They said it was a miscarriage, and that they had brought me to hospital in the nick of time.
Suresh sat with me. Asha had to return home to her children. She waited up for Anand to come home, and told him what had happened. When Anand came to the hospital that night, he couldn’t even walk straight, and his speech was slurred. He jabbed his finger into Suresh’s chest, and told him rudely to go, because he could take care of his wife. Suresh was reluctant to leave, but I nodded to him, and he left, looking at Anand with disgust. After that, the only words Anand said to me were, “You could not even give me a son. You lost him.” Then he sat down in the chair Suresh had just vacated, and promptly fell asleep. I was at the hospital for two days.
Asha comes to be with me whenever she can. She is a comforting presence. She tells me that I can always have another child. I don’t know if I want another. With a womanizing, drunk father, what future will the child have?
I’m getting my strength back slowly, but I don’t feel like eating much. Tell Ma that the doctor said that I’ll be okay in a few weeks. Anand still doesn’t return home before midnight.
Please take Pa to the English doctor.
Surekha.
***
My Dear Brother,
It was a great comfort to read Ma’s words that you wrote for her. Faith is everything, she says. Yes, she’s right. Faith in God and in myself has kept me going these last two years of marriage. Teaching quilt-making has helped and I have met people who helped me rise above the problems in my life. Ma is referring only to my miscarriage, of course.
But Brother, now my faith in my own strength, and my trust in God are wavering. I was so looking forward to the baby. It would have been the centre of my life and it would have given my life meaning. Why did God take even that away from me? What did I do to deserve such a tragedy? I know there are no answers to these questions. We have always been taught that God knows best. God must have had a reason to take away my child. Maybe, I was not capable of looking after it, or perhaps, Anand will lose his job because he might go to work drunk. What would happen to the child then? But I feel a great emptiness in my heart and in my womb, a hollowness that nothing can fill.
Now, can you believe this? Anand is accusing Suresh of taking advantage of me, and so, even though I’m strong enough, he does not want me to go to the centre to teach. Suresh is the perfect gentleman, and I will go and see him soon. I will ask for his advice. Maybe I can go and teach without Anand knowing about it. Anyway, what right does he have to tell me what to do? I will do whatever I like!
But, I’m also afraid. If he finds out, he could get violent and beat me. So far, he has not raised his hand against me, only his voice. But when people are drunk, they are like animals. I think of Gagan in our village. He would get drunk on the local country liquor, miss work even during harvest time, and when his wife did not give him food because there was no money, he would beat her. He died soon after I left, didn’t he?
My heart goes out to my dead child. It cries out. I suddenly see the baby on my bed, smiling at me. I stretch out my arms to pick it up, but embrace only air. Then I’m jolted back to reality. There is nothing — only my tears falling on the sheets like rain.
Please pray for me, Brother.
Yours,
Surekha
***
My Dearest Friend Kamala,
How are you? I heard that the wedding went well, and that you were the radiant bride. But how do you feel? Do you feel afraid of your in-laws? Are you happy when you’re with Raju? He must be a loving husband. How was your wedding night? You can tell me all about it. No one else is going to read your letter. It will be a while before you feel that his house is your home. But since you’re so close to your parents’ house, you can visit them often. Do send me some photographs of the wedding, when you can.
You must have heard that I had a miscarriage. Everyone says I can try again after a few months. But I’m not sure. Should I have a child at all? With the kind of husband I have, it would be comforting to at least have a child to love, but what will it think of its father? Will Anand be able to support a child? Anand and I rarely sleep together. He returns home from his mistress spent, and falls asleep, without talking to me, or even looking at me. Kamala, I don’t know what to do. In your letter before your wedding you said I should leave him, or even divorce him, but where will the money for a lawyer come from? Has anyone in our village ever been divorced? You must be reading a lot of modern novels to suggest that. What will Ma and Pa say? What will the whole village say if I go back to my parents? You know, Brother tells me to wait it out and see what happens. He has not told anyone at home. It is a good thing Ma and Pa can’t read.
I see the child that would have been, running away from me and hiding under the bed. I see it sleeping in my lap as I sing a lullaby. I see myself feeding it halva. These visions just deepen my melancholy. The centre of my life is gone even before it could come into this world.
I’ll tell you a little secret. My feelings for Suresh are becoming stronger. Are you shocked that a married woman can say such a thing? But what can I do? My husband does not care for me. If he did, I would surely love him, and not look at another man. I think of him when I’m home alone in the evenings. Suresh takes a genuine interest in me. Brother knows that Suresh and I are friends, but not about my feelings for him. There is nothing to be done about it. Suresh is too good a person to get into a relationship with a married woman, even though he knows the truth about my husband. And I? I’m tempted, but would feel ashamed, and wouldn’t dare to approach him — I am still Anand’s wife.
After you and Raju settle down, you should both come for a visit. Who knows, Anand may change a little when he sees how Raju treats you.
Stay well and be happy.
