A Life Less Ordinary

by Baby Halder

  “What are you saying then?” she interrupted him. “Your daughter is dead and instead of going there straightaway you’re wasting your breath here wondering who said what to whom…”

  “Yes,” Uncle said angrily, “do you want to go there or not? Otherwise tell me and I will go.”

  “No, Dada, of course I will go. I do want to. But will my daughter still be there? Won’t they have taken her away?”

  “No, I have told them and I have left Raju there with her, and have told her to make sure no one takes our girl away before we come.” Raju was my elder aunt.

  “So I will be able to see my daughter?” Baba asked.

  But those people had put enormous pressure on my aunt and had forced her to let them take the body away. First they said they could not keep a body in the house for so long. She tried to insist that they wait for Uncle and Baba, but then they threatened her and forcibly took the body away. Before anyone from our family could get there, they had completed all the rites and cremated the body. She could do nothing. My uncle and Baba took a long time to get there because they had first to take a train and then walk for three miles. When they finally arrived, my aunt ran out crying, saying to Uncle, “Dada, I was not able to keep my promise! I could not do as you asked. They forced me to let her go!”

  The moment I heard the news about Didi, I’d left everything and run off to my father’s house. When I got home, my husband was sitting on the kitchen stool with the baby. When he saw me he said, angrily, “Have you no sense at all? Leaving such a small baby and running off like that!”

  “But I knew you were at home,” I said. Just then, Sandhya-di saw that I was back so she came across and said, “What is all this? What happened?”

  “My sister is no more and I am in such a sorry state that I can’t even offer to look after her children. They’ll be so bereft. I know what it is like to be a motherless child. Who can they turn to when they are hungry or in need? We have a mother, yet we have spent our lives being motherless. These children will also suffer like we did.”

  “Can your father not keep them with him?”

  “Do you think those people have any idea how to bring up children? I don’t know what they’re thinking of. We’ll only find out when they come back from Didi’s house.”

  “All right, we’ll talk later. Now it’s time you fed your own child.”

  I put the baby to my breast and as he suckled, my thoughts turned to Didi. Had my mother been alive today, how much she would have wept to see her daughter gone. But this new mother of ours had not shed a single tear. What would Didi’s children do now? They must be devastated. There was no one to feed them, to comfort them now. If they wept, their father would probably beat them. Or that family would treat them like animals and throw them out of the house. “Get out of here,” they would say. “Who do you think you are?” Imagine those children’s shock and grief—who would they turn to? The same fate awaited them that we had lived through. I looked at my child and wondered what life held for him.

  After a couple of days of this, I announced to my husband that I wanted to go to my father’s house.

  “But you said they were not there, that they’d gone to Didi’s place, so what will you do there?”

  “Grandma is there, and I want to go and find out what happened.” So off I went, and the very next day Baba and Ma came back. Ma went in straightaway to bathe. The moment Baba saw me he put his bag down on the floor and his eyes filled with tears. I began to weep and in between my loud sobs, I asked him to tell me what had happened to Didi. He held me and said, “Child, don’t cry. I’ve lost my daughter, and I keep thinking how difficult her life must have been.”

  “Stop crying now,” Grandma said to me. “What’s happened has happened. Crying will not bring her back, will it?”

  “Oh, Didi,” Baba said, “she had to bear so much. That bastard Mangal was carrying on with someone else. And if my daughter said anything to him, he would beat her. Some people there were saying she took poison; others said she was ill. So many stories. But I asked her little boy to tell me what had happened. At first, he was a little scared and would not talk to me. I felt so sorry for him, poor little child, he’s only five. Then I picked him up and took him out, and spoke to him there. Slowly he told me…Grandpa, he said, there was nothing wrong with her. I told him, quickly, tell me what happened, I’ll take you with me. Do you want to come? Yes, the child said, you promise you will take me? I said, Yes, yes, and you will stay with Grandmother. Now tell me what happened. I’ll tell you, he said, but you must promise not to tell my father. I promised that I wouldn’t let anything happen to him. Then, slowly, the child started to tell me his story. This is what he said: ‘Do you know Grandpa, that for three or four days now Baba had been fighting with Ma and beating her. Yesterday he locked the door of the room and beat her up very badly. I was in the room at the time. When Ma began to shout for help, Baba caught hold of her throat and began to strangle her. When her tongue started to come out, I cried out: Baba, stop, she will die, let her go, my Ma will die…and I began to howl and beat him on his back but even then he didn’t stop. When Ma’s voice was completely gone and she could not speak anymore, he let her go and she fell with a thud to the ground. Then he began to call out to her but she did not reply.’ I asked him, ‘What happened next?’”

