The Green Room & Devi Collection

by Nag Mani

  Standing almost at the edge of the forest made Aditi felt gloomy and scared. The never-speaking trees had seen things beyond her imagination. Yet, there they stood, swaying with the winds, always silent, always watching. “But what about the man I saw that night. He was going into the forest.”

  “I told you Madam, you are here for a few days. Enjoy your time and go back to your city. The less you know about our village, the better it is for you.”

  “What do you mean, Laila? You…”

  “What is the point of explaining something you would never accept, or understand, Madam?”

  “Try me!”

  Laila’s answer was terse, and carefully constructed. The words were few, but their implication was enough for Aditi to start shivering. Signalling towards the forest, she whispered, “It attracts evil spirits.”

  For a moment, Aditi thought of running to the bank and asking Manoj to leave the village. She could not live there a moment longer. She thought of her house… so close to the forest. The thought that she would have to go back there that night and sleep while the forest whispered around her… she inched closer to Laila. And then it was all gone. As if someone had switched on the lights. She grew up in a village herself, before her parents had shifted to Bhagalpur, and was not alien to stories such as these. They didn’t frighten her then. What had happened to her now? She had heard similar stories many times before, of boys who were taken away by sadhus and girls who were stalked by jinns. She had heard of women flying and men who rose from rivers at night. She didn’t believe in them, neither did she not believe. She heard those stories and they slowly crawled to the recess of her mind. They remained there, faint and vague, until something happened that brought them back, or time slowly eroded them away. Laila talked of dark things the forest had in store, yet she lived so close to the trees, and would continue to live till her eyes fogged and her body stooped, or until the forest proved her correct.

  “So,” Aditi loosened her hair and began to tie them again, “this forest has nothing to do with the Devi?”

  “What do you know about the Devi?” a surprised Laila asked.

  “Just a little. As you know, I went there to pay my respect. But has her history got anything to do with the forest? She was sacrificed, after all. But why?”

  “This curious mind of you educated people. Curiosity is a dangerous trait, Madam, when you go about meddling with waters you know so little about… Look at me! I see and hear things. But I keep my eyes and ears shut and mind my own business. And look how well I am doing!”

  It started with a spark, then flared into rage.

  How could this uneducated village woman, whose significance was nothing but to get impregnated and reproduce and then care take of her litter, mock the very backbone of human evolution? Aditi gulped down her anger, but the insult lingered – after all she was the wife of a bank manager, while Laila was just another villager leading her life of anonymity – for when she spoke there was sheer coldness in her voice, “It was curiosity which took men across oceans to discover the world as we know today, even if it meant meddling with the waters and falling off the edge.”

  Had it been a moment longer, Laila would have realised that Aditi had spoken intentionally out of contempt. But Aditi recovered quickly. “You know, Sir hardly talks about this village. It’s all bank and money. Just day before, they couldn’t account for some shortage of cash at the end of the day. Some fifteen thousand was missing.”

  “Yes, I know. My husband told me that. There are so many customers flocking the cashier’s counter. I am telling you, they should stop the customers from coming inside, otherwise this is never going to stop.”

  “Yes, I know, and the bank staffs end up paying for it. Anyway, what I was saying is that I am a bit curious about this village. See, there is this mongo plantation which is called a forest. I mean, it’s just a plantation. And it is interesting that I have seen no tree here bearing fruits. They are all barren. Sir never talks about it. Now, you tell me, whom should I turn to if I want to ask something? Obviously, it’s you!”

  Laila smiled demurely. “Madam…” she started, but Aditi cut her off.

  “And it’s not that I don’t believe in what you tell me. I do. Why would I have gone to the temple otherwise? People told me, and mind you, I know even your husband convinced Sir that I should visit that temple, and I did. And then Gauri told me that it was all just a myth and the villagers do it unquestioningly just because their ancestors used to do it.”

  “You have met Gauri?” Laila straightened her posture.

