The Co-Wife & other Stories

by Ruth Vanita

  Muliya: ‘I cannot live with these people.’

  Raghu: ‘Then you live separately. Why do you drag me along with you?’

  Muliya: ‘You think I’m having such a great time in your house? Is there no other place for me in the world?’

  Raghu: ‘Do as you please, live wherever you want. I cannot part from my family. The day two stoves are lit in this house, my heart will break in two pieces. I cannot endure that. I can try to solve your problems. You already control the goods and property as well as the kitchen, what else is left? If you don’t want to do any work, don’t. If God had given me more money, I wouldn’t have let you lift a little finger. Your tender limbs are not made for labour and toil. But what can I do, it’s not in my control. Even so, if you don’t feel like working, don’t work, but please don’t ask me to break up the family. I fall at your feet.’

  Muliya uncovered her head, came closer to him and said, ‘I’m not afraid of work and I don’t want to sit idle and be fed, but I cannot put up with anyone’s arrogance. If your mother does the housework, she does it for herself and her children. She’s not doing me any favours, so why does she order me around? She may love her children, but I am concerned about you. I can’t bear to see everyone else enjoying themselves, all the children drinking milk, while the one on whose toil the entire house depends thirsts for a drop of buttermilk. No one bothers about you. Take a look at your face. You look so feeble. In four years, her sons will be strong and ready to work. But in ten years’ time you will be bedridden. Sit down, why are you standing? Do you want to hit me and run away? I won’t tie you down forcibly. After all, you have to obey the mistress of the house. The truth is, you are very hard hearted. If I had known that you were so unloving, I would never have come to this house. Or if I had come, I wouldn’t have given my heart, but now I have grown attached to you. Even if I go home, my heart will stay here. But you don’t care for me at all.’

  Muliya’s sweet words had no effect on Raghu. He said with the same dryness, ‘Muliya, I can’t do this. I feel terrible as soon as I think of breaking up the family. I won’t be able to withstand this blow.’

  Muliya laughed and said, ‘Then put on bangles and sit at home! I’ll grow a moustache. I thought you were a man but you have turned out to be a lump of clay.’

  Panna was standing in the veranda, listening to the conversation between these two. Now she could not restrain herself. She came forward and said to Raghu, ‘Since she is determined to live separately, why do you insist on making her live with us? You live with her; we have God to look after us. When Mahto died and we had not even a leaf to shelter us, God protected us, so why worry now? Now, by God’s grace, all three boys are grown up. There is nothing to fear.’

  Raghu looked at Panna with tear-filled eyes and said, ‘Mother, have you gone mad too? Don’t you know that as soon as hearths are divided, hearts are divided too.’

  Panna: ‘She won’t agree, so what can you do? What can we do against God’s will? We lived together as long as was written in our fate. Now we have to put up with whatever is destined. I can never forget what you have done for my children. If you had not put your hand on their heads, who knows what would have become of them, at whose door they might be lying, or where they might be wandering as beggars? I will sing your praises till my dying day. If my skin could be used to make shoes for you, I would happily give it. Even if I live apart from you, I will come running like a dog whenever you call. Never think for a moment that once we live apart, I will wish you ill. The day any ill feeling towards you enters my heart, I will take poison and die. Until the moment I die, I will bless you with every breath, and pray to God that you may bathe in milk and blossom with sons. And if the boys are their father’s sons, they too will acknowledge your contribution all their lives.’

  So saying, Panna went away, crying. Raghu kept sitting there, like a statue. He stared at the sky and tears flowed from his eyes.

  5

  When she heard Panna’s words, Muliya realized that she had won. She got up at once, swept the house, lit the stove, and went to fetch water from the well. She had got what she wanted.

  There are two teams of women in every village—one of daughters-in-law, the other of mothers-in-law. Daughters-in-law go to their team for advice and sympathy, and mothers-in-law to theirs. Both have separate courts as well. Muliya met a couple of daughters-in-law at the well. One remarked, ‘Today your old woman was crying a lot.’

  Muliya replied, with the pride of victory, ‘She has been mistress of the house for so long—who enjoys giving up authority? Sister, I don’t wish her ill, but how far can one man’s earnings stretch? This is the time of life when I should enjoy myself, eat and drink, and wear nice clothes. If I sacrifice myself now for them, and later for my own children, I’ll spend my whole life crying.’

