‘And such was my fate—I couldn’t go to Kharsang for Tihar the following year to accept Bhai Tika blessings. I wrote to Didi, asking for her forgiveness.
‘When Didi was “sent up” for the finals by the school, I received a letter with the news. I was busy with one task or another, and I failed to respond in time. When, nearly a month and a half later, I found her forgotten letter in a notebook, I wrote a hasty reply. No response came.
‘Many months passed. I occupied myself with my studies and in volunteering around the village. My brother occasionally teased me and said, “You forgot her, and your sister has also forgotten you!” I would smile in embarrassment. I had nothing to say in my defence.
‘Then, I ran into Kamala-didi’s brother at the cinema one day. “When did you arrive, Bhai? How is Didi, and everyone else?” I asked.
‘“Didi fell very ill,” he said. “She couldn’t sit for the finals. Now she manages to walk a little to sit in the sun outside.”
‘“So—she didn’t sit for the finals?” I must have asked again in my agitation.
‘“Buwa has said she should study at the same school this year.”
‘I stood amidst the milling crowd, transfixed.
‘“Come by the house before you leave. Take Didi a letter from me.”
‘“I will come by at eight o’clock tomorrow morning, Daju.” He said a namaste, and went in. I kept thinking about Kamala-didi throughout the movie. When I reached home, I immediately told everybody about Kamala-didi’s illness.
‘I wrote a letter.
‘In the letter I wrote: “I met your brother today and heard from him how you had fallen ill, and how you have become better now. Everybody here feels sorry. Moreover, it makes me even sadder to hear about how you couldn’t sit for your finals. But, Didi, a delay of a year is insignificant. Please put your heart into your studies. I will also apply myself to my studies. I am no longer just your younger brother. I have grown into a young man. We will both pass our finals next year and go to college together. Didi—the future is bright; look to it!”
‘My letter received no response.
‘It had already started raining incessantly in Darjeeling. Through such rains the boys carried the ornate Muharram taziya tombs to Kagjhoda. The holiday of 15th of August arrived. Buildings around Chowk Bazaar appeared a dark mass of people. The next day was a Sunday, crowded with shoppers. And there was a speech at the marketplace on the same day.
‘I was getting my hair cut at the barber’s. On the tall mirrors before and behind me I could see people come and go on the street outside. As the barber cut my hair, I lost myself in watching the mobile spectacle.
‘Some five minutes later a young woman appeared on the mirrors into which I had been gazing. She was very dolled-up. It occurred to me that she might be Kamala-didi, but I couldn’t believe it because of the amount of make-up on her. She was wearing a sari and carrying a purse, and also a parasol. I stopped the barber for a moment. The young woman climbed downhill and walked right past the barber’s saloon.
‘The barber started cutting my hair again. I wondered in amazement about who the woman might have be. Suddenly, the saloon drapes rasped open.
‘“Bhai…!” she cried out.
‘I was astounded. The person indeed was Kamala-didi, but with her hair piled sky-high, red rouge thick on the face, garishly bright lipstick on the mouth, flashy earrings on earlobes—I couldn’t find the words!
‘“I had gone to your house. Nobody was home. Your little brother said you had come to get your hair cut. You haven’t forgotten me, have you, Bhai?” she said in a shrill voice.
‘“It was you, Didi, who didn’t reply to so many of my letters,” I finally managed a few words. “When did you return, Didi?”
‘“It’s been a while, you see—nearly a month now!” she spoke in a strange manner. Her eyes had become wide and flitty. Then she twisted her face oddly and said, “I came to invite you, Bhai.”
‘“Invitation to what, Didi?” I asked.
‘“There is a recitation at our home tonight. You have to come, no matter what. Bhai—you have to come! Here’s the betel nut for the invite…”
‘I was taking my hand out from under the white apron when she scolded me, “You don’t have to take your hand out! Keep your hand inside the apron. You’ll get hair all over your hand. What did you learn from your hygiene class? Open your mouth. I’ll put it in your mouth.”