  “Yes, she is a lovely girl. She was the one who took me to the temple.” Aditi noticed that Laila wanted to say something, if not from her mouth, then through her eyes. “It’s a pity, isn’t it?” Aditi pressed a bit, hoping Laila would say whatever she had in mind. “Married at such a young age!”

  “Very young age, Madam. And if you will listen to me, I will advise you to stay away from her, if you don’t want a taint on your character as well!”

  “What? She is such a sweet girl! I feel bad for her that…”

  “Who is she Madam? Do you know her caste? She claims to be a Pandit, but I will tell you a secret Madam, she is not. She is one of those Dalits who managed to get some money and buy some land and thought they could rule the world. Our Mukhiya’s son, Mahesh Singh Ji, he was perfect for her trap. She started an affair with him and thought she could marry him. Her parents were all happy that she had found a scapegoat for herself. But our Mukhiya Ji saw through it all. He married her instead and brought her home so that he could keep an eye on this woman. And I will tell you Madam,” she lowered her voice dramatically, “both father and son take turns to sneak into her bed at night! Serves her right, doesn’t it?”

  “And Mahesh, he let his father marry her?” Aditi asked, her tone high with shock.

  “She had woven such a spell on Mahesh Ji that he couldn’t stop going to her house. So, his father brought her home instead! Don’t take our Mahesh Ji for a fool Madam! He wanted a warm bed after a bad day and that is what she gave him. A man demands what he demands! He too had his needs. Does that mean he would marry a girl as characterless as she? Better to bring her to his house than go all the way to hers!”

  Aditi felt a pinch in her heart. Here was this young girl married to a man who could be mistaken for her father, or even grandfather. And if Laila was to be believed, she was being raped by her husband and her step-son! But it was her own fault, right? To believe she could marry, probably even loved, someone of power. And while she was being exploited, the village watched and contended themselves that she was just enduring a punishment well deserved.

  Laila was a woman herself. Didn’t she understand the pain of a fellow woman? Or was it that she had been subdued and blamed long enough that she had eventually accepted that it was always the woman who was at fault. Even now, Aditi noticed her looking back at the clothes that still needed stitching. Her eyes were restless. She was probably thinking what to cook for dinner so that she could go to bed satisfied that her family was all fed and asleep, only to get up next morning and restart the routine.

  Discerning that Aditi had stayed silent a bit too long, Laila said, “Don’t bother Madam. Save your pity for your own self. There is a full life yet to spend.” She fell silent for a moment, and then spoke abruptly, as if Aditi might mistake her advice as a taunt at the incident that happened not more than two weeks ago, when Aditi angrily beat her husband in the veranda. “I noticed a bulb in your backyard, Madam. I tell you, I was only wondering when Sir will buy an inverter, now that you are here.”

  “Yes, he told Arvind to arrange a second-hand inverter.” Aditi knew it had nothing to do with Sir. Manoj had told Arvind a few times about installing an inverter, but they were all just loose talks, mainly to show her and his colleagues that he did care for her. Arvind waited all along for an explicit order. When she saw him cycling down the mud path towards her house, two days after the field trip, her immediate thought
was that he had come bearing more gifts. But then she saw a heavy battery tied to the rear of his cycle and a bag hanging from the handle.

  He got down, all beaming and cheerful, and folded his hands, his massive body towering over hers. His eyes were yellowish and bloodshot. “See, Madam. What I got you? This battera,” he pointed at his cycle, “is going to make your home all bright and beautiful. Let me take it inside. Plug it, and fan is on. Will keep our heads cool too!” He laughed at his own joke, then bit his lips and began unloading the battery.

  Aditi threw a glance at the backyard. Manoj was bathing by the hand pump. All these days he hadn’t bothered to buy an inverter for her. One fight out in the open, and here was Arvind carrying a battery and an inverter to her veranda.

  “It’s called a battery, Arvind,” she said politely, as he stopped to catch his breath, “not a battera.”