  One daughter-in-law: ‘The old woman wants her to remain a slave all her life—eat coarse food and go to sleep quietly.’

  Another daughter-in-law: ‘And what can one hope for from such sacrifices? One’s own sons don’t care for one, how can one rely on the sons of others? Tomorrow, they will become independent, and what will they care? They’ll do as their wives tell them. It’s best to get rid of them before such conflicts arise.’

  Muliya took the water home, cooked a meal, and said to Raghu, ‘Go and have a bath, the food is ready.’

  Raghu seemed not to have heard her. He sat with his hand on his head, looking towards the door.

  Muliya: ‘Do you hear what I’m saying? The food is ready, go and have a bath.’

  Raghu: ‘Yes, I hear you. Am I deaf? If the food is ready, eat it. I’m not hungry.’

  Muliya said nothing more. She put out the stove, put the food away, lay down, and covered her face.

  In a little while, Panna came and said, ‘The food is ready, have a wash and eat! Bahu too must be hungry.’

  Raghu said irritably, ‘Mother, will you let me stay in the house or should I go away somewhere? Food is just food, if I don’t eat it today, I’ll eat it tomorrow, but I will not be able to eat right now. Has Kedar not come from school yet?’

  Panna: ‘Not yet. He must be on his way.’

  Panna realized that until she cooked, fed the boys, and had something to eat herself, Raghu would not eat. And she would have to quarrel with Raghu, and say sharp things to him. She would have to pretend that she too wanted to live separately, otherwise he would fret himself to death. Realizing this, she lit another stove and began to cook. Just then, Kedar and Khunnu came from school. Panna said, ‘Come and eat, sons, the food is ready.’

  Kedar asked, ‘Shouldn’t I call Bhaiya too?’

  Panna: ‘You come and eat. Bahu has cooked for him.’

  Khunnu: ‘Shouldn’t I ask if he wants to eat?’

  Panna: ‘He will eat when he wants to. You sit and eat. All this is none of your business. Whoever wants to will eat, whoever does not want to, will not. He and his wife are determined to live on their own—how can we dissuade them?’

  Kedar: ‘Will we live in a separate house now, Mother?’

  Panna: ‘If they wish, we can live in the same house, or if they want, they can build a wall in the courtyard.’

  Khunnu went to the door and looked out. Raghu was lying on a string cot near the thatched hut, smoking his hookah.

  Khunnu: ‘Bhaiya is sitting with his hookah.’

  Panna: ‘He will eat when he wants to.’

  Kedar: ‘Didn’t Bhaiya rebuke Bhabhi?’

  Muliya was lying in her room, listening to all this. She came out and said, ‘Bhaiya didn’t rebuke me, you come and do so now.’

  Kedar turned pale and did not say another word. The three boys ate and went out. A hot wind was blowing. The boys and girls of the village were gathering mangoes that had blown down in the orchard. Kedar said, ‘Let’s go and get some mangoes.’

  Khunnu: ‘Dada won’t let us go.’

  Lachman: ‘I won’t go, Dada will scold us.’

  Kedar: ‘He li
ves separately now.’

  Lachman: ‘So if someone beats us now, Dada won’t intervene?’

  Kedar: ‘Of course he will!’

  Raghu saw the three boys standing at the door, but he said nothing. Earlier, he used to scold them when they tried to go out, but today he sat still as a statue. Now the boys plucked up courage. They went a little further. Raghu still said nothing. What could he say? He was thinking, ‘Mother fed the boys, but she didn’t ask me to eat. Has she also become blind? What if I call the boys back and they refuse to come? I won’t be able to beat them. They will roam around in the hot wind. What if they fall ill?’ He suffered in his heart, but he couldn’t say anything. The boys saw that he was silent, so they set out fearlessly.

  Suddenly, Muliya came and said, ‘Now will you get up or not? The one for whom you are fasting has happily fed her sons and herself eaten, and is sleeping peacefully. As the saying goes, “My husband cares nothing for me, but I am supposed to be a married woman.” Not once did she care to say to you, “Come and eat.”’

