zoya, what do…”
“I want to see city lights!” Zoya blurted out.
“City lights?”
Zoya ran out of the room and returned s
hortly afterwards with a folded piece of paper. She unwrapped it to reveal a fading picture, probably cut out from some magazine. The photograph was taken from inside a car moving over a flyover. The sky was dark and had a yellowish tinge because of the many street lights planted along the road. Another row of lights ran away towards the horizon on a broad, and rather empty road below. “I want to go to the city and stand on roads that fly! And yes, I want to see city lights also. And I want a rose garden. And I want those shoes that give light when you walk. And yes, I want to see the Taj Mahal also, but not at night. It will be scary at night. I want to see it in daytime when it is not scary.”
Suddenly, the fingers on Aditi’s head were moving furiously. There was a pinch. “Aunty, lift up you palm.” And then Zeba placed a live and kicking louse on it.
“Oh my god! I have lice!”
Zeba placed it in between the nails of her thumbs and squished it. “And Aunty, you are growing old. You have a white hair.”
“That can’t be.” The fingers moved again. Zeba separated one long strand of grey hair from the rest and brought it in front of Aditi’s eyes.
Lice and grey hair! Her life was over! “Someone kill me!”
“Or you could use henna,” Zeenat suggested.
“Henna? No? It’s too much of…”
“We have it here at home. Ammi doesn’t allow us to use it though. Says it’s bad omen. But for young girls, not married women!” she quickly added the last sentence.
“Let’s skip it. It will take time and I have never done it.”
Zeenat jumped out of the bed and opened a cupboard. “Don’t worry, Aunty, my Ammi is a lousy cook. I tell her to learn from me, but she won’t! It will be sometime before dinner is ready.” She took out a packet of henna and went outside. Zeba opened one of the tin boxes and pulled out a rag. “Sit back, Aunty,” she said as she too went out of the room, “we will take care of your hair.”
“I also want to see a tiger,” Zoya moaned, then carefully wrapped the photo.
It was about quarter past eleven when Aditi finally returned home, her hair caked in henna. She picked up a towel and went to the hand-pump straight away. Halfway through filling a bucket, she realised that she would probably stain her expensive sari washing her hair. She went inside to change.
She didn’t see the woman standing on the roof.
CHAPTER 9
AAMBARI
The weather was so good that Aditi did not want to go back to her house. Dark clouds had been rumbling above for the past one day and the temperature had dropped significantly. She folded her hands as she stood on the roof of the three-storey building watching the fields sway with the winds.
“I will tell you, Madam,” Laila was chopping vegetables on a cot behind Aditi, “I am seriously worried about this girl. She has no manners. I try to teach her things, I tell you. But is this what she is going to do when she gets married?”
Aditi smiled to herself. Just the previous afternoon the three girls, Zeenat, Zeba and Zoya had come for their first class. Zeenat, the eldest sister, turned out to be the most intelligent of them all. Aditi gave them a few maths problems and she started solving them calmly. Zeba threw side glances to check if any of the questions were same. Zoya didn’t even pretend to be interested in her problems. She stared at the elementary multiplication and division problems, then wrote some random numbers. When she got bored with writing, she looked around the house, or hummed to herself. When her eyes met with those of Aditi, she smiled shyly and went back to writing random numbers.
“Can I drink a little water?” she asked after a while and went to the backyard. When she didn’t return for ten minutes, Aditi went out to see her chasing the chickens. “From where do they get these beautiful colours?” Zoya asked, ignoring the frown Aditi was wearing.
“It’s advance maths!” Aditi replied and brought her in.
Zoya managed to stare at her slate in concentration for fifteen more minutes. After that she was more troubled with something inside her nose and kept poking her little finger in and wiping it against her hair. When she noticed Aditi glaring at her with contempt, she was quick to justify, “Ammi says that if I use this finger,” she lifted her forefinger, “to clean my nose every time, my nose will bulge out and I will become ugly. You see, my this finger is big for my nose. So instead, Ammi told me to use this finger,” she lifted her little finger, “to clean my nose. It is thin and can go deeper inside.” And she began to dig her nose to demonstrate.
An hour later, when Aditi told them the session was over, Zoya sighed, leaned back on her hands and looked at the ceiling, panting lightly, as if she had endured unbearable torment. Aditi pinched her cheeks. “Tiring, isn’t it? Do you want something to eat? Biscuits? Sweets? Tea?” she asked the girls.
Zoya’s face lit up. Too shy to actually nod or shake her head, she smiled from ear to ear. It was when Aditi looked up that she saw Zeenat frowning at Zoya as if she had just agreed to take part in something very unholy. The smile vanished. Satisfied with the effect her stare had, Zeenat stood up, “No Aunty. Thank you. Ammi must have cooked lunch for us. But before we go, is there anything we could help you with?”