‘The manner of her speech and her voice were entirely changed. I quietly opened my mouth. She stuffed it full of betel-nut wedges.
‘“Come in the evening,” she repeated.
‘“Yes, I will. When should I come?” I asked.
‘“The puja is at seven, but you should come earlier. Can you come by four?” she said.
‘She finally left after another fifteen minutes.
‘As I was paying the Muslim barber after the haircut, he asked me, “That girl from earlier—is she all right in her head?”
‘I said, “That’s just how she is. She is my own sister.”
‘I bathed and reached Didi’s home exactly at four. She still hadn’t returned from the bazaar. I sat chatting with Babu—that is how I also addressed Didi’s father. The Brahmin priest arrived shortly. I expressed regret to Babu that Didi had fallen ill and missed out on sitting for her final exams. “In her case, son,” he said, “it was as if she fell ill because she wanted to avoid sitting for her final exams. When her friends finished their exams and came to visit her, the illness that hadn’t been cured by so many treatments and medicines began to cure itself. And she also became unstable. I had just remarried. All over Kharsang she earned me the blame that my new marriage had driven her to insanity. She would shout all manner of things at people who came to visit. I didn’t tell anybody about her because I had hoped she would die soon.”
‘Kamala-didi arrived just then.
‘The chit-chat died.
‘“Ha! My brother is here!” She laughed and shouted from the door even before entering the house. “Babu—my brother will stay here tonight, he won’t go home. He’ll sleep with me.”
‘My earlobes turned red and hot. My face flushed warm.
‘“Go, Chori—make tea for your brother. You have some, too, and give some to the priest. It will get dark soon. We have to hurry,” Babu lovingly instructed her.
‘“Come, Bhai, come with me,” she said and pulled me to the kitchen. There was much I wanted to discuss with her, but she asked me all sorts of questions and didn’t let me get a word in edgewise.
‘The recitation started at nightfall. Many neighbours from up and down the hill had been invited. A tarp had been put up over the yard; banana plants in its four corners held a canopy with a full vessel of water under it. We sat on woollen blankets and listened to the stories being recited, shouted “Jai!” in unison and threw the offering of flowers onto the canopy. The penniless woodcutter had already completed Shree Satyanarayan’s penance and become prosperous and fulfilled. Kalawati, the daughter of a trader, had undertaken Shree Satyanarayan’s penance to protect her father and her husband while they travelled abroad, and now, hearing that they were making their homeward journey without ever having faced any calamity, she ran madly in their direction, neglecting even to partake in the prasad wherein was contained the grace earned from her worship…
‘Kamala-didi stepped over the people assembled there to come to my side.
‘“Bhai—come with me. I need to discuss something with you,” she said.
‘I stood and followed her obediently.
‘Everybody was staring at us.
‘When we reached her room, she latched the door from the inside. She came close, stood before me, and, suddenly, with heavy breath, asked, “What is in your heart? Tell me the truth—what is in your heart?”
‘I wasn’t prepared for such a question. I couldn’t even follow her question to begin with.
‘“What would I have in my heart, Didi? I have nothing in my hea
rt,” I said.
‘She was scrutinizing me with dark, alert eyes. I thought her eyes would discern even the faintest motion of the hem of my shirt.
‘“In your letter you…” she started again. “Do you know what you wrote in your letter? I am no longer a boy, but I have grown into a young man… What does that mean? It has a meaning! If you comprehend it, it has a profound meaning…”
‘“I didn’t mean it in any such way, Didi! You are as my own sister. I have taken the Tihar tika from you. I have touched my forehead to your feet.”
‘“You’re a Christian and I am a Hindu—how can we be brother and sister?” Kamala-didi blurted. “Don’t carry on this pretence. I see right through your heart.”
‘I unlatched the door and came out. And, without turning back even once, I reached home in fifteen minutes.
