by Neil D'Silva
In a few minutes, the phone buzzed again. This time she took the call and went inside her room to answer it.
“Hello Bhaskar,” she whispered, “I’d have preferred if you did not—”
“Happy Diwali,” he wished her with great cheer in his voice.
She wanted to tell him how they needed to be discreet, but then she realized he had no family. There was no one he could share his day with.
“Happy Diwali to you too,” she told him slowly.
And then they chatted for a while, random talks about here and there, this and that, till he finally asked her to meet him.
“It won’t be possible today,” she said. “Ma won’t like it if I leave the house today. My sister’s also on leave.”
“All right,” he said and disconnected the phone. She cradled it in her hands for a while, thinking how he must have felt at the flat-out refusal.
When she came out, she found her mother and sister speaking in whispers, which ceased abruptly as she entered.
“Sit down Maya,” said Anuradha. An ominous feeling welled up in Maya, just as it used to happen when she was a little girl and her mother would ask her to sit down before a reprimand.
“Who is this man?” asked the mother.
Namrata looked down at the floor. “I had to tell her,” she mumbled. “Something is not right about him.”
“Now don’t be judgmental, Namrata,” said Anuradha. “You cannot decide anything about anyone at first glimpse. Do you not want to see your sister happy? Come on, Maya, tell me, who is he?”
These unexpected words from her mother gave Maya some courage. Her tongue loosened.
“He is the Arts teacher at the school,” said Maya. “His name is Bhaskar. He has no family here.”
“And how long have you two been seeing each other?”
“Since over a month now. He is a good man,” said Maya, “and I do not want to have this conversation.”
“Why don’t you call him over tonight?” Anuradha asked. “We aren’t going to have any guests over, and he is lonely too, right? Could be good for all of us.”
And it was that simple. Maya had thought her mother would throw tantrums at her choice, just as she had done during Samar’s time, but nothing like that seemed to be happening. Age must have put some sense into her, Maya thought. Without wasting another moment, she ran inside her room to call him.
It was when she went inside that Anuradha shushed Namrata and told her softly, “Let’s see who he is. Then we’ll frame an opinion about him. Let’s see.”
***
Bhaskar came punctually at the appointed time, dressed in a formal white shirt and black trousers that did justice to his slender body, but could not hide his face. He had buttoned the shirt all the way up so that nothing below his neck showed. For once, his hair were slickly combed. He looked like a schoolboy eager to impress his favorite teacher, and a small laugh escaped Maya’s lips when she saw him at the door.
Her humor was augmented by the fact that Bhaskar appeared to be completely ill at ease. Suddenly surrounded by women in a strange house, he looked as clueless as an animal caged in a zoo full of spectators.
The first hint of how the evening would proceed showed itself when Anuradha did not bring out her plate of Diwali goodies. The lady never missed an opportunity to offer her special festive preparations to guests. She always hovered around long enough for them to sample the sweets and shower her with compliments. But Bhaskar did not receive this royal treatment. Maya glared at her mother and brought out a tray herself.
The dinner table was already laid, and Maya ushered Bhaskar to his seat right away. Namrata came up to the table, filled her plate and took it into her room to eat; and that left only Anuradha and Maya with the guest.
Anuradha was almost a senior now, age-wise, and she was turning a little myopic. She squinted to look at her guest’s face closely. Why was his skin so wrinkled?—she thought but didn’t ask, perhaps due to an uncharacteristic touch of politeness. However, things changed drastically after that, for just as a leopard cannot change its spots, Anuradha Bhargava could not shun her inquisitive self.
“What’s your age?” she asked him point-blank and Maya dropped her spoon into the plate out of sheer embarrassment.
“Thirty nine and a half,” he said politely.
“So you are seven years older than Maya.”
“Now I know Maya’s age,” he said and gave a little laugh. Maya didn’t laugh, for she continued glaring at her mother.
“And Maya tells me you have no family?”
“No mam, I don’t,” he said. “I come from a small village near Hardwar. Have you ever been to Hardwar?”
She shook her head.
“I belong to a farmer’s family from there. There is no one left in my family now.”
“Sad to hear that. When did you come to Mumbai?”
“Have been here since two years now.”
“Oh, that would be close to Samar’s time.”
Maya squirmed in her seat. “Ma, please stop interrogating him now,” she said.
“No, no, who’s interrogating?” Anuradha drove her focus back into her plate.
“Who is Samar?” Bhaskar mouthed the words to Maya, but she was trying to burn her plate with her fuming eyes.
Following that, dinner mostly lapsed into silence, and when the dessert came out, Namrata was exhorted by her sister to join them for a little conversation. She sat opposite Bhaskar, squirming in her seat, but observing his slightest move till she made him feel uncomfortable.
“What do you do, Namrata?” he asked.
“She works at a mall,” said Anuradha, noisily clanging her spoon in the bowl of gulab jamun.
“That’s nice,” he said.
“If you are all done, may I take all these dishes back into the kitchen?” asked Anuradha. “Need to wake up early tomorrow.”
