The Green Room & Devi Collection

by Nag Mani

  “YOUR FUCKING BITCH!”

  The next second froze. Aditi on her bed. The shadow outside the room.

  Then the door burst open.

  In the doorframe stood a tall woman. The aanchal of her sari was draped over her head, her face veiled in its shadows. Her hair fell till her waist. She entered the room with all the authority in the world. The door shut behind her.

  Aditi backed against the wall on her bed. She saw the woman’s face as she glided into the room.

  There was no face, just a swirling chaos of dark vapours in its place.

  Aditi screamed and screamed. Then her throat began to hurt. Her body shuddered. She began to cry.

  The Devi rose in the air. Aditi covered her face.

  “Who is this child? Let me see,” the Devi said in a bold, rather seductive voice, as she sat down next to Aditi. The room grew darker. The air thicker. “This child who wants a baby?” Then her tone changed, it was that of a mother pampering her child, “Show me your face, dear. Look at me!”

  Aditi pulled her knees closer to her chest and buried her face in between, her body trembling. She jerked as rough fingers crawled through her hair. She felt her heart go cold. The fingers stopped. Then all of a sudden, they gripped her hair and pulled with unfathomable strength. Aditi was forced to look up at the darkness swirling in the canopy of wire like hair. There was no trace of a face. No slits for eyes or lips or nose. Just chaos and madness.

  “She wants a baby,” the Devi said, chuckling. “Is that what you came to me for? With your promises of goats and lambs?” The fingers pushed and pulled. Went round and round. Threatened to pull every hair off her scalp. “That is what they all promise! Blood worthless than dirt! Can you not offer me more, lovely child? Is that what your wish is worth? Can you not offer me real blood? Human blood, my dear?” The fingers left her hair. Now they began to caress her back. Touching her skin ever so softly, leaving a trail of coldness behind.

  “No,” Aditi mumbled, “I don’t want anything…” her voice not audible to even herself.

  “Now she doesn’t want anything?” The fingers were moving down her thighs now. “But can someone not want any thing? Is that so? Hmmm… Rare… but someone always needs something… Tell me, my child, what is it that you need?” Fingers on her knee now, rubbing, poking…

  “Nothing…” Aditi kept her eyes tight shut, her lips trembling.

  “She is weak.” The voice changed. Aditi felt a weight lift from the bed. But the fingers lingered. “Can she not pay the price?” There was silence now. Questioning. Reasoning. Even the fingers had stopped their movements. Aditi held her breath. “No. She must pay. You must, my dear child! And a heavy price it should be! What is the worth of a reward cheaply given! Will she love her cheap baby? Will she protect it? Will she not kill it herself… like the first one…”

  It had taken tremendous effort to keep her eyes closed and un-watching. But now they popped open. The Devi was hovering in the air, her legs towards the ceiling, her face just inches from Aditi’s.

  “I… did… not… kill him…” she managed to say, tears shimmering on her cheeks.

  “But you did not protect him either.” The Devi was speaking soothingly now, caressing her, just like Doctor Sangeeta Nurse had done. “But everything turned out all right, didn’t it… gudiya?”

  “How could I have protected him?”

  “Ah, my gudiya, I feel for you! How could you have protected him when you yourself needed protection then, and now…”

  “I don’t need protection…”

  “Don’t cry, gudiya, don’t! I know what you need. Let me help you. Let me protect you from men who mean you harm!” The fingers were caressing her hair again, running down the length and rubbing her back before moving to the top again. “But what shall I get in return?”

  “No, please don’t, I can’t give anything…”

  “Yes, you can, gudiya, you can give your blood!” The fingers were moving down her thigh. “Is it so much I am asking for?”

  “Please…”

  The fingers grabbed her swollen ankle and pressed. Aditi screamed. They pressed harder, threatening to shatter the bones in their grip. “GIVE ME YOUR BLOOD!” The voice had lost its softness. It was demanding. Frightening. Aditi tried to wriggle out of her grip, but she felt too weak. The world around her was darkening. She was losing her senses. Only the pain lingered, extreme and cold and piercing. She slithered against the wall and slumped on the bed. Rough hair was brushing her cheeks. The fingers continued to tightened around her ankle, harder and harder… the other hand was on her neck. “YOUR BLOOD, GUDIYA! IS IT WORTH THE PAIN? IS IT THAT PRECIOUS TO YOU?”