“Help her with?” Zeba rose beside her. “Can’t you see how dirty the floor is? You sweep the floor, I’ll clean the kitchen.”
“No! No!” Aditi stood up as the girls tied their dupatta behind their backs. “There is no need for that! I asked you if you wanted to eat something and here you are instead trying to clean my house. Who was it, you mother told you to do it?”
“No. It’s not that…” Zeenat murmured.
“You have come here to study, my dear. I do not want you to go around tidying up my place. If I need something, I can always call out to you, can’t I? So,” Aditi said as she made for the kitchen, “what would you like to eat?”
“Nothing!”
Aditi turned around and put her hands on her waist. “Fine then!” she said in mock anger. “You two stand here and watch her eat. Come here, Zoya. Biscuits?”
“That depends.” Zoya glanced sideways at her sisters.
“On what?”
“Can you ask me three times, please, Aunty?”
“What?”
“Can you ask me three times if I want some biscuits?” Zoya continued. “And sweets. Because Ammi says that if I go to someone’s house, I shouldn’t accept anything offered to me! It is bad manners.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. It is bad manners if I accept it in the first time itself,” Zoya explained as Zeenat scowled at her. “I should wait for you to offer me again and again, this is what Ammi says. We never go to anyone’s place that often. And whenever we go, Ammi is with us. So, I don’t have say yes or no. But before coming here, Ammi told us not to accept anything you offered.” She gulped and paused for a breath. “Then I asked what should I do if Aunty offered again and again? So Ammi told me if Aunty offers you again and again, then you must accept. Otherwise that would be rude. So I asked her how many times Aunty must offer again and again so that I can accept.” She was panting by now. “So Ammi told you cannot accept anything before Aunty offers it again and again three times!”
And Aditi had had a good laugh.
“I will tell you, this girl,” Laila said as she pushed the chopped vegetables aside and pulled out from a bundle of clothes what seemed to be a curtain, folded it from the middle and began to stitch. “She comes home and tells me she had eaten all your biscuits and sweets. I pulled out a big pole and chased her. How dare she asked? That was when she told me. That she didn’t ask any of it. I sat down on the ground and cried, Madam, I will tell you. I don’t know what to do with this girl!”
Aditi crossed her hands and gave herself a moment to enjoy the wind. “She is just a little girl. It’s all right. She will mature with time. I am sure you used to play these pranks too when you were young.”
“Me? Never. I grew up with three younger brothers. I took care of them more than my mother, I tell you. Unlik
e this girl, I knew how to cook and how to clean the moment I opened my eyes. And my father wasn’t like hers. Hers is too gentle. Mine was strict.”
“Your father. What did he do?”
“He used to sell fish. Not actually sell. There is a big pond in Naugachia…”
“You are from Naugachia?”
“Yes, Madam.” Laila said with pride, that she had some link with the manager of the bank. “My father used to take care of the pond.”
“And your brothers?”
“They run a tailor shop together. Naushad Tailors. Have you heard of it? It’s near the railway station. Ask anyone there. They all know my brothers by name. They are the best!”
Laila returned to her work and the excitement with which she had been speaking began to diminish, but a faint smiled lingered. Aditi turned around and watched the landscape spread out before her. The mango forest ran parallel to the river on her left, following the gradual outward curve. The many colours of human settlement laid sprayed out in front of her – huts and shops and houses – and the cries and shouts that went along. A crimson road, broken and dirty, found its way in between the constructions, ever keeping its distance from the tree-line, and ran ahead southward. As the road passed the last of the huts, the forest branched out abruptly and the road took a curve around before going further south, through the market and in front of the bank, to meet the makeshift bridge across the river.
She tried to locate the bank on the other side of the branch of the forest. “What’s the point of going around the forest, every day, twice, when you could go through it? Wouldn’t that save a lot of time?”
Aditi hadn’t expected an answer. But Laila left her seat and stood beside her. She didn’t say anything for a while. The two women leaned against the parapet and watched the forest.
“The Aambari is not a safe place, I tell you Madam. Bad things have happened there. This village was once infamous for dacoits and robbers. They used to hide in those trees and kill any traveller that happened to cross. They used to even feed on their victims! The police once raided the forest. But they couldn’t catch a soul. What they found were dead bodies hanging from the trees, rotting away. Some lay half buried. They even found graves. Many of them, these robbers, returned after the raid. But as the village began to grow, they began to leave or mingle with the people. Only the dead stayed back.”