Maya looked at her mother aghast, while even Namrata felt disoriented at the bluntness of the dismissal.
Bhaskar took the girls out of their embarrassment. “Yes aunty, I am done,” he said. “It was amazing food.” He casually smiled at Namrata, probably fishing for a smile back but he didn’t get any. When Anuradha got off the table with her old but expensive brass vessels, Bhaskar got up too and Maya followed.
Bhaskar did not wait long after dinner and, after seeing him off, Maya came inside with a thunderous face.
“What was that all about?” she asked. “Why did you two behave like retards?”
“What did we do?” asked Anuradha.
“Did you have to question him like he’s a murder suspect? Is that the way you make a guest feel? And you, Namrata, couldn’t you come out and sit for a while? He was a guest after all.”
Anuradha had several things to tell her daughter in that instant, but she knew to hold her peace when she was on one of these tantrums.
“Let it drop, Maya,” she said coolly.
“No, but tell me, wasn’t it you who invited him?”
“Yes, I did, and I was not impressed. Does that mean anything to you?”
The argument between mother and daughter went on for over an hour. None of them was willing to back down and Namrata refused to be a party to the discussion in any manner. Eventually, they gave up and went to their beds, many things said and several more unsaid still simmering in their minds.
***
It was next morning, on the Hindu New Year Day, when Maya wished her mother and spoke with her.
“It was the same during Samar’s time, wasn’t it?” she spoke softly, looking into the distance. “Even when I had brought him home the first time, you were completely against him. Do you remember approving of him? No! Because you never did. But see what a wonderful man he turned out to be. Took care of your every need. It was he who sat next to you in the hospital when you had malaria. Why do you think Bhaskar will be any different? He is my choice. You will see he is the right person in the end.”
“But they are different men, Ma
ya,” Anuradha said at length. “At least Samar had a good job, was presentable. What does this one have? What does a drawing teacher’s salary pay anyway?”
“I don’t want his money,” said Maya. “Whatever house he has, I’ll stay in it. I’ll be happy with him, truly I will be.”
“You might,” said Anuradha. However, there was something else weighing on her mind, and she debated whether she should discuss that with Maya. During the course of dinner the previous night, Anuradha hadn’t failed to notice how his eyes had lingered over Namrata’s cleavage for a while longer than they should have. There was no mistaking that lustful look. She was a seasoned woman—a mother of two adult daughters—and her experience told her that was a dangerous look.
“Just be careful when you are with him,” said Anuradha. “I am your mother, after all. I will only wish for your happiness.
That evening, Maya had another meeting with Bhaskar and she profusely apologized for the behavior of her folks. “My people are jerks,” she said. “Sometimes I think they don’t care for my happiness, really I don’t.”
“Don’t worry about them,” he said, caressing her cheeks. “They will eventually come around. All parents are protective of their children. But you are an adult, capable of taking your own decisions, aren’t you?”
Maya had been stewing in her own cesspit of emotions about her mother. Why did she always have to make things so difficult for her? Maya was convinced about Bhaskar, but her mother had all the reservations she could. Nothing is more painful than having unshakable faith in someone in whom the rest of the world has absolutely no faith.
“You are a good woman, Maya. You see me for what I am, not for how I appear. I know I’m no hunk, but you have accepted me. That means the world to me.”
He was right. Maya had seen the person that he was. Any other man could have easily taken advantage of her; they had moved around alone on so many shady roads at odd hours of darkness, but he hadn’t as much as looked at her with a sideways glance. He only held her hand, made her feel secure. This was the emotional connect she had been waiting for. Something deep inside told her—This is going to be more exciting than the first time.
“I will be with you always.” The words came out of her mouth before she realized what she had said. But no sooner had she uttered those words than she began to understand how foolish she had been. What if he didn’t want to hear the words so soon? What if he walked away?
But a pleasant surprise was waiting for her.
“I know.” He smiled. “And today is the happy occasion of the New Year. I have something for you.”
“Oh, a gift?”
He stood up and his lanky form towered over her. Then he thrust his hand into the pocket of his trousers and Maya’s heart started beating wildly, almost knowing what the gift would be.
He went down on one knee, still reaching up to Maya’s breast. Maya’s heartbeat accelerated till she felt almost giddy.
There was a box in his hand, and Maya didn’t need to be an expert to know what was in it. He opened the box, and an inexpensive gold ring shone in the crescent moonlight.
“Will you marry me?” he asked without preamble.
Maya’s eyes welled up with tears; her throat choked up with the sudden emotion. She now realized she had wanted this all along, and now it was happening.
“Bhaskar…” she said, her voice quivering with passion. “This is… I am speechless. But, you must know I was once marri—”
“Shh!” He placed his long forefinger on her lips and quietened her. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I don’t need to know.”
There were such a lot of things that Maya wanted to say in that instant, but she only said, “My heart is yours, Bhaskar.”
At those words, Bhaskar looked at her sharply. There was something in his eyes that Maya could not fathom. His lips twitched for a moment, and then the words came out, “Thanks for your heart, Maya.”
And he slipped the ring on her finger.