  Raghu was in great pain. Muliya’s harsh words were like salt on a festering wound. Looking at her with anguish in his eyes, he said, ‘What you wanted has happened. Go and boast of it now!’

  Muliya: ‘No, she’s waiting for you, with a plateful of food.’

  Raghu: ‘Don’t taunt me. I’m getting a bad name because of you. You don’t want to live with her, why should she come to plead with me? Go and ask Mother whether I should bring the boys back—they have gone to gather mangoes.’

  Muliya mockingly wagged her thumb and said, ‘Fat chance! If you want to ask her anything, go yourself.’

  Just then, Panna came out and Raghu said to her, ‘Mother, the boys have gone to the orchard, and there’s a hot wind blowing.’

  Panna: ‘Who is there to look after them now? Let them go to the orchard, climb trees, drown in the water. How much can I do, all alone?’

  Raghu: ‘Shall I go fetch them?’

  Panna: ‘If you don’t want to go of your own will, why should I ask you to go? If you wanted to stop them, wouldn’t you have done so? You must have been sitting here when they left …’

  She had not yet finished speaking when Raghu put his hookah away and set out for the orchard.

  6

  When Raghu got back from the orchard with the boys, he found Muliya still standing in the hut. ‘Why don’t you go and eat?’ he said. ‘I’m not hungry right now.’

  Muliya said sharply, ‘Yes, why would you be hungry? Your brothers have eaten so the food must have reached your stomach too.’

  Raghu gritted his teeth and replied, ‘Don’t taunt me, Muliya, or you’ll be sorry. The food is not running away anywhere. I won’t die if I miss one meal. Do you think what has happened today is a small matter? When you lit the stove today, you burnt my heart. It was my boast that whatever happened, my family would never split, but you have knocked my pride to pieces. It’s my fate, I suppose.’

  Muliya flared back, ‘Are you the only one who has all this affection and attachment, or do others share it? I see no one else crying over this.’

  Raghu sighed deeply and said, ‘Muliya, don’t sprinkle salt on the wound. It’s because of you that I am suffering. Who can be as attached to this household as I am? I am the one who built it up with my toil. Those who played in my lap will now divide the land with me. Now I cannot even look sternly at the children I used to scold. If I say something for their own good, people will say I am trying to rob my brothers. Go, leave me alone, I won’t be able to eat right now.’

  Muliya: ‘I’ll swear by something or other if you don’t come quietly to eat.’

  Raghu: ‘Look, leave well alone. Don’t be so obstinate.’

  Muliya: ‘May I die if you don’t get up to eat.’

  Covering his ears with his hands, Raghu said, ‘What have you done, Muliya? I was about to get up. All right, I’ll eat. But let me tell you this—even if I eat six rotis instead of four, even if you immerse me in a pitcher of ghee, this scar on my heart will never be healed.’

  Muliya: ‘It’ll heal all right. Everyone feels that way to begin with. Don’t you see how content they all are over there? She was just hoping that we would somehow separate. Earlier, she could spend whatever came into the house. With my coming, things have changed. So why would she want to live with us now?’

  Raghu said sadly, ‘That is why I am sad. I didn’t expect Mother to react like this.’

  Raghu sat down to eat, but each morsel tasted like poison. He felt as if the rotis were made of hay and the lentils were water. He could not get even water down his throat, and he didn’t so much as look at the milk. He ate a few morsels, and got up, as if he were at the funeral feast of a loved one.

  He ate the same way at night too. It could hardly be called eating—he was merely fulfilling the promise he had been forced to make. All night, he was agitated. An unknown fear overshadowed him; it seemed that Bhola Mahto was sitting at the door, weeping. He woke up several times with a start. He felt Bhola’s eyes looking at him with contempt.

  He ate twice a day, but as if he was eating in an enemy’s house. He could not stop visualizing the sorrowful figure of Bhola. He couldn’t sleep at night. When he went to the village, it was with head bowed and downcast eyes, as if he had murdered a cow.

  7

  Five years passed. Raghu was now the father of two sons. The courtyard was divided by a wall, boundaries had been drawn in the fields, and the bullocks and calves had been apportioned out. Kedar had given up studying, and worked in the fields. Khunnu took the cattle to graze. Only Lachman still went to school.