  Perhaps Baba thought that Didi had not died then, that there was still some life in her, so he asked again what happened. The child told him that after that, his father had pushed him out of the room and gone away himself. Then he was crying so hard he could not say any more. Baba asked the neighbors and they told him that Didi hadn’t survived the beating.

  Baba’s eyes now filled with tears. “Oh, Rani,” he said to Ma, “my poor child, they strangled her to death. What did she do to deserve this? I’m going to see that bastard goes to jail for this.” Later, Baba’s neighbors and others told him that when Mangal heard of this threat, he said, “So what? Let him send me to prison. I’ll make sure that not one sign of that woman is left in this world.” Baba understood this to mean that he would kill off their children when he came out of prison. We discussed this a lot. Baba was angry that they had not waited until he came to cremate her: he would have made sure the body was sent for a post-mortem. He felt really helpless. Many of Baba’s friends in the neighborhood had offered to help, saying he only had to say the word and they would cut off Mangal’s hands so his life would effectively be finished.

  Everyone listening to this story had tears in their eyes. Baba could hardly speak, he was so overcome with sorrow and rage. I kept thinking of how she must have felt, the fear in her mind as she watched her husband killing her. Listening to Baba made me want to scream. He was telling us how they had refused to let him take the children away. Finally Baba had left, saying that if God willed, the children would have a good life. But I thought, whether God willed it or not, my sister must have had such a hard life.

  After a few days, life returned to normal at Baba’s house. He no longer seemed to be concerned about what Didi’s children were going through. Sometimes I wondered if he even realized that he had two other grandchildren. I wanted to go and see the children, but how could I? I was helpless and tied to my husband. I had to do as he said, I had no independence. But why? I used to wonder at the injustice of this. It was my life, not his. Did I have to behave as he wanted simply because I was with him? He treated me as if I were an animal. If I had no happiness and peace in his house, was it necessary that I should stay on there in that living hell?

  A week went by like this in Baba’s house. But I was not happy. Ma and Baba did not tolerate me sitting down anywhere even for a short while. Baba did not mind if Ma did what she wanted, but as for us—my brother and I—he always complained. Some days, if I was not feeling well and wanted to rest, Baba seemed quite unconcerned. But if I lay for a little while in bed, he just would not stand for it. I had to do all the housework when I was there, and if I overstayed my welcome even slightly
there would be all sorts of tensions in the house, and I would have to go back to my husband. This is exactly what happened this time.

  MY CHILD WAS SOME THREE MONTHS OLD WHEN ONE DAY, after we had eaten, I was cleaning outside the house when my husband looked up and said, “Oh, there’s Baba.” Baba? I wondered, whose Baba? I thought perhaps he meant my father had come, but he pointed and said, “Look, look over there.” I looked, and saw an old man dressed in white. He stood there looking at me and my husband. I was surprised. Then my husband ushered him inside and I quickly got some water to wash his feet. He went in and began to talk to his son while I stayed outside. I could hear a bit of what they were saying: “You got married without telling any of us,” his father said. “But why? Not only did you not tell anyone, but it’s been three years and you have not so much as shown your face at home. And all the time your mother keeps asking after you. We wanted so much to have your marriage at our house, to bring our daughter-in-law home, and yet you did not say a word, and you even had a child without telling us. Don’t you think you owe us at least this much?” After a while he continued: “If this is what you feel, then tell us. We won’t bother you again and we’ll not feel bad about it. We’ll just tell ourselves that we have no son.” My husband muttered something in reply, but I could not make out what it was. I quickly lit the fire and made tea and took it in to him with a biscuit. My father-in-law seemed very angry with me, but what had I done? I had no idea my husband even had parents: he had never so much as spoken of them.

