Lajja

by Taslima Nasrin

  Two

  Kironmoyee’s father was an eminent citizen of Brahmonbaria. Akhil Chondro Basu was a successful lawyer. He had got his sixteen-year-old daughter, Kironmoyee, married to a doctor groom and then left for Calcutta with the others in his family. They had hoped that the daughter and son-in-law would ultimately follow them there. Kironmoyee had also thought that like the rest of her family—her parents and many uncles and aunts, all of whom had left one by one—she would also leave some time. But she found that she had become part of a rather odd family. She had lived with her parents-in-law for six years and during those years they had seen their near and dear ones, relatives and neighbours, wind up the lives they led there. Yet, never once did the Dattas even speak of leaving their country. Kironmoyee shed tears furtively, all by herself. Her father would write from Calcutta:

  Kiron, my child, have you decided not to come? Do ask Sudhamoy to think again. We had not been keen on leaving our land but we were forced to come. We are not really very well and happy here. We miss our country. However, one has to come to terms with reality. I worry about all of you.

  Kironmoyee would read such letters over and over again and cry.

  ‘Many of your relatives are no longer here. My relatives have left. If we continue to live here there won’t be anyone left to even give us some water to drink during times of illness or grief,’ she often told Sudhamoy at night.

  ‘Are you so desperate for water?’ Sudhamoy would ask, with a mocking smile. ‘I will give you all of the Brahmaputra. How much water will you drink? Will our relatives bring more water than the Brahmaputra?’

  Her father-in-law, her husband and even her son, the fruit of her womb, never accepted the idea of leaving their country, their homeland. So, Kironmoyee had no option but to adapt to the ideas and character of this family. Much to her surprise, Kironmoyee found that the process of adapting had resulted in her getting enmeshed in the joys and sorrows, wealth and poverty of this family far more deeply than Sudhamoy.

  Kironmoyee had sold her gold bracelets to the wife of Horipodo, the doctor. She had kept the matter a secret from the others in her family. And there really was no need to let anyone else know! After all, gold was not so priceless that one could not sell it in times of need. Right now, it was far more important to ensure that Sudhamoy got well. Kironmoyee could not explain why she felt such great love for the man. After that time in 1971, she had not really been intimate with him.

  ‘Kironmoyee, I have cheated you greatly, haven’t I?’ Sudhamoy had asked her occasionally.

  Kironmoyee knew what this cheating referred to. She kept quiet. However, she never managed to say, ‘But where have I been cheated?’ She could not find anything to say.

  ‘I’m very afraid,’ Sudhamoy would sigh. ‘Will you go away, Kiron? Will you leave me?’

  Kironmoyee had never imagined leaving Sudhamoy. Was that the primary relationship for people? And everything else was unimportant? Was their togetherness for thirty-five years a mere trifle? Could a long shared life of joys and sorrows fade away so easily?

  ‘No,’ Kironmoyee told herself, ‘a person has but one life to live. This life will not come back again and again. So let me come to terms with this agonizing fact.’

  Since 1971, Sudhamoy had become a person who was incapable of having a sexual life. He felt deeply ashamed before Kironmoyee. He would often wake her up in the dead of the night.

  ‘Is this very painful?’ he would whisper.

  ‘Painful? Why?’ Kironmoyee would feign incomprehension.

  Sudhamoy would find it awkward to put it in words. Tormented by his incapacity, he’d hide his face in his pillow. Kironmoyee would turn towards the wall and spend sleepless nights.

  ‘Do begin a new life, in a new home, if you want,’ said Sudhamoy, sometimes. ‘I won’t mind.’

  It was not as if Kironmoyee did not feel any desire. When Sudhamoy’s friends came visiting and they sat around, talking, their shadows at times would fall on her lap. She would often look at the shadow across her lap through the corner of her eye. And she had also found herself wishing that the shadow would be true and the person would really lay his head in her lap. However, it was not as if her body felt this difficulty for many years. Abstinence and denial let her overcome all of that. Age catches up! And twenty-one years had gone by. In these years, Kironmoyee had also thought that any other man whom she might have taken up with after leaving Sudhamoy could also have a similar problem! And even if he did not have such incapacity would he be large-hearted like Sudhamoy?

