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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Character Based
- Published: 06/11/2015
Kanta
Born 1953, M, from Kolkata, IndiaKanta
The 3.35 p.m. Diamond Harbor – Sealdah UP Local was overcrowded as usual, more so since due to one of those frequent disruptions which took place in this line, trains had not been running from Baruipur onwards for more than two hours since 4.00 p.m.
I had fortunately been able to park myself in a seat, though in imminent danger of spilling out from it onto the aisle, since the bench seat, which comfortably seated three, was now accommodating six persons. Opposite me sat a young lady with a girl of about three on her lap and a young boy of around five or six pressed firmly to her side. As the train left Sonarpur station, the lady struggled to stand up, with the child held in her arms, pressing against the passengers standing between the two rows of seats, saying, “Let me get through. I need to alight at Garia.” The crowd reluctantly heaved and made room for her to move towards the aisle, while some shouted, “Didi, make it quick! I can’t hold my balance for long.”
But the lady made no move towards the aisle, instead, pushing against the other passengers as she stooped to drag something out from under the seat. One of the passengers protested, “Didi, what is it you are doing, why don’t you get out into the aisle?” Her voice strained as she said, “I have a bag under the seat, and I am not able to pull it out!”
There was a lot of grumbling as some of the passengers pushed against each other and managed to drag out a fair sized sack from beneath the seat. One of the passengers who had helped retrieve the sack said, “It is so heavy, who will help you take it down from the train, and how are you going to pull it through the aisle to the gate amongst this dense throng?”
The lady’s voice was panicky as she replied, “There’s no one with me. I had not expected the train to be so crowded.” A fresh round of disapproval and disparaging comments started once again, with no one offering any help to the woman in distress.
I was to take the train till Sealdah and was reluctant to leave the dubious comfort of my seat. At the same time, a sense of decency did not allow me to sit idle and see a helpless woman and her children unable to get down at her intended station. So I stood up and said, “Here, let me help you with the sack. You try and push your way through the crowd to the door, or else you will be unable to get down at Garia.”
She gave me a grateful look and clutching the girl to her bosom with one hand while taking hold of the arm of the boy with another, she struggled to make way towards the door of the compartment, calling out every now and then, “Dada, please, let me through, I have to get down at Garia.”
I caught hold of the top of the sack and tugged it behind me as I pushed my way after her, ignoring the howls of protests of the standing passengers as the sack made its uneven way over the feet of some of them and brushing against the legs of others. The local’s klaxon gave a blast as it entered Garia station. There were not many passengers alighting at the station and there was a dense crowd before the door, as the lady shouted in a panic stricken voice, “Please, let me alight, I have children with me!” The child in her arms was now wailing away, jostled by the crowd at the gate, while the boy was calling out every now and then, “Ma, I can’t breathe!” I was having an equally tough time pulling the sack behind me, as I heaved and pushed against those standing in front of the gate to make my way outside.
I saw the lady stumble and nearly fall as she finally made it to the platform, with the boy following closely behind. Then, I too was on the platform, but the sack was lodged firmly in a sea of legs within the compartment. The klaxon of the train sounded as it made to leave and I gave a last desperate heave on the sack, as it jumped out of the compartment amidst a chorus of oaths. By the time I had regained my balance, the train had picked up speed, so it was impossible to jump in again and resume my journey. I resigned myself to taking the next train as I looked at the lady. The girl in her arms had now quietened down and was looking at me with large eyes as she sucked at her thumb. The lady too had regained her composure as she turned to me and said earnestly, “I do not know how to thank you for what you did. Or else, I would have been unable to alight at all with the children and the sack. And over and above that, I have made you break your journey onwards!”
I said, “That is okay, I can take the next train, but you shouldn’t have ventured out alone with the children as well as that heavy sack in the local train. You know how crowded they can become.” She replied, “Actually, the train was quite empty when we got on at Hotur. I had not expected it to become so crowded.”
There were no porters at Garia station, and I was wondering how she was going to proceed onwards. So I asked, “Do you stay nearby? How are you going to take the children as well as carry the heavy sack?”