Your best friend,
Surekha
***
Dearest Brother,
I realize from your last letter that you are very stressed. You are worried about Pa, about me, and about money. I’m not even teaching, otherwise I would send you all the money I earned. Try not to worry about me. There is nothing to be done right now. You told me not to go to the centre, because Anand will be even more abusive if he finds out. So, I have not gone. Pa’s fever is not subsiding, you write, but you have still not taken him to the English doctor. Why not, Brother? I sent you the money for that. Do take him soon.
You long to see me; I do too, to see all of you. But even if you had the money, you could not leave Pa in this state. Sometimes, I just want to pack my bags and leave, while Anand is at work. Shall I run away from Mumbai and come home? But then how will I return the money I borrow from my friends here? There is no money to spare at home. Anand will come to the village to drag me back. I’m just a maid to him, a maid to do his laundry and cook his food when he wants to eat at home.
I don’t know how long I can stand this prison. The walls are closing in on me, and my world is collapsing. I’m glad, in a way, that we cannot meet. I’ve changed, Brother. I’m no longer the younger sister you knew. I’m exhausted and drained. Not just physically because of the miscarriage, but emotionally, mentally. I’ve forgotten what it is to laugh, to joke, to tease. What will it take to bring back the old Surekha, you ask. I need to be loved and cared for, and only my family can do that. My husband is cruel, even though I have done nothing. Yes, I did lose his child, but it was not my fault.
Suresh came to see me one afternoon. I had not seen him since that night at the hospital. He said he could not stay away. He was concerned because I had not come to the centre. I told him everything. The tenderness in his eyes lifted my heart so that I did not want him to leave. I clung to him and sobbed. Poor fellow, he did not know what to do. Another man’s wife crying on his shoulder. I think he has feelings for me, but how can he express them? I’m a married woman. He comforted me and said he would think about my problems, and tell me what, in his o
pinion, I should do. His mother is looking out for a bride for him. Once he is married, he won’t be able to drop by and see me; his wife won’t like it.
The tears are coming fast. I don’t want them to erase what I have written.
Love,
Surekha
***
Respected Ma and Pa,
Greetings from Mumbai! Yes, I have fully recovered from the miscarriage and am quite strong again. Also, I have been eating jaggery and ghee with my roti as you suggested. You said I should try for another pregnancy as soon as I’m strong to make up for the loss of the baby. I don’t know if that ache will ever go away, Ma, but I will try. I also pray every morning and evening.
Anand is busy at work as usual, but he takes good care of me when he is at home. He also calls me two or three times a day to make sure I’m not brooding. My friend, Asha, still brings me food, and keeps me company whenever she can.
I’m glad that Pa is much better, and does not have fever. I miss chatting in the evenings with Pa.
It is difficult to sit alone at home all day long. Anand says that I should not start teaching so soon after losing the baby, so I rest most of the time.
I long to come home and see you all.
Your loving daughter,
Surekha
***
Dearest Kamala,
I was so glad to receive your letter. You sound well and happy. You say that your in-laws treat you like their own daughter, and Raju brings you a little gift every evening, even if it is a tiny flower. Hold on to this love, my friend, hold on fast.
You have told Raju everything about me. I understand that, but please make sure he doesn’t tell his parents. Thank Raju for suggesting that he can talk to Anand when you both come to Mumbai. They were together for a few years in the village school, after all.
Anand will not change even with a child at home, as you think. Honestly Kamala, I don’t know if I am in the frame of mind to go through a pregnancy and take care of a baby. As it is, I go through times when I feel I cannot live like this any longer. What if the baby comes to harm?
I agree that I should keep busy, but how, if Anand won’t let me go out and teach?
Kamala, does Raju kiss you and touch you every day? You know what I mean…. How I long for love. Without it, I’m not a woman, not a human being; I’m nothing.
I will wait for your letter. Write soon. Give my best to Raju.
Surekha
***
Dearest Brother,
Pack my bags and leave right away, Brother? You want to sell one of our cows so that I can repay Asha or Suresh. My heart surges with joy at the thought of coming home and being with all of you. You write that you will let Ma and Pa know the truth once I decide to leave, and you feel that they too will want me to do that.
Let’s think through everything carefully. After the pleasure of meeting wears off, do you think they will want me to stay at home? They will be worried about what everyone will say. They will ask me to go back to my husband, and make peace with him and accept his ways. My in-laws will drag me to their home, and say that I must have driven their son to drinking and women. My coming home will only be a short-term relief. I have to face my life as it is … or not.
Every morning when Anand leaves for work, it is such a relief. I can breathe again. Then Asha drops in in the afternoons. But once the evening shadows begin to lengthen, and the sun goes down, the walls close in on me, I gasp for breath. I pace up and down like a caged animal. Once I rushed out of the house and went to Suresh’s office, not caring about the consequences. Sometimes, I just sit in the lobby of the building, and stare into space. I get pitying glances as people return home. Some think I’m crazed; and maybe I am, because a few times I have rushed out onto the street, and walked fast like the traffic rumbling past me. I think about walking into the cars and getting run over. But then I have a scary thought: what if I don’t die, but become a cripple? So, I turn around and walk back home, trying to slow down my galloping heart, and covering my ears with my hands to muffle the sound of the traffic, for those sounds only increase the pounding in my head.