  Very often, Kironmoyee would tell herself that it did seem that Sudhamoy loved her enormously. He never sat for a meal without her and would always take the larger piece of fish from his plate and give it to her. He also offered to do household chores when there was no household help.

  ‘Tell me if there are pots and pans to wash,’ he’d say. ‘I can do them.’

  ‘Kiron, let me comb out the knots in your hair,’ Sudhamoy would say, if he found Kironmoyee pensive, by herself, in the late afternoon. ‘Why don’t you go to Romna Bhobon this afternoon and buy yourself two saris? You don’t have very many saris that you can wear at home. If I had the money I would build you a large house, Kiron. You would walk barefoot in the courtyard of the house. You’d plant trees that would bear abundant fruit. You’d grow vegetables of the season and flowering plants. We would have creepers of sheem and lau, and the hasnuhana would flower by the window. Actually, you were suited to the Brahmopolli house! But you know my problem is that I didn’t go into money making at all. It’s not as if I couldn’t have made money if I’d wanted to. Your father had got you married to me because he had seen our house and our wealth. But now we have neither the house nor wealth. We are living almost hand to mouth! However, I don’t feel bad about it. You probably suffer a lot.’

  Kironmoyee understood that this simple, straightforward, gentle, good man loved her greatly. There was no harm in loving a good person and giving up some small pleasures or even a big personal need. From her twenty-eighth year Kironmoyee’s body had lived with unmet desire but in her mind there was a roaring ocean of love, and the waters of this ocean repeatedly washed away her body’s illnesses, pain and discomfort.

  Suronjon had given her money. He had most likely borrowed it from someone. He probably had some kind of an inferiority complex because he did not earn any money. But Kironmoyee did not think that her back was to the wall as yet. She still had some money to keep things going. Sudhamoy had never kept even a coin to himself. He would hand over all his earnings to her. Also, there was still some gold left. She had sent Suronjon’s money back with Maya. She had never thought that this would hurt him.

  ‘So you thought I’d stolen the money, is it?’ Suronjon had suddenly come to her room and asked. ‘Or are you embarrassed to take money from an unemployed man? True, I’m perhaps not able to do anything but I’d like to do things. Can’t any of you understand that?’

  Kironmoyee sat still. His words cut her to the quick.

  Three

  Suronjon knocked on Rotna’s door. Rotna opened the door and did not seem surprised. It was as if she had expected Suronjon to visit. She took him to her bedroom as though he were a close associate of many years. She was wearing a cotton sari, which she had wound around herself without pleats. A red bindi would have been perfect. And a slight streak of sindoor in her hair! Suronjon was not superstitious, but he was always moved by the Bengaliness evident in conch-shell bangles, sindoor powder, ululation and the sounds of the conch shell. Religious rituals and worship were forbidden in their house but he had never objected to going out in a gang during festivals to see images of the goddess, dancing for fun during the arati, enjoying the music in the Puja mandap or eating naroo and other goodies offered there.

  Rotna had gone to make tea. She had greeted him but had not said anything more. Neither had Suronjon. He had not found anything to say. He had come
here to show his love. He had shaved after many days, bathed, put on an ironed shirt and even applied a dash of perfume. The household comprised aged parents, her older brother and Rotna. The brother had a wife and kids. The children kept coming up to the door to figure out who this new person was and why he was there. Suronjon beckoned a seven-year-old girl and asked her name.

  ‘Mrittika,’ said the girl pertly.

  ‘That’s a lovely name. And Rotna is your . . . ?’

  ‘Aunt.’

  ‘Ok.’

  ‘Do you work in my aunt’s office?’

  ‘No. I don’t work anywhere. I simply roam around.’

  Mrittika liked the idea of roaming around and was about to say something more when Rotna came back. She was carrying a tray with cups of tea, biscuits, spicy snacks and two kinds of sweetmeats.

  ‘There’s not supposed to be any food these days in Hindu homes,’ said Suronjon. ‘They are unable to leave their homes. And we have a food shop here! When did you get back from Sylhet?’

