The Green Room & Devi Collection

by Nag Mani

  Aditi hugged her. Then she took her place in the first boat with Manoj. Inspector Mishra and the constables sat in the other. The boatmen began to row and the settlement was left behind. So were the standing men and women, becoming smaller and smaller…

  They made their way through marshy fields and farms until they found the road. An oxen-pulled tonga ferried them to the police station. After a cup of tea, they took the police jeep to the bus-stand. The inspector shook hands with Manoj and saluted her as the bus drove away.

  Aditi closed her eyes…

  There she was, on the boat, amid huffing and puffing and the great rush of water, watching the crowd standing on the other bank.

  Far beyond, somewhere near the forest was a weirdly constructed house. And in that house once lived a beautiful girl called Zeenat who could do anything for the boy she loved – the boy who could do nothing but stand under a tree and cry for her. And her pretty little sister who wanted to see the Taj Mahal under moonlight. Not far from the forest was a cornfield that swayed and danced in the winds. And it continued to sway and dance when a young woman was hacked to death, too young to foresee the death that was looming above her, encircling her. Her sister, who had been deprived of everything that was hers and given to her husband. And her mother, who, like her, was dead and cold in some dingy room somewhere in the village, who just wanted a good future for her daughters.

  Aditi opened her eyes and saw fields and huts rush by. She craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the forest. But it was far away, beyond the range of her vision. The forest with whispering trees and crying babies. The forest with a cream coloured dog lying cold somewhere in a pool of wet mud, the dog who had come to her rescue when no one else had dared to…

  Something glittered. She looked up to see sparkling waters at a distance. Was she still there, Aditi thought, still there the way they had left her? That old woman…

  …that old woman who sat cross-legged on the other side of the river, crying, beating her chest, as she watched her life sail away in a boat…

  IV

  CHAPTER 21

  THE CHEAP CHILD

  Aradhana was combing her hair when her mother came in with a bundle of washed and ironed clothes and, without a word, began to place them in a trolley. Happy and excited as she was, her mother was troubled and worried. Just as she put on a deodorant, a cream coloured mongrel, sensing, rather smelling, that she was going out, came leaping in, put his paws on her and tried to lick her face.

  “Shoo, Bachcha! Get away!” She pushed the dog, irritated that she would have to do the lipstick again.

  Aditi rose with a sigh and put her hands on her waist as she studied her daughter, reminiscing her younger days when she was fat and spoilt. She cried a lot and made a fuss over everything and anything. Her apples had to be skinned, and so did her grapes. She wouldn’t drink milk without Horlicks. Horlicks and only Horlicks, and no other substitute. She was arrogant and a bully. She once cut off her classmate’s hair because the latter didn’t agree to do her homework. She was getting nowhere in her studies.

  But that was then… a long time ago. So much had changed in the years to come.

  When they unexpectedly came back from the village, their neighbours asked curious questions and spread wild rumours about the village child. It took a couple of years for them to move on with some other gossip. Manoj got himself transferred to Purnia. On paper medical reasons were stated, but the regional manager very well knew about the incidents that had taken place in the village.

  So that was how it started. That was how her life began to come together, bit by bit.

  Manoj continued his usual way. Saying nothing. Doing everything. Aditi almost thought that nothing had changed after the Return. But there were always those subtle… One of them was when she found a piece of paper on her dressing table with fancy fonts and colourful border. It was a fee receipt of the best UPSC coaching centre in the city.

  The Daily Routine went up. Her old books and notes came out. She tried to attend the classes diligently.

  Tried…

  It didn’t take her long to realise that she was already working for a job more honourable than that of an IAS officer. A post that didn’t require fancy degrees. A duty as ancient as the universe itself – she was a Mother.

  She studied her baby’s sleep pattern far more closely than world geography. And instead of turning newspapers and current affair books, she ran behind her child holding a glass of milk and a plate of peeled and cut apples. Layers of dust began to accumulate on her books. Her Daily Routine fell off one day. And when it fell, she was walking in the garden with her daughter, showing her the different variety of roses.

  Ajay went back to living with his parents in Naugachia and tried to manage the agency from there. He was married to a pretty, young woman when Aradhana was six. Received a good dowry. And a motorcycle. Manoj had never shown any ill feelings towards him. Ajay was a closed chapter and none of them dared to open it. When he returned from the marriage ceremony, Manoj told her that his brother had started his own dairy shop. That didn’t come as a surprise. In fact, it was a wise thing for him to do, considering he had tried to abduct the woman whose business he ran. Manoj never let open his feelings about his brother. It took years for Aditi to gather that he hardly talked to him after the Return. Even when they bought their first mobile phone, Manoj rarely called his brother, and whenever he did, their conversations were business-like and didn’t last two minutes.