‘From that day on, I stopped going to her house.
‘I was climbing down the steps beside Maalgodam when I suddenly spotted her. She was even more garishly made-up. I turned and ran uphill.
‘“Bhai…!” she was calling out from below.
‘I would no longer mention her at home anymore. If mother or anybody else brought her up in a conversation I either went off to my room or went away from home entirely. It astounded me to wonder how she had come to be the way she was now. But, if I thought of her appearance it frightened me, the body shuddered and the mind was overcome with revulsion. If I ran into her younger brothers on the streets I merely smiled at them, but didn’t chat with them. When I met her father I made small talk and escaped. “Son, you don’t come around anymore. What keeps you busy?” he would ask.
‘The school closed for the Dashain holidays. I would pray for Tihar to not arrive, and if it did arrive, I prayed that I would be able to escape it by being forced to go somewhere else. I would add, “Lord, grant me strength!” Dashain passed and the school reopened. I would try to busy myself with studies and forget the other matter. When I awoke after a night’s sleep I would find myself wishing that Tihar had already come and gone, and that it was already time to go to school. After a few days the Tihar holidays began.
‘Countless lights were lit in the bazaar area for Laxmi Puja. When we returned after watching the illumination, a half dozen young girls were still singing outside our neighbour’s door where a few candles still flickered, blessing the Chinese man and his Nepali wife inside.
‘At home, Aama asked—“Have you sent word to your sister that you’ll go to receive her blessings? Make sure you remember to go this year. Go early in the morning.”
‘I didn’t answer.
‘At around eleven o’clock on the day of Bhai Tika I headed towards Didi’s home. I had taken my younger brother along but my heart was also filled with dread.
‘Kamala-didi hunched over in the sunlit yard of her house, her hair in wild disarray, staring into a large bowl of water. She didn’t realize that we had arrived, or perhaps she didn’t care: she was lost in such deep thoughts. We greeted her stepmother and Kamala-didi yet continued to brood. We stood there, taking care to stay out of her sun.
‘Her stepmother shouted into her ear, “Your brothers have arrived. Give them the tika. They are standing here. Get up!”
‘“Oh, my brothers are here?” Didi said, startled, but didn’t look at us at all. “I will make tea.”
‘She didn’t even glance in our direction before going inside.
‘I had become apprehensive. I approached Didi’s stepmother.
‘“How is Didi?” I asked quietly.
‘She made a wretched face.
‘“Like she always was. Sometimes she seems fine, but sometimes she goes raging mad and makes it impossible for us.”
‘“Are you getting her treated?”
‘“Nothing has worked. We even got the shaman. The doctors only took our money.”
‘We sat outside and chatted about other matters. She also asked, “Son, do you know a boy named Jivan?”
‘“Many people are named Jivan. Why?” I asked.
‘“It seems this Jivan used to write to our Kamala.”
‘“Where is he from?” I asked again.
‘“Must be from the tea gardens,” she speculated.
‘A faint memory came to my mind of Kamala-didi walking with a boy.
‘“Maybe…” I said tentatively.
‘It had been a while since Didi had gone inside to make tea. I told my brother, “Go around the back and look into the kitchen.”
‘Didi’s stepmother was silent, lost in thought.
‘My brother returned in a hurry and angrily said to me, “Why did you send me? Why don’t you go and see for yourself?”
‘“What happened?” I asked, but my brother wouldn’t answer.
‘So I got up and, making a show of clearing my throat, went towards the kitchen.
‘When I reached the door I saw that the stove was still cold, absent even of kindling prepared for the fire. She had climbed atop the clay stove, draped only in a sari, and was busy drawing maps of India with a piece of coal all over the kitchen walls, marking regions that grew barley and wheat, regions with mineral abundance. Eight or ten maps had already been completed. She was intently drawing the maps, unaware of my presence at the door, watching her. My eyes stung with fresh tears.