  ‘Not Sylhet. I’d been to Hobiganj, Sunamganj and Moulvi Bazar. I saw three temples being demolished in Madhobpur Bazar of Hobiganj.’

  ‘Who demolished them?’

  ‘Cap-wearing, bearded Mozzies. They also broke the Kali temple in the market. Topon Dasgupta, the doctor, is my relative. They plundered and destroyed his office. They demolished two temples in Sunamganj on the eighth. On the ninth they broke, plundered and burnt four temples and fifty shops. They have broken and burnt six temples and akharas in Rajnagar and Kulaura of Moulvi Bazar. They have also ravaged seven shops in Brahmon Bazar.’

  ‘Shops belonging to Hindus, right?’

  ‘Of course,’ laughed Rotna.

  ‘Do you think it’ll be possible to carry on living in this country?’ asked Rotna as she offered him the tea and snacks.

  ‘Why not? Does this country belong only to the fathers of Muslims?’

  Rotna smiled a pensive smile.

  ‘Apparently in Bhola, people are putting their thumbprints on documents, selling their property and leaving. Some are getting a bit of money, some none,’ said Rotna.

  ‘Who’re the people leaving Bhola? Hindus, aren’t they?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘Why don’t you say that clearly?’ asked Suronjon as he sampled the snacks that he had been served.

  There really was no need to mention the word Hindu. Despite this, Suronjon wanted to explain to Rotna that the people who were leaving, whose lives, homes and shops were being ravaged, were no longer ‘people’ of Bhola or Hobiganj but merely ‘Hindus’.

  He did not know what Rotna made of his question but she looked deeply into his eyes. He didn’t want to beat about the bush.

  ‘I like you,’ he wanted to say. ‘Let’s get married if you want to.’

  Rotna stood up to get some water. Her sari brushed his left hand. He savoured the feeling. It would be so easy for Rotna to be his wife, he told himself. But it was not as if he wanted to get married simply because his unruly life

  should now be steadied by his own family. He could lie in bed and play with Rotna’s fingers all day long and they would talk about their lives from the time that they were naked babies and there would be nothing unknown, no walls between them. She would not really be his wife, but his friend.

  What did Rotna’s deep stares mean? Suronjon felt a little flustered.

  ‘I came to see whether you were undamaged, all in one piece,’ he said.

  ‘Undamaged! That has two meanings—one for women and another for men. Which one did you come to see?’

  ‘Both.’

  Rotna smiled and bowed her head. Her smile did not rain pearls but it certainly looked very nice. Suronjon found it difficult to tear his eyes away from her face. Was he really much older? Did men of his age look very old? Was he no longer eligible for marriage? As he was pondering these questions, Suronjon found Rotna looking at him, mesmerized.

  ‘Are you still sticking to your decision of not getting married?’ Rotna asked, smiling.

  ‘Life is like a river, you know that, don’t you?’ Suronjon said, taking some time to answer. ‘Does a river ever stay still? Decisions are also not unmoving. They change.’

  ‘What a relief!’ said Rotna, laughing, during this terrible time when outside, beyond their walls, there were communal attacks on all Hindus.

  Suronjon did not ask her why she was relieved. He understood. Rotna had brought him unstinted happiness.

  He wanted to touch her hand and say: ‘Come, let us walk in the sal forests and lie in the green grass all night. The moon will guard us. We’ll not ask the moon to hide her light.’

  ‘Let’s change our rigid decisions and do something right now,’ he wanted to tell her as he reached the stairs. She stood holding the door.

  Suronjon did not manage to tell her anything.

  ‘Come again,’ Rotna said, as she came down two steps. ‘When you come I feel that there is someone to stand by me and I haven’t become absolutely alone.’

  It was clear to Suronjon that he felt about Rotna what he used to feel for Parveen. He felt the delight he used to feel when he was with her, his naughty bird.

  Part Six

  One

  Suronjon picked up the newspaper along with his morning cup of tea. He felt good that morning. He had slept well too. He skimmed the papers and then called Maya.