She replied, “No, I stay some distance away, but I will hire a cycle rickshaw from outside the station and we can also ride on it on our way home. Thank you ever so much for your help. I don’t know how I would have managed alone!” She gave me a fleeting smile, which lit up her face. It was quite an attractive face, I noticed, not having given it a detailed examination earlier. I stooped down and picked up the sack, saying, “Don’t mention it. Let me help you get the sack into the rickshaw.” She made to protest, then changed her mind as she gave me another smile and proceeded towards the station exit.
We emerged from the station, but there was not a single rickshaw to be seen at the stand. She was stunned. A roadside tea shack was about to close down and she went to the owner and asked about the missing rickshaws. Apparently, there had been a fight among two rival rickshaw unions as a result of which, all the rickshaws had withdrawn, fearing attacks and damage to the rickshaws by the opposing union.
Dusk was fast falling as we stood outside the station, the lady at a loss as to what to do. I asked, a bit reluctantly, “How far is your home? Let me help you take the sack home.”
She murmured, “No, no, you have already done so much. My home’s some distance away.” The boy was tugging at her arm and saying insistently, “Ma, I am hungry, I want to go home.”
I picked up the sack again. It was quite heavy, so I heaved it onto my shoulder and said, “Come on, lead the way, or you will be standing here indefinitely.” She made to protest again, but lacking options, smiled and said, “It is so kind of you!” and proceeded down the road.
After going some distance, by which time, I had shifted the sack twice from one shoulder to another, she said, “Give the sack to me, I will carry it for some distance. You take the child instead.” I was half tempted to agree, but the child clung tightly to her mother’s sari and screamed, “No, no, I won’t go to him!”
I said, “No, let it be, just lead on.” Some further distance down the road, she paused and said, “You know, the road is quite circuitous. If you do not mind, we can take a short cut through the fields; it will be much shorter and faster that way.” On both sides of the road were paddy fields, bifurcated into plots with slightly raised partitions of mud, called awls. The fields were flooded with water, which glinted pale silver in the light of the reflected moonlight.
I looked a bit dubiously at the watery fields and the thin awls separating them, unsure as to whether I would be able to retain my balance on the slippery mud with a load on one shoulder. But the thought of carrying that heavy sack for long was more unattractive and I said, “Okay, let us give it a try!”
She led us down from the road onto an awl with marked assurance, and I followed suit gingerly, following the boy. After some tentative steps, I gained some confidence and could more or less keep pace with the others. There was silence all around, other than for the monotonous sound of some bull frogs croaking in mating frenzy. We crisscrossed across the fields, so that I lost my bearings completely. But the lady seemed quite sure of her route as she went along at a fast pace, the girl cradled in the nook of her arm.
And then it happened. My left foot slipped from an awl and into the muddy water of a paddy field, so that I lost my balance and fell on my side against the awl, the sack perched on top of it. I must have let out an involuntary cry as I fell, for the lady stopped and turned around, saying, “What’s happened?”
I made to rise, but my feet kept slipping on the muddy side of the wall of the awl. The boy was gaping at me, standing motionless, as the lady set down the child and stood above me and said, a hint of amusement in her voice, “Give me your hand, let me help you up.” I gave her my hand and pushed with the other till I was once more erect on the awl. My shoes were soggy and had mud in them, while the right side of my trousers and shirt was wet and muddy. The lady said, “We are nearly home, let me carry the sack the rest of the way,” calling out to her son at the same time, “Take Ruchi’s hand and lead her after me.”
I did not protest this time, as she tried to lift the sack and helped her heave it onto her head. She led as we followed, while I wondered how I would find my way back to the station without aid and in the soggy state I was in. After another five minutes of walking, we were finally out of the paddy fields and onto higher, level ground. A hut stood immediately after the last of the paddy fields and the lady made her way towards it, calling out to me, “Home, at last!”