  Father and son continued to talk and I listened. I wanted very much to take the child and put him in his grandfather’s lap, but I was not sure if I should. How would he take it, I wondered? What if he rejected the child? Shouldn’t I at least try? So I just picked the baby up and put him in his lap, saying, “Your son may have been unjust to you, but why punish this innocent child for that? Take him in your arms.” My father-in-law smiled gently and his anger vanished. So I left the child with him and went off to cook. I put on the rice and asked my husband what I should make. He told me to wait while he went to fetch some fish.

  “Daughter-in-law,” my husband’s father said to me after he had gone, “when you married my son did no one think to ask whether he had a family or not? Or was it that your father saw a lone man and just married you off to him?”

  “Baba,” I said, “I know nothing about these things.”

  “Where is your father?” he asked. “Where is his home?”

  “It’s quite close by. Perhaps you could go there tomorrow morning with your son?”

  “How old is my grandchild now? Have you given him a name?”

  “He’s three months old and, no, I have not yet found a name for him.”

  “So, then we will call him Subal. I have six children,” he added, “and only my eldest son is married, although he is so unfortunate that he’s had no male child: one after the other there have been only girls. My middle son is not yet married and after him is your husband. You don’t even know anything about our work. We are potters. What is your father’s name?”

  “Upendranath Halder.”

  “Oh, so you are Halders, are you?” I murmured a yes and he continued, “So does he come here to meet his grandchild?”

  “Yes, but very seldom.”

  I was talking to him with my head bowed and my sari pulled low over my forehead. After we had eaten that day, he commented to my husband that I was a good cook, even if the food was a little too spicy for him. I was relieved to hear this, and I realized that he was not angry with me anymore.

  The next morning, my brother came by and when he saw my father-in-law he called from outside, “Who is that, Didi?” I told him, and then went inside to announce my brother’s arrival. “Where is he?” said my father-in-law. “Call him in, call him in.” Then he rushed out and invited him to come in for a while, but my brother said he couldn’t stay as he was on his way to the market. When he got home and he told my father that my father-in-law had come to visit, Baba was really surprised. “Rani,” he said to Ma, “that means Shankar lied to us when he said he had no parents.”

  “Leave it be,” she said. “What can we do about it now? Anyway, now that we know, let’s go and meet his father.”

  In the evening, they came over. Baba called out from outside, “Baby, I hear your father-in-law is here!” I was cooking and Father-in-law was sitting nearby drinking tea. “He’s right here,” I said, “why don’t you come in?”

  “Oho,” said my father-in-law, “come in, Brother, come in and sit down. Daughter, make some tea for your parents.”

  “No, no, we’ve just had tea,” Baba protested.

  I knew that there was no point making tea, that Baba would not drink it, so I pretended not to hear. “How is everyone at your home?” Baba asked my father-in-law.

  “Fine, thank you, everything is fine. Tell me, how is it that you people got your daughter married but you didn’t so much as tell us about it?”

  “We had no idea that Shankar’s parents were alive. He lied to us and told us that he was all alone. Had we known you were there, why would we not have told you? I wouldn’t have married off my daughter like this.” Then, after a brief silence, Baba asked, “So, will you take your daughter-in-law with you?”

  “No, not yet. First I need to get home and tell everyone what has happened. His mother wanted so much to have a proper wedding, to bring home her daughter-in-law…and look at this chap! He just ran off without a word and got married.”

  “But now that it’s happened,” my mother said, “won’t you please give them your blessings so they can live a peaceful and happy life?”