  ‘Hey Maya, what’s the matter with you? Why are you always so sad?’

  ‘Matter with me! You’re the one who’s down in the dumps. You never sit with Baba even for a bit.’

  ‘I don’t like it. I get angry when I see that a strong and healthy man is now like a corpse, lying in bed. And you folk are constantly snivelling there next to him—I hate that even more. Tell me, why didn’t Ma keep the money I gave her? Does she have a lot of money?’

  ‘Ma sold her jewellery.’

  ‘That’s nice. I don’t like jewellery and stuff.’

  ‘Don’t like jewellery! Remember, you gave Parveen Apa a pearl ring?’

  ‘I was young then and had stars in my eyes. Also, I wasn’t wise.’

  ‘So you are wise now!’ exclaimed Maya, laughing.

  Suronjon hadn’t seen Maya laugh in a long time! He wanted to keep her smiling and so pointed out the news item on the first page.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘There’s been a peace march in the city. We’re in Bangladesh irrespective of our religion or caste. The All-Party Peace March has boldly called for resistance to communalism. They’ve said that never mind the cost, we should stand up to all those who let loose plunder and mayhem. The violence in India is also dying out. The High Court has declared that the takeover of the Babri Masjid land by the government of Uttar Pradesh is illegal. Narasimha Rao has said that it is the government of Uttar Pradesh that should be held responsible for the destruction of the Babri Masjid, and not the Government of India. The army is still out in West Bengal, Gujarat and Maharashtra. The leftists here have declared jihad against fundamentalists. The CPB will gather today at Polton More. The Awami League has said that a Peace Brigade has to be created to preserve communal harmony. The City Coordination Committee has said that people like Nizami Kader Mollah should be arrested for provoking riots. The Nirmul Committee too is meeting today. There is an All-Party Peace March at Tongi. The Cultural Alliance has come up with the slogan: “Bangladesh will stop those who create communal riots.” Fifteen eminent citizens have issued a statement saying that it is the responsibility of citizens to preserve communal harmony. Colonel Akbar has said that fascist powers like the Jamaat have to be banned. In Borishal, they have formed the United Forum for Protecting Communal Harmony. The Teachers’ Council of Dhaka University has said that if communal harmony is destroyed then the sanctity of the Month of Liberation will be lost. Twenty-eight people have been arrested in connection with the destruction of the temp
le at Dhamrai. Jyoti Basu has said that India is hiding her face in shame.’

  ‘So, you read out just the good news?’ Maya sat cross-legged on the bed and took the newspaper from him. ‘And all the other things? Ten thousand families homeless in Bhola. Seven hundred houses burnt to ashes in Chottogram. Temples destroyed in Kishorganj. Section 144 imposed in Pirojpur. Seven hundred houses set on fire in Sitakund Mirsorai.’

  ‘I don’t want to listen to any bad news. I am happy today.’

  ‘Why? Because Parveen Apa is getting divorced? She was here yesterday. She said that her husband thrashes her every night.’

  ‘Why is she saying all this now? Wasn’t marriage to a Muslim supposed to ensure endless peace? No, it isn’t Parveen. My emotions have found another haven. But this time not with a Muslim. There won’t be tearful pleas before marriage asking me to become a Muslim.’

  Maya laughed. Maya was laughing after a long time.

  ‘How is Baba now?’ asked Suronjon, suddenly sombre. ‘Won’t he get well soon?’

  ‘He’s better now. He can talk quite well. He holds me and walks to the bathroom. He’s able to eat soft food. Oh yes, Belal bhai had come to see you last evening. He visited Baba too. He said that you shouldn’t leave home. It’s risky to leave home now.’

  ‘Oh.’ Suronjon jumped up at once.

  ‘What’s up? Looks like you’re going somewhere,’ said Maya.

  ‘Am I the kind of guy who sits at home?’

  ‘Ma worries greatly if you go out. Dada, please don’t go. I feel scared too.’

  ‘I have to return Pulok’s money. Do you have some money? After all, you’re a woman with an income. Can’t you give me some cigarette money from your fund?’