  Aditi felt something land on the bed. Her bag. She heard the chain open. Her hand was lifted and placed on top. She felt something hard and cold… and sharp. A knife!

  No! She could not! She tried to remove her hands…

  But she could also not bear the torment any longer. She had had enough. She grabbed the knife and gathering all her strength and courage, ran it over her wrist.

  The fingers withdrew immediately. Hair fell on her wrist. And from within the darkness of the face something began to suck and lick and smack on the cut like a desperate lover.

  Aditi lay still on the bed and waited for death to end her misery.

  III

  CHAPTER 15

  A SMALL GIFT

  The men branded torches and swords as the boat carried them across the river. More men surrounded the police station and threatened to set it on fire. Constables were dragged outside and kicked and slapped. The inspector was made to escort Mahesh to the river, where more of his supporters awaited him.

  Mahesh got down from the jeep. With his father gone, the village was his. There was no one to question his authority. He was the new Mukhiya. But first, he had an unfinished business to take care of. That city woman had to be punished. He had to avenge his father.

  The clouds burst into a torrential downpour. He let himself get wet.

  Someone handed him a sword. He stepped in the boat waiting for him. It began to move forward amid loud hooting and cheering. He wasn’t particularly fond of his father. But that wasn’t the end he had expected for the old man. Nevertheless, this was a new start, his start, however chaotic it had been. He wasn’t afraid of the storm raging around him. He wasn’t afraid of the furious river. He wasn’t afraid of anything.

  Then he saw it. Away from the crowd, wrapped in the darkness, was a woman hovering above the water…

  …and then fear crept in.

  *

  It was a hot afternoon when Aditi opened her eyes. Her bedroom was extremely humid. She was wet with sweat. The storm had died. She was wearing a different sari. A bandage had been wrapped around her left wrist. Just then a girl hurried inside the room, and seeing her awake, turned around abruptly and ran out. Moments later Bhagvati rushed in.

  “My son, my son…” she hugged Aditi, filling her nostrils with the odour of stale sweat. She held Aditi at an arm’s length and studied her. “That Om Prakash’s house? What were you thinking? I could have stayed back. I would have, if I knew. But what was he thinking leaving you all alone out there…”

  The girl returned, but lingered at the door.

  “You girl,” Bhagvati hissed, “go, fetch water for your sister.” Then she held Aditi’s hands with her gnarled fingers. “I am your mother, dear. Why didn’t you ask me to stay?”

  Aditi was too weak to speak. She could still see the two girls hovering as the bearded man led them forward. She remembered distinctly the rumbling of the ground. The absolute darkness. And the Devi… she shuddered… coming down the tree.

  Then came the thought of the men hunting for her. Her running into the Aambari. She seemed unconvinced that she was actually sitting on her bed.

  “Didi.” The girl returned with a glass of water and stood beside her. Aditi looked at her blankly.

  “Drink, my son,” Bhagvati said. Aditi took the glass with quivering han
ds. “This is my daughter, Payal. She will take care of you. No need to worry. I am here. I am here for you. We are here for you.”

  “Did anything happen to me?” Aditi whispered, fearing the worst. “Those men…”

  Bhagvati did not reply. She looked tense. Her wrinkles on her leathery skin deepened. In the silence that followed, a gentle breeze came in through the window, bringing with it bursts of distant sounds. Though faint and shallow, Aditi knew that they were of someone mourning. The maize field stood silent and wounded, fully aware of the tension that seemed to engulf the entire village.

  “Mahesh and his men died last night. The Bakara River took them away.”

  Aditi gasped. “What? How? What happened?”

  “They were crossing the river when their boat capsized. Mahesh. His cousin. Four other men.”

  “What about the others? Was there no one to rescue them?”