‘I walked back quietly. I said to Didi’s stepmother, “We will leave now, Aama. Didi’s condition has deteriorated. Let this year be, but I will come back every year.”
‘Such was that year’s Bhai Tika.
‘I was sent-up from the school for the finals. I sat for the final exams and passed. My heart would sour whenever I remembered Kamala-didi’s condition. But, that seems to be the extent to which most people can show sympathy.
‘One day, I came home from college to find her sleeping in my bed.
‘I was scared inwardly, but I also became angry. When I asked my mother, she said, “Your sister is lying down for a bit because she has a headache. Let her sleep for a while. Don’t wake her.”
‘“Aama—you don’t understand!” I shouted.
‘“Let her be! She said she wanted to sleep in your bed. What is so wrong with that? It isn’t as if you’re going to study right now!”
‘The things my mother would say!
‘I was blind with rage. I left and walked towards the library.
‘When I returned at night she had already left. My brother and I discussed the recent Bhai Tika at home for the first time. Grandmother, mother and everybody else pitied her, clucked with sympathy.
‘She returned early the next morning!
‘“Bhai…!” She called out to me in a strange voice. “I need you to help me with something. Will you?”
‘I asked in a voice quivering with fear, “What sort of help?”
‘“I have written a long letter to your brother-in-law, a long one. Read everything in it. After reading it, send it by post. I will give you whatever money you’ll need. But you must do this!”
‘Before I could say anything she took from her red bag a sheaf of papers, some thirty or forty pages thick.
‘“Read all of it first. Finish reading it by the evening. I will return tomorrow, and the two of us can go together and drop it off at the post-office.”
‘“Okay,” I said, wishing that she would leave immediately.
‘And she did leave immediately too.
‘Her appearance was even more disarrayed than usual. But the smell of unwashed hair and fragrant hair oil somehow stung my eyes.
‘I read the letter. All the pages were written in safflower-coloured ink, like that of a copying pencil. At the beginning was written (her spelling, and her own underlines):
***73 Memories of my past!
Prince of my heart!
I dreamt of many, many smiling blossoms blooming in a garden. Innumerable bumble-bees visited to bring them ecstasy. Dark bees caressing the flowers delicate as eyes appeared not at all pleasant. But a blossom in a corner cried mournfully. I was that forsaken
blossom. From the blue sky came buzzing a bee. That was you, my darling! When the blossom saw the bee she smiled shyly…
‘I couldn’t read any further; I was embarrassed.
‘The next day, I told her that the letter was “very sweet”. We asked for a special envelope to be made at the shop. The envelope alone cost thirty-six paisa. When the letter was weighed at the post-office it required one rupee and sixty-five paisa just for the postage stamp.
(‘When I met Jivan later and asked him, he said that his elder brother found the letter first and opened it, assuming it was a magazine. “Bhai, that poor lunatic sent it to me for no reason. I am a married man, with wife and children. There never was any romance with her,” Jivan said.)
‘And I also pitied Kamala-didi. If only we could get her to a good doctor, she would be cured, I would think. I read in a book that such patients benefit a lot from being taken for solitary walks and having sweet little stories read out to them. Out of concern for her I read quite a few books on psychology around that time. I even took her a few times for walks through desolate, quiet places. But her appearance and speech had become otherworldly. Although I was also determined to put all my effort into saving her right to the end, every now and then she would end up doing something or other that was utterly indecorous. I couldn’t look her in the eye. I was saved by my dharma alone, from once having put my forehead to her feet.
‘But, man is a selfish being.’
Having said this to knot up his heart the man went silent. The jeep had climbed down much farther past the rest-stop from where the confluence of the Teesta and the Rangit is visible. After crossing many more turns on the road in silence he started again:
‘Man is a selfish being. I became selfish, too.
‘After a long romance with Rejina we exchanged engagement rings.
Long Night of Storm Page 6