She took down one side of her sari from her shoulder and with a key from a key ring tied to its end, unlocked a bamboo door into the hut and disappeared inside. I stood outside with the children, unable to discern anything within the pitch dark hut. Then, there was a spark of a match lighting followed by a soft golden glow as a lantern was lighted. She hung the lantern on a hook handing from the thatch roof and came to the door again and said to me with a smile, “Come in, please enter my humble abode.”
I hesitated outside, worried about returning to the station and home. “I should better leave for the station if I am to catch the next train,” I said, “What route do I take to return to the railway station?”
She replied in a reproving tone, “You can’t just leave without taking anything after helping me so much. Besides, your clothes are in no state to be worn any longer without a wash, they have mud all over them! Come in and make yourself comfortable while I prepare some food and give your clothes a wash.”
I was feeling so unclean myself that the idea of having a chance to clean myself somewhat before leaving for the station was not unwelcome. But how to get into the hut in my soiled clothes? I stood leaning against the doorway as I unlaced both shoes and drained the water out of them. I wrung my wet socks and placed them beside my shoes. Seeing me hesitating to enter, the lady came to the door with a sari in one hand and a thin towel in the other and said, “There is a pond just behind the hut, you can go and have a wash there and clean the mud from yourself. Leave your clothes beside the pond and use this sari as a lungi. I will put the rice to boil and then go wash your clothes.” As I still hesitated, she said, “Go on, now, and go clean yourself quickly!”
I made my way to the back of the hut, apprehensive about sliding down the muddy slope of the pond to get to the water and slipping again in the process. But mercifully, there was a flight of brick steps leading down from the bank to the water. I stood on the last steps and flung up water from the pond to wash away some of the mud from my clothes before I took them off. Since it was now quite dark, I had no hesitation in disrobing and having a good wash in the pond. Then I wrapped the sari around my waist, folding wallet and comb into the end of the sari at one side before tucking it into the top of the sari at my waist. I dipped the shirt, trousers and underwear vigorously into the water a number of times, then wrung them dry. Feeling a bit self-conscious at my bare-bodied attire, I made my way back to the hut, my clothes held in a bundle in my hands.
A small coal fire was burning in the middle of the hut, with an aluminum pot on top of it. The lady was sitting beside the fire, peeling some potatoes with a ‘bonti’, while some diced onions lay in a saucer in front of her. The young boy was munching at some biscuits as he sat watching his mother, while the girl was fast asleep lying on a mattress at one end of the room.
The lady looked up at me and smiled as I entered the room, saying, “Ah! So you have had your wash and must be feeling much cleaner now. Why did you take the trouble to wash the clothes, I would have done it! Come; give me the clothes, so that I can hang them on the rope above the fire. It will help dry them faster that way.”
I handed over the wet clothes to her and watched her fling them on a rope above the stove, and tug them this way and that to spread them out evenly. She turned to me and said, “Now, if you will excuse me, I will go and have a quick bath as the rice cooks, then we will have dinner ready in a jiffy.” She left the room, leaving me alone with the boy, who was now staring at me with wide eyes.
I smiled at the boy and asked, “Hello! What is your name?” “Kishore,” he replied.
“Do you go to school, Kishore?” I asked. Kishore nodded his head.
“What is your school’s name and in which class do you study?”
“Shiny Tots. Upper K.G.”, Kishore replied in a monosyallable. “And do you like going to school?” I asked. Kishore just nodded his head. At a loss to keep the conversation going any further, we sat in silence as the lid of the pot drummed against the top of the pot as the rice cooked.
The lady came back, her hair tied in a bun behind her head, wearing a fresh sari draped in the traditional way around her. She smiled at me and said, “You must be hungry. The rice must be cooked by now, so, if you will give me just ten more minutes, I will have the egg curry ready!”
She took down the pot from the fire and went outside to drain the water from the rice. Placing a frying pan on the fire, she poured some oil from a bottle into the pan and asked me, “So, you stay in Calcutta, do you?”