  “The river god was angry. The water was fierce. No one had the courage to swim in.” Bhagvati and Payal exchanged looks. “But… tell me something – these women here have been blabbering all over the village now. Of course, it’s all big mouth and lots of time. And Laila is not quiet about it either. You know it’s garbage, but when you sit with them, you have got to listen. Did you actually pray in that ancient temple?”

  “Yes, why not?” Aditi looked from one face to the other.

  “No. No. You did not get me. When you pass the temple you bow your head, you should! Sometimes, when things turn troublesome, you visit the temple, fold your hands and ask forgiveness. That is all. But you don’t go inside… The shrine is vacant – you don’t pray there. No one worships the Devi! You did not go there, my son, did you?”

  Aditi shook her head. She rested her head on her pillow and closed her eyes; and it was then she realised that she was still shaking her head. She stopped – she had intended to nod. Deep in her heart she knew – that was the reason everything was happening.

  Bhagvati eyed her, but her stare was broken by a knock on the door. It was the inspector, Neeraj Mishra. “Sorry, I came this late. Was busy with some things. They told me you ran out into the forest last night?” A constable waited outside.

  “Razzak has a family to take care of. What would happen to them if they came?”

  “Yes, I understand… but still… Anyway, you are lucky. I mean… I guess you know that the boat…”

  Aditi nodded.

  “Okay,” he rubbed his hands and sat on a chair. “I hope you don’t mind if ask you a few questions. Where…?”

  “What happened to Mahesh? And the men who drowned with him?” she cut in.

  “Yes, we have registered a case of accident. Fourteen men had been called for questioning regarding the murder. Six of them drowned in the river on their way back. We have recovered five of their bodies. One is still missing. We will find it soon. So, as I was asking…”

  “What about the Mukhiya?”

  “His case was registered yesterday itself. Murder by unknown assailants. We are questioning his family for any suspects, you know, someone he might have had a recent tiff with. But it seems more like an inside job. There was no break in. No sign of any struggle. It appears that he had gone to the temple on his own, right in the dead of the night. Sumitra Devi said…”

  “Oh! Come on! You know what the cause of the death was? You have been in the village long enough.”

  Payal entered the room with a glass of water. The inspector gulped it down in one go. “We need something to go into the files. Reality will not be taken well by the hot-shots sitting in A.C. offices in Patna. The flood has contained the news, otherwise his death would not have been dealt with so peacefully. He had deep political roots. I hope the case cools down by the time the water recedes and we have a legitimate file to throw at our seniors.”

  “You are not affected by any of it, are you?” Aditi said slowly. “These are just cases to you, files that you are duty bound to maintain. Maybe you haven’t seen enough deaths…”

  “How many deaths should be enough, Aditi Prasad?” Inspector Mishra shot back, his voice raised. “Because I think I have seen much more than seven men die. Seven? That is what got you upset? Just seven?” He paused to consider something. “Ever heard about the case of Roshni Kumari? She was sixteen when her parents married her off. Her in-laws wanted more dowry; and when her father couldn’t meet their demand, they decided to kill her and find someone who could. And let me describe to you how they did it. When you try to kill someone, they usually put up a fight, no matter how weak they are. And they scream. They scream a lot, especially the weak ones. Her in-laws needed her not to make a sound when they started killing her. So they lifted a brick and broke her teeth and cut out her tongue. They thought she wouldn’t be able to scream if they did so. Then they locked their house and set her on fire. Alive. The neighbours heard her screams, but none dared to help, or even object. You know why? Because this little girl, she would come and go, another would take her place. But her in-laws, they had been living there for ages and would continue to do so. No one here wants enmity with their neighbours, that too for the sake of one little girl.

  “Someone did inform us, though. That was my second week in this village. We rushed to the house. Apparently, they hadn’t used enough kerosene to kill her. They had to save some to cook dinner. When they caught wind of us, they took the girl by the river side and tried to bury her. They fled when they saw us. She was still alive when we found her. Half buried in wet mud. All burnt. Her eyes still haunt me. They were so big… and white, like some creature thriving in her blackened body. She was asking for water. She must be what, about seventeen then, and two months pregnant, and she was tortured, burnt and buried alive.”