  “No Madam. Batteries are those small ones you use in cars. This is more big. More powerful. This is called battera.”

  Aditi didn’t want to debate. “But how long will it last? Just one battery? And what when it is discharged?”

  “Don’t worry about that Madam. There is another battera charging in bank. I will bring that here when this one is all but dead and take this to bank.” He gave her a mischievous grin and dragged the battery inside. Turned out the house already had a connection for an inverter next to the bedroom door. All he had to do was connect the terminals of the battery to the inverter, put the plug in the socket and switched it on. A dim bulb sprang to life in the kitchen. The fan in her bedroom began to churn slowly, the motor inside groaning with age and rust. Aditi could not believe how happy a light bulb and a moving fan could make her.

  “That is all done then!” said Arvind. He too was enjoying the sudden transformation the inverter had brought upon the house. “Now all you need is few bright bulbs and you are as if living in city. Get TV, Madam, good TV and powerful antenna and you wouldn’t want to leave this village.” With that he folded his arms again, and before Aditi could come out of her trance and offer him a glass of water, he was on his cycle and out of sight. It was only the TRING-TRING of his cycle that told her that he was gone.

  “I know I am no one to say, but I don’t think that Sir should allow Arvind to come to your house. I mean it was all right when he used to live alone, but now... with you here...” Laila was saying.

  “He seems a decent man to me!”

  “Ah! No Madam! When you pluck a rose, you should not be unwary of the thorns. He seems a nice man. But I have been here long enough to catch these rumours. He is sick, Madam. He has that disease… I am telling you.”

  “What disease?”

  “That which you get from women in the market. It spreads Madam, I don’t know why they even allow him in the bank. And he is all but shut about it. Doesn’t tell anyone.”

  “AIDS? But how do you know?” Even as Aditi asked the question, she could somehow relate the yellow eyes and the sickly appearance Arvind always carried about himself.

  “Nothing can hold a secret Madam. It always finds a way out. He claimed he used to love his wife. But what about his life before that? All women and alcohol. Always visiting those cheap brothels in Nepal. Then his wife got sick when she became pregnant. He used to continually go to Purnia for her treatment. They stayed there for days and nights. And who knows what he did there, in that place called Harda, while his wife fought for her life in a hospital.”

  Harda. Aditi wasn’t married when she had been passing through the small town in Purnia. It was some time in the evening. The sky was clear and pale red. Her bus was crawling through a congested road when she saw a house with a small cemented campus and shoulder-high boundary wall. Two girls, probably in their late teens, were hopping and skipping in between grids of crooked lines in the courtyard. It was their dress that caught Aditi’s attention. One of them was in a red sleeveless dress, all shiny and scaly and cheap, ending way above her knees. Matching lipstick, deep and thick. The other one wore a kurti – just a kurti. The money that should have been invested in buying a lower was spent on lots of bangles, cheap make-up and layers of powder, which was trickling down her neck and hairline along with her sweat.

  Further ahead, it was in the market that she saw more of them. In one glance it could have been overlooked as a vegetable market, with meat suppliers on both ends. Sheds with a variety of fresh vegetables. Coops with white chicken. Separate coops for the colourful ones. Skinned and glistening goats hanging upside down, their heads and entrails neatly removed. Shops made of wooden planks adorned with toffees and tobacco and betel leaves. Ironsmiths sat in between four poles with their goods hanging from chains. A hut with a man frying jalebi. Tea stalls with a variety of biscuits and breads stored un-hygienically in glass jars. Behind them was another row of shops. Undergarments. Sacks of cotton. Wholesale rice and pulses. More undergarments.

  It was in the middle row of the shops that one could spot them. Amidst shouts and honking and the busy activities of the market, they stood silently by a shop or under an electric pole and watched the road with blank faces. Some sat alone on bamboo seats in front of the tea stalls. There were a few shops scattered randomly in the market that didn’t display any goods – small rooms with their doors shut and no windows. She couldn’t understand how those women could wear such type of clothes. She had seen those dresses in movies, all right, but what she saw in the market was definitely not fashion. It was only when she had married and shifted to Purnia that she found out that Harda was a red-light area.