  Policemen would come to visit them once a while. They would have tea, discuss the weather and politics and leave. They would then report to Inspector Neeraj Mishra.

  Razzak visited them a number of times. He had hired a Purnia based lawyer and as the inspector had predicted, it was a lengthy legal battle. And it was Razzak who told them about the new temple that had been constructed in the village. After the fire had died and the smoke dispersed, the villagers found large a pair of footprints, exactly where Aditi had said the Devi had stood. It didn’t take long for them to build a small shrine around it, which soon grew into a temple teeming with devotees. Years later, the villagers were in for a surprise during the onset of one summer when a few trees in the Aambari began to flower.

  Zoya came with her father once. She had grown into a beautiful young woman. She sat quiet and still and spoke only when spoken to. Aditi didn’t have to offer her snacks again and again three times. Zoya took one biscuit on her own. Just one. Razzak said she cooked very well and was gifted in needlework. She stared at her feet all along. She did not even glance at the roses in the garden.

  When Aradhana was in 9th standard, she came home one day in a dirty uniform and a cream-coloured puppy in her hands. “I found him in a drain.” Aditi gave the puppy a piece of bread and left him on the street. He kept returning, sticking his head in the gate and crying, stupidly refusing to go away. Aditi took him in.

  Aradhana may have hidden it for a while, but when Aditi finally noticed that her daughter had grown sad and forlorn, she got her to speak up.

  “I saw a dream,” Aradhana told her. “There was this temple in ruins. I have never been at such a place, but it felt like I knew it. The temple was deserted. Its shrine was empty. Nothing. Black. It gave me the spooks! And then I saw a woman. She was very beautiful. And behind her was a man, he too seemed vaguely familiar – tall and dark and curly hair…”

  As days rolled by, Aditi realised that her daughter had turned over a new leaf. She became responsible, focused. Her grades went up and she cleared her 10th boards with flying colours. By the time she reached class XII, she had grown attractive and beautiful. She carried herself with an arrogant elegance of royalty. Aditi was pretty sure that the boys who played carom down the street every evening did so only to catch a glimpse of her.

  One day she came back from school and asked, “Mummy, what is an IAS officer?”

  Aditi took some time to explain the work, social status and powers enjoyed by them. Her daughter didn’t mention anything
about it after that.

  Aradhana applied for Delhi University after 12th and chose to pursue Arts. Aditi grew restless. Her baby child would soon be flying away from her nest into the harsh, real world full of eagles and snakes. She knew boys would swarm her daughter like moths. What if someone shady took a fancy? What if someone did something? What if she chose the wrong friends? Aditi couldn’t sleep at nights. But there was nothing she could do. Her daughter had to go, explore the world and grow, even if it meant falling off the edge.

  Aradhana put on fresh lipstick and admired herself in the mirror. Bachcha was excitedly running in and out of the room. Aditi was packing the things of her daily needs, thinking hard of everything her daughter might need while she was away in some dingy hostel room with unhealthy food.

  “You know, Mummy, I was thinking of joining some coaching institute for UPSC.”

  Aditi was thinking if two toothbrushes would do, or should she pack four. “You should,” she replied.

  “There is this institute my girls were talking about. It is run by a man who comes from Bhagalpur. Bhagalpur, Mummy, your Bhagalpur! He used to teach in Patna. He grew famous and all and shifted to Delhi. And damn! He really knows how to teach! And more than teach, he motivates. I saw his videos online. He has a bloody nexus of IAS officers serving under him, all of them his former students. How awesome is that! Are you listening, my dear mother?”

  Aditi matched the toiletries she had packed with the list in her hand. “Yes. You want to join a coaching class. First decide which coaching. Go there, have a look around, then tell your father.”

  “I have already decided, kind of!”

  “Come on now, we have to leave. The train is on time.” Manoj called out from the main gates. The driver turned on the car and honked.

  Aditi hugged her daughter. She held her and admired the blossoming beauty with red lips and flawless skin and straight, highlighted hair… so different from the group of people who were standing across the river, and the old woman who was sitting cross-legged on the ground, crying, beating her chest. “There is something I want to tell you.”

  “What? That you have secretly hidden pickles in my luggage even though I specifically told you not to!”