As I reach my flat, the pounding becomes fast again. What if Anand has come home early, and beats me up because he thinks that I had gone to Suresh? I turn the key and open the door. Relief washes over me. There is no one; only the demons of my mind. Then, standing in the kitchen, I stuff some food into my mouth; I’m so hungry. Satiated, I lie down on the bed, and the walls begin to close in on me again. I yearn for oblivion as I cry myself to sleep.
I want to be home, Brother. I long to be home.
Surekha.
***
Dearest Brother,
I got your letter two days ago. I’m happy that Pa is much better. Thank God, you don’t have to spend money on medicines anymore. I know I haven’t written for long, but that is because I have nothing new to write about. My life is the same, Anand is the same. I guess, I’ve been thinking a lot about all of you.
Brother, it’s high time you were married. I know that Ma and Pa were waiting till there was more money for you to start a family, but for how long can you wait? Ma is getting older and needs help. And since I’m married, there will be someone else for you and for them. I don’t know if … when I’ll see you all again.
Suresh came yesterday to give me his wedding invitation. His bride-to-be is pretty. He was excited when he showed me her photo, told me all about her, and about the wedding preparations. I would love to go, but Anand won’t want to. He won’t want me to see Suresh; he hates him. When I told Suresh that, and when he saw how pale I was, he sighed. He didn’t need to say anything. I knew he was sorry for me. But what can he do? I’ll keep the invitation hidden from Anand until the wedding; just in case I can go with Asha, who has also been invited.
That’s all for now. I’ll write to Ma and Pa tomorrow.
Surekha
***
Respected Pa and Ma,
I hope Pa is resting to get his strength back. You must rest too, Ma, as you have stayed up nights with him.
You should find a girl for Brother soon. He is four years older than I am, and still not married. There’ll never be enough money, but she will be a help and be a companion for you all.
I don’t know if Brother mentioned that I may be able to come home for a while. Once you and Brother approve of a girl, it will just be a matter of a few weeks until the wedding. Unlike Mumbai, where some modern boys and girls take months to get to “know” each other, before they get married. Would that make a happier marriage? I wonder.
I will arrange my visit once the date is fixed. How can Brother be married without me? I would like to be there for my new sister-in-law as well, so that I can help her settle down before I return to Mumbai.
I’m completely recovered now, and am eating well. I know you’re waiting for good news from me.
Your loving daughter,
Surekha
***
My dear Kamala,
Hope you and Raju are fine. You say that there is a lot of cooking to do, and milking the cows, and other chores; but if you’re happy, work feels like play.
Kamala, please help find Brother a nice girl. I know he is lonely without me, and bears the full burden of looking after Ma and Pa. Maybe there is someone in Raju’s family. Ours is a small family, so she will not have too many people to worry about.
I will come home for my Brother’s wedding. It will be so special.
In your last letter, you were asking about Anand. Nothing has changed, Kamala. I live out each day as it comes, waiting for the day to end and night to fall, so that I can sleep and dream. Dream about what, you ask? I dream of a world where my husband laughs with me and talks to me; we tease one another, fight, and make up. I dream of three little ones running around, and me chasing them with food in my hand. I dream of making lots
of quilts and selling them, of teaching young girls and women.
I pray that your dreams come true. Mine will not, not with this man. Perhaps, in another life.
Take care, my friend.
Love,
Surekha
***
My dear Brother,
So, you have seen ten girls, and you don’t like anyone. Be patient, the right person will come along.
If I run away from Anand, I would have to go where no one can find me. How would I live?
As the date of Suresh’s wedding comes closer, my heart sinks. Will we still be friends? Will he care for me like before?
Once again, the monsoons are here with a vengeance. Everything is wet and mouldy. I don’t feel like stepping out into rivers of mud, with all the trash floating in them. The windows are constantly foggy and wet with the moisture. My eyes are often full of tears. I see a blurred image of everything, even of myself, in the mirror. It is as if I’m becoming smaller and smaller … vanishing. Sometimes, when the tears are flowing, the edges of my image are so fuzzy, that it appears as if I have no shape, no features. I’m just a blob. A blob of nothing; no body, no mind, numb, feeling less and less every day. And yet, I know myself. I’m there somewhere. Maybe not in this body, but floating above it. I don’t know.
I will be able to see through the windows again when the rains are over. I will be able to see the next building, its tiny, shuttered windows, and the heaps of stinking waste — rotting banana peel, pieces of roti, splattered rice, plastic bags, and other unspeakable things. My mirror will clear too. And when my eyes are dry, that shapeless blob that is Surekha will be no more. There will only be light, sunlight, as it streams in from the window; or, a new image of Surekha will be reflected. Unflinching. Strong. Self-contained.
The Scent of Mogra and Other Stories Page 6