  Aditi wanted to believe that Arvind was a good man. Even if he had AIDS, if that was even true, it could have been due to various other reasons. But as great men say, all it takes is an idea to change the course of the world, she herself being just a feeble woman. She began to doubt the intentions of his courtesies. “Where is she now?”

  “She died Madam. In Purnia while giving birth to his daughter… while he was panting in some dingy room in Harda. And what a joke it is Madam, that he spent his lifetime with whores and he himself was given a daughter to raise. Gods have their own ways of mocking at us. There, you see Madam, there,” Laila turned around and pointed towards a blurry settlement far up north, in between the river and the forest. “That is where he lives. Not a good community it is. Bad people. Full of dark magic! Oh look, Madam! We just talk and talk and talk and my clothes have blown all over the roof!” She laughed as she tied back her dupatta and bent to pick up the nearest curtain. Her sudden movement made a crow, that had been sitting peacefully on an antenna until then, caw and fly away. “Now, why don’t you come downstairs and have a strong cup of tea!”

  Aditi gave one last glance at the forest swaying in the wind which had now begun to gather strength. Her eyes fell on a distant mango tree that rose above the canopy. She squinted and leaned forward to have a better look. But then the clouds rumbled and pattered down thick drops of rain. She hurriedly picked up a few clothes and ran indoors after Laila.

  *

  Manoj’s birthday was on the 4th of July. Of course, it meant nothing to Aditi – that was what she wanted to believe – but it at least gave her a reason to celebrate and be happy in a life that rarely gave such reasons. She had pretended that she did not remember it, that she simply did not care. But long ago, when she was young and still naïve, she had cried and cursed her stars that she was being married to a man ten years older than her. She hadn’t done it openly, for her mother might have taunted her for being a snob, but looked up at the stars on lonely nights and shed her tears for them to see. She spoke to them and they listened to her. It was during one of those starry nights when a cold breeze whispered to her that everyone was responsible for their own happiness. She could crib and cry about her marriage or make the best out of it. It was in that moment that she decided she would be nice. She would be a wife that everyone envied. After the marriage ceremony, she had cried all the way to Naugachia in a decorated and garlanded jeep. Manoj never once tried to console her. He sat bes
ide her, quiet and erect. She did manage to get a hold on herself the following day. And at night after the reception, when she was all dressed beautifully in a bride’s dress and Manoj sat next to her on the marriage bed looking up at the ceiling, she tried to break the awkward silence by asking him about his birthday. That was one step towards coming closer in the relationship. She had memorised the date by heart.

  And in times to come, she found out that forgetting was far more difficult than memorising.

  Manoj had left the house in a greater hurry than usual. The government had passed some scheme for farmers and there were more applications than the bank could handle and little time. He had to leave with a quick breakfast and a feeble smile from his wife. Aditi watched him walk to the main road and turn left towards the bank. A celebratory mood swung in after he left. Now that he was gone, she fed the chickens who had grown fatter and heavier. She even put out a bowl of milk atop the boundary wall for the grey cat. She tidied up the bed and swept the house. Then, she baked a cake. She was planning to visit the bank during lunch hours. She went out and told a kid loitering around to tell Laila not to send her daughters that day. She locked the house and took a few steps towards the main road. It was then that the idea struck her.

  For days and days, she had watched Manoj leave for the bank, following the main road that curved around the extension of the plantation. Why couldn’t he just go through it? She retreated her steps, stood before the tree line and watched the undergrowth silently for some time. Then, she inhaled deeply and started walking. There were various reasons to do so. The one she told herself was that the food was getting cold and soggy. Why walk for almost a kilometre when she could cut across half the distance?