~ 5.5 ~
Quickie
The punishment had been severe the last time. It still sent shudders down his spine when he thought of it. He had been a fool to think even for a moment that the Fallen Saint—the expert that he was—could mistake a hog’s heart for a human heart. He thought he could fool the Fallen Saint by giving him a pig’s heart instead of a human heart, but the truth was that he had been the greater fool. And he had paid the price for it.
The Fallen Saint had ordered him to stand on his head for the whole night, without even a momentary respite to keep his feet down. That was his punishment. In the beginning, it seemed simple. In fact, the blood flowing into his head gave him a heady rush. His eyes reddened, and the veins around his temples throbbed. It made his vision his thoughts clearer.
His pet rats came closer to him, even coming so close as to nibble on his hair, but he couldn’t do anything to keep them away. He couldn’t refute the Fallen Saint’s orders, who scrutinized him, without flinching, from his upside-down seated position. He knew the Fallen Saint would keep sitting thus, for as long as it took for him to learn from his penance.
The pain began to grow after the first two hours of the night. Dressed in just a loin cloth, and benumbed by the awkward pose, he hoped his cranial bones would support the weight of his body.
The rats became bolder and began to climb over his body. He felt the blood rushing into his head and that was when the dizziness began. Fluids from his body—sweat and saliva and mucus and urine—flowed downwards, towards his head, and accumulated on the floor.
But he did not dare cheat the Fallen Saint again. He feared what else would be in store if he tried another trick.
So, he stayed in that position until the night was over.
By the time the first streaks of dawn began to make their appearance, he started feeling faint. He felt he would collapse entirely, but the rising sun saved him. He tried to get back on his feet, and that simple endeavor shot a tremendous amount of pain through his entire being.
Then he stepped out of the chamber, his body full of marks of rat bites, and came to the outside room and squatted amid the half-eaten dead bodies and wept.
There was no way he could go through the same ordeal tonight. He had to find a human heart. It was an absolute must.
It was necessary to go on a hunt.
His hunter’s garb was T-shirt and jeans, which made him look like an older college boy, much too young for his years. He took his cellphone and attached earphones to it, and thrust them into his ears. There wasn’t any music playing, he did not want any either. He checked himself, and was happy with the result. Despite his not-so-appealing face, he looked decent, which is what really mattered for what he was about to do that night.
He set out to find his victim. He had spotted a new slum a few nights ago, and had done a recce of the place. He found that the slum housed several young boys who went to the local night college and returned home late at night. One of them, around 19 years of age, had seemed particularly interesting. He had seen the teenager with his bag, returning from college at late evening hours; and he was slender and graceful, almost vulnerable. He had studied his patterns meticulously, and now it was time to move in for the kill.
He slung his bag over his shoulders, which made him look more like a college student, and even stuffed a few books in it. He reached the spot and waited at a bus stop. He knew his target—the young boy—would alight from the bus stop at this time of 11:10 p.m., and that he would walk home alone along the desolate path that led to his humble slum dwelling. He reached the bus-stop early, and pretended to wait for a bus. The buses stopped for him, and the conductors yelled at him when he did not enter them. So, he crossed the street, got a cigarette, and stood partly hidden in the bushes behind the bus stop, hiding himself from direct view.
At the appointed time, a red bus bearing the number he was looking for trundled along to the bus stop, and just as he had expected, the boy—his target—was the only one to disembark. But
he was chattering on the cellphone even as he stepped down from the bus. This was not the right time to move in. The hunter did not want an alert to be issued, so he waited.
***
The teenager crossed the road and he did too. He followed the poor boy, who was evidently oblivious of the danger that followed him so closely. The path was isolated and dimly-lit, but it didn’t seem to deter the boy walking ahead of him. The hunter had already done his homework and he knew that this was the boy’s routine. There was no surprise that he wasn’t scared of the lonely path.
The boy ended his conversation and stuffed his phone into his jeans. Now was the time to make the move. Ably assisted by the tall frame of his body, he quickened his pace and came as close as ten steps behind the boy. The boy’s telephonic banter had now ceased. Apart from a distant barking of stray dogs and muted traffic sounds, silence reigned on the street.
He closely observed the boy, who hadn’t seen him thus far. When he was close, very close, he kicked a small pebble in his direction. The pebble found its mark. It passed right between the thin legs of the teenaged boy.
Now the boy stopped. He turned and saw the man. The man, ready for this, flashed a smile in his direction, which carried itself easily through the moonlight. But, even as he smiled, he gauged the boy’s reaction. The boy did not smile back, but he did not break into a run either. Instead, he stood there and looked at him with interest.
The hunter then knew his prey was ripe for the taking. Placing one hand on his crotch, he made a gesture that indicated the bushes. This was a gamble, but it was a well-considered one. There was a reason why he had targeted this particular boy. And his plan seemed to be working.
The boy did not budge for a moment, but then the man walked in the direction of the bushes. He stood there, his back towards the boy, and unzipped his jeans. Then, he turned to look at the boy again, and seeing him still standing there, flashed another smile, and then he moved further into the bushes.