  Panna and Muliya hated the sight of each other. But Muliya’s two sons spent most of their time with Panna. It was she who massaged them with oil, put collyrium in their eyes, and carried them around, but not a word of gratitude ever escaped Muliya. Nor did Panna want thanks. She expected no return for what she did. Two of her sons were now earning. Her daughter did the cooking. She just did the light chores in the house.

  But Raghu was the only earner in his house, and he was weak, feeble, and had grown old in his youth. He was no more than thirty, but his hair was sprinkled with grey, his back was bent, and he was torn apart with coughing. He was in a pitiable condition. Farming requires sweat and blood. He could no longer work as hard as the land demanded. So how could he obtain a good crop? He was in debt too. That anxiety ate him up as well. He needed rest now. After the tireless toil of so many years, he needed to shed some of his burden, but Muliya’s selfishness and short-sightedness had laid waste a flourishing crop. Had they all stayed together, he would now have been a pensioner, sitting at his door and smoking. His brothers would have worked, and he would have advised them. He would have been a village Chaudhuri, resolving quarrels and serving ascetics, but that opportunity was gone. Now the burden of his worries grew heavier each day.

  Finally, he began to suffer from a low fever. This was the result of the thorn in his heart, and of worries, hard toil, and want. First, he ignored it, thinking it would pass, but when he grew steadily weaker, he had to look for a cure. He took whatever medicine people suggested. How could he afford doctors, Western or Indian? And even if he could have afforded it, it would have been just a waste of money. The cure for a fever caused by weakness is rest and a nutritious diet. The powder of gold leaf and crushed pearls, said to cure tuberculosis, was not for him, neither could he rest and eat nourishing food. He kept growing weaker.

  Panna would come and console him whenever she could, but her sons did not even speak to Raghu. Far from nursing him, they mocked him. ‘Bhaiya thought he would save enough to buy a gold brick once he separated from us. Bhabhi also thought she would be laden with gold. But who cares for him now? He will weep himself to death. It’s not good to lust after money. A man should work as much as he is able, not give his life for money.’

  Panna would say, ‘It’s not poor Raghu’s fault.’

  Kedar would reply, ‘Go on, I understand it all very well.
If I were in Bhaiya’s place, I would have beaten her up. My wife wouldn’t dare be so stubborn. Bhaiya had it all planned, he was part of the plot.’

  Finally, one day, the flickering lamp of Raghu’s life was quenched. Death ended all his worries.

  In his last moments, he called for Kedar, but Kedar had to water the sugarcane. He was afraid he might be sent to fetch medicine. So he made an excuse and got out of it.

  8

  Muliya’s life plunged into darkness. The ground on which she had erected a wall of dreams had slipped from beneath her feet. The support on which she had counted when she made her plans was now uprooted. The villagers began to say, ‘How quickly God has punished her.’ The poor thing wept alone, with her two children. She didn’t dare show her face to anyone in the village. She felt as if everyone she met was saying, ‘She was too proud to set foot on the ground, she has got her just dues!’

  How would she survive in this house? Whom could she depend on? How would the fields be farmed? Poor Raghu, though weak and unwell, had kept working as long as he lived. Sometimes he would collapse from weakness and hold his head, but after a short rest, he would get up and carry on. Now the fields were going to rack and ruin. Who would look after them? The sheaves lay on the threshing floor, and the sugarcane was drying up too. How much could she do on her own? And one person cannot irrigate an entire field. Where would she get three labourers? There were very few labourers in the village and a lot of competition to employ them. What should she do?

  The thirteen days of mourning passed. The funeral rites were over. The next morning, Muliya picked up the two children and went to thresh the grain. When she reached the threshing floor, she put one to sleep on a soft bed of grass under a tree, made the other sit next to him, and began the threshing. She wept as she drove the bullocks round and round. Was it for this that God had given her life? How things had changed in a moment! Last year, at this time, when the grain was threshed, she had brought a pitcher of sherbet and a dish of boiled peas for Raghu. Today, there was no one to help her. At least she was no one’s slave girl! She still did not regret the separation.