  “No. But yes, I did that.”

  “Then?” Aradhana asked impatiently and bit her lips.

  “I want you to know… that your parents love you!”

  CHAPTER 22

  THE BEGINNING

  A village sleeps under the sheet of innumerable stars glittering with majestic beauty. The continuous tinkering of a bell. A pregnant cow is restless. A dog is digging furiously. It curls up in the small cavity it has dug and watches the goats on the other side of the street.

  Away from the village, away from a large house with flickering bulbs and puffing generator, a man walks under an arched gateway. He is tall and bulky. In front of him lies the ruins of an old temple. Silver light shines on the roof and the pillars, on the steps and the sacrificial platform. But the interior is dark, the shrine even darker.

  He sits in front of the shrine and folds his hands. He tries to see inside, but the darkness within is overwhelming, frightening.

  He closes his eyes and his life flashes before him.

  Long ago, he used to work for the head of the village, the Mukhiya Ji. Threaten, kidnap, extort on his behalf. Mukhiya Ji had set him up with the bank for cover. He used to procure diesel for the bank and make profits. Life was going smooth… until Mukhiya Ji asked him to deliver a package to a man waiting at the border.

  He had assumed it would be a thick wad of notes, or drugs, ammunition maybe. But never had he imagined that he would fall in love with the package. He broke ties with Mukhiya Ji. He said he wanted the package for his own, as the reward for everything he had done. From being a notorious criminal, he grew into an assistant in the bank.

  The package fell sick when it was pregnant. They visited the medical hub in Purnia again and again and again… and stayed for weeks. Troubled and drunk, he sometimes visited his friends in Harda. They did their best to lift his spirits. And what could lift the spirit of a drunken man more than a woman?

  Then one day, the package died, leaving behind a sad reminder – a bright and cheerful baby girl. He tried to cling to the shreds his life was in. But the gods were merciless. He fell sick once. The doctors told him he was dying. Death did not trouble him. It was the thought of his daughter after his death.

  He took extra roles in the bank. He would do guard duties. He became a loan agent, even though he could not read or write. He became a cook. He became a driver. He wanted his daughter to grow outside his shady and miserable life.

  The man begins to pray.

  He is worried. Restless.

  The term of the current bank manager is coming to an end. Someone new will take over soon. And he feels a familiar worry gnawing at his core. Will the new manager let him continue in the bank? What if…

  He hears a raspy breathing inside the shrine. Then cold fingers begin to scratch his curly hair.

  “What is it,” whispers a seductive voice in his ears, “my son, that you wish?”

  “I want… my daughter,” he stumbles. “I want good future for my daughter.” He knows it will be futile to ask for ailment. His mother has been praying every day, but the Devi will not grant her wish. He hopes that in asking for a bright future for his daughter, there is a chance, the slightest of all chances, that he will live, for he thinks only he can give his daughter the future she deserves. “I want her to…”

  “Shhh! I see it,” says the seductive voice, “I know what you want! And what you want is what she will get!” The fingers are crawling down his neck now. A rough tuft of hair falls over his face. He is shivering. He keeps his hands folded and his eyes shut. “She will grow into a beautiful young woman. She will be educated. And she will be adored. She will be a woman that worms like yourself cannot even imagine to become. But what is it that you can give me… for your daughter’s life?”

  “I will sacrifice one goat daily every day, as long as I live.” Another attempt to lengthen his life.

  “A goat a day! Is that what your daughter is worth? Is that what you can give me?” The voice is angry. “You pleased your vile master with the life of a man. And you dared to come to the Devi with your promises of goats!” The fingers tightened around his neck. “Don’t you remember, how you pushed him under the water? Don’t you still see his legs trashing and kicking, still hear his old father pleading for mercy, see his lifeless body floating down the river?”

  “What... what can I give that will please you?” asks the man, choking.

  “A life for a life. Give me your wretched life and I will make hers an envy!”

  The man knows he must not get up, yet the terror inflicted is so deep that he opens his eyes. A face is hovering inside the shrine. He is lifted in air. He flails his hands. Kicks his legs.

  “Coward!” screams the Devi, holding him by his neck. “Drown yourself in the river. Breathe in the water. Let your lungs burn! And I will give your daughter a life worthy of the price.”

  The man is flung down the temple stairs. He tumbles and rolls and gets up on his feet. He runs. Stumbles and falls. Runs again.

  The Devi watches him flee. And when he is gone, she returns to the shrine and hums an old village song.