  “What… what happened to her?”

  “What could have happened to her, Aditi Prasad? Death is more merciful than we humans are.”

  “And her in-laws?”

  “Her in-laws? What about them? This is not some movie plot where a common man becomes a hero and gets his revenge and lives happily ever after. We arrested her father-in-law. He is old and dying and has nothing to do. He gets free meals in a jail and proper medical facilities. He just sits and prays and waits, passing the remainder of his life in peace. Her husband is still absconding. Probably married to some other girl now. And her parents… they cried when they came to collect her body and then for a few days after her funeral. That was all.”

  For a few moments, nobody seemed to say anything. Even Bhagvati and Payal, who were in the hall, held their breaths. “I know of women who have been raped, and are being raped, but I cannot take action because they refuse to report it. A woman once came to me to complain that her husband married her and left for Punjab a day later. His father and his younger brother, a bloody fifteen-year-old, had been raping her ever since. I filed an FIR. But before I could get her to put her thumb, her mother-in-law marched into the station and pulled her out. “We have endured it all our lives, what is the problem with you? You think you are a queen or something?” This is what she told her. I could have arrested her in-laws. But what then? Her husband would have never accepted her, neither would her society. He would have thrown her out. This being the case I if I did arrest them. But she never put her thumb. She herself knew the consequences. Her parents were poor enough. They married her off only to lighten their burden. Do you think they would fight a legal battle for her? No, they wouldn’t. Leave alone the legality, would they have even welcomed her home if her husband abandoned her? The first thing they would have done would have been to march her to my station, withdraw the complaint and force her to apologise.

  “Even if they did go ahead with the case and even if they won, who would marry her then? Marry a woman who had already been married, used… woman who got her husband and in-laws arrested? Such women are not applauded here, Aditi Prasad, they are looked down upon. She would have been a burden they could never get rid of. It’s easy for you educated women to go around talking of rights and giving your educated a
dvices, but think about it. An uneducated woman, here in this village… What will she do if her husband abandons her? And along with him the society? She doesn’t know the laws. She doesn’t know her rights. All she can do is go around asking others for help and will only end up getting exploited in the name of help. Can I get another glass of water here?” he said to the hall.

  Aditi gulped. His words pierced her, yet they were the truth. Respect is a luxury for the rich. The poor struggle to survive. Without education, a woman would always be dependent on her husband. And that was the irony – that women were not educated because all they had to do was be dependent on their husbands.

  “I come from a poor family,” Inspector Mishra continued after he drank another glass of water and Payal went back to the hall. “My father owned a small grocery shop in Bhagalpur. I cleared the state police exam thinking I would change the system. But it’s always the vice-versa. I took bribes. I let criminals escape. I know nexuses that run deep in the political system. But I sit in my office and watch them do their dirty work. At the end of the day, they deliver me my share. I take it back to my wife and I see her smile. She doesn’t want to know where it comes from. She just wants it to keep coming. But what can I do? They come knocking at my door. Tell my wife to take their names when I return. If I shoot a criminal, they will set an enquiry on me. I have to prove whatever I did. But they? They don’t need permission to shoot. They don’t need warrant to enter my house. They… Leave that, and tell me, Aditi Prasad,” he stretched back in his chair, “should I care if the Mukhiya or his criminal of a son drowned in a river? Should I care if his wife chopped off his head, or his son, or the Devi herself? And to tell you the truth, we could have helped them. Jumped in the river and saved them. But we didn’t. We stood by and watched the river take them away.” An evil flickered in his eyes. “And frankly speaking, I felt a sense of satisfaction watching them cry for help and fear for their lives. But now is not the time to discuss what I felt or did. I am here because I know you. You might not know me, but I do. He was my best friend. And I know what you meant to him. We grew up together. You couldn’t keep in touch when he left the village, but I did.” Something dark clouded Aditi’s face and he quickly added, “It wasn’t your fault; and you know it.” Silence. The constable outside was talking with someone. “And let go of this episode of yesterday. You are unhurt, and that is all that matters. All that happened wasn’t your fault either. There is more to it than you know.”