  “We’ll leave now,” Baba said. “Tomorrow morning I will send my son here. Please come back with him to our home.”

  The next day my brother came and took Father-in-law with him. Ma cooked for him and he enjoyed her food very much—even more than mine, as he told me when he returned. He also liked my father’s home and their way of living. The next day he left us, promising to come back the next month.

  I’D BEEN TRYING TO FIND A NAME FOR MY CHILD. HIS grandfather had named him Subal; my husband called him Budhan; but I didn’t like either. My brother-in-law suggested Gautam, which I quite liked, but in the end, I called him Subroto, and his nickname was Babu.

  After he’d been gone a month, my father-in-law came back to fetch me. As soon as he arrived, he asked my husband whether I could return with him.

  “How can she just leave like that? We’ll need to get her things ready, to get her some new clothes and all that.”

  “Yes, but I can’t wait too long. The crop is ready for harvesting and I need to get back there. If she comes back with me, she can take care of all the household work and your mother can join us in the fields. I don’t expect your wife to help us in the fields, but at home…”

  “All right, but just wait a couple of days. I also need to collect some money that’s due to me. Once it comes in, you can go.”

  I could understand my father-in-law’s impatience. Everyone would be busy there, especially as the crop was ready for harvesting. He’s left all this and come to fetch me because they need my help, I thought, so I decided to get ready to leave as soon as possible. I had no idea how they expected me to conduct myself there. But I felt so happy—as though I was being taken out on a pleasure trip. But I was also wondering how I would manage alone—who would there be for me to talk to? What would I do if I wanted to talk about private things, things I wouldn’t want to discuss with people I didn’t know? And if I was busy with household chores all day, who would take care of my child? On top of that, I had no idea how long I was expected to be there.

  On impulse, I ran to my father’s home and asked Grandma if she could send someone with me to my in-laws’ house. “Who?” she asked me. I asked her to send her middle daughter, known to everyone as Mez-budi. Grandma agreed, so I ran to Mez-Budi and asked her, “Hey, Budi, will you come with me?”

  “Where to?”

&nbs
p; “My in-laws’ home.”

  “Will Ma let me go?”

  “I’ve already asked her. I’ll come to fetch you tomorrow morning, so you’d better be ready! We’ll have to do some walking, I hope you can manage that.” And with that I ran back home.

  My father-in-law had told me that in order to get to their home, we would have to walk for about three miles. I was a little worried at this, but then he told me, “I knew this would be difficult for you, so I have asked your brother-in-law to bring a bullock cart to bring you to the house.” Sandhya-di came to see me before I left, and she explained to me in detail how I was expected to behave in my in-laws’ home.

  In the morning I was ready bright and early! I went to fetch Mez-budi and found that she was halfway to our place already! So we set off together and boarded our bus. When we got down at our stop, we saw a man standing with a bullock cart. Mez-budi said to me, “Quick, cover your head!” I promptly did so and we clambered up into the cart. This was the first time I’d ever been on a bullock cart. Mez-budi was dying of laughter at the rocking motion of the bullock cart and I was also quietly laughing into my aanchal. My father-in-law followed us on his bicycle. There were large ruts and ditches in the road, and as the bullock cart went over them, it would jerk and rock from side to side. Mez-budi found this very amusing and I kept trying to hush her giggles. The road went on and on—it seemed like forever. I kept asking my brother-in-law how much further it was as we passed village after village.

  Finally, we stopped and my brother-in-law said, “Look, there’s my elder aunt.” I got down quickly and touched her feet. “Come, come into the house,” she said. My mother-in-law brought a charpai out. Before sitting down I touched everyone’s feet. I noticed that my mother-in-law was cooking on a wood fire and I began to get a bit worried—how would I manage? I was used to cooking with coal. After a while, my husband’s elder aunt took me to the pond to bathe. I was so happy to see the water, and I wanted immediately to jump in and start swimming, but I stopped myself. What would they think?