I replied that even though my home was in Jalpaiguri, I was doing my graduation in a college in Calcutta and stayed in a mess near Sealdah with some of my class mates. She asked me so how come I was on the Diamond Harbor local that day. I told her I had been visiting an aunt in Baruipur and was on my way home.
I had noticed that she did not wear any vermilion on her hair parting – the sign of a married woman, so I asked her tentatively, “And what about you? Do you stay here alone with the kids? Don’t you have any other family members?”
She spooned through the rice in the pot and took out three eggs from it. She sighed as she peeled the eggs and said, “My husband was a Havildar in the Army. He died in the North-East during a military operation against the Manipur rebels in 1998. Since then, I have been living alone with the children.”
I felt sympathy for her and asked, “But don’t you have any other relatives you could stay with? It must be difficult managing alone with two small children.”
She fried the shelled eggs in the pan as she gave a wry smile and said, “There are so many cross-currents, babu, you won’t understand. I have a brother-in-law. But his wife refused to let us stay with them in the ancestral house since she said that I was a harbinger of ill luck and it would ruin the harmony of their lives if I stayed with them. My husband had bought this plot of land some years before his death with the intention of building a separate house for ourselves. After three-four months of endless bickering, I had no other option but to have this thatch house erected and shift here with my children.”
She fried some onion in the pan, and some diced potatoes with it, put in some salt and spices and poured in some water into the frying pan and covered it with a dish.
“But where were you coming from with the sack?” I asked.
“My elder sister stays in Hotur. They have some land holding there and I try and visit them once a month and spend some days with them. Theirs’ is a joint family and my brother in law has two other brothers and their families living there along with their aged parents. Every time I return, they insist on giving some of their agricultural produce with me. The sack contains rice – they ensure that I don’t have to buy any rice for the family. Normally, it is not a problem getting their gift home, since I am able to get a rickshaw from the railway station and am able to coax the rickshaw wallah to carry the sack inside.”
She was laying some plates on the floor as she talked and after lifting the plate and taking a peek at the egg curry, she said with a smile, “There, the food is ready. Come; sit down to a humble dinner.”
Kishore had already taken his place before one of the plates, sitting cross legged on the floor, eagerly waiting for the food to be served. The lady meanwhile had gone to the mattress and shaking the sleeping child, said softly, “Ruchi, wake up Ruchi, dinner is ready. Have your dinner and go to sleep.” The child woke up, sobbing and said, “I don’t want to eat, I am sleepy, let me sleep.”
The lady picked up Ruchi, still sobbing, and sat her down besides her, saying, “Take just a bite and go to bed, or else, you will wake up hungry in the middle of the night!”
She spooned rice onto my plate and that of Kishore and herself. Then, with a ladle, she poured the egg curry, some pieces of potato and one egg each onto the rice on the plates, telling me at the same time, “Come, Babu, have the food while it is still hot.”
Kishore, while mixing the curry with the rice on his plate with his fingers, whined, “I want to have two eggs!”
The lady said, “No, you cannot have two eggs. It will upset your stomach if you do so. Go on now, have your food.” She mixed the rice and the egg curry on her plate, broke off a piece from the egg and offered a bite to the still sobbing girl, telling her coaxingly, “Just take a couple of mouthful of rice and then you can go back to sleep.”
Kishore had a stubborn look on his face as he insisted, “No, I want two eggs. I won’t have just one.”
She looked sternly at Kishore and said severely, “Kishore, behave yourself! Eat the food that has been given to you and go to bed. You are sleepy.” But Kishore was not to be cajoled and kept insisting on having two eggs.
I had not yet started eating and made to give my egg to Kishore, saying, “Here, you can have this.”
Her voice rang out like a whip lash, “Babu, will you have what I have given you! I know he will fall ill if he has two eggs, or else, I could have cooked another one as well.” Then, turning to where Kishore was sitting, she gave him a resounding smack on his cheek with her left hand and said sternly, “Enough of your nonsense. Now, finish the food I have given you and go to bed!”
Struck by her reproof, I hastily withdrew my hand with the egg in it and started eating with downcast head. Kishore bawled loudly and the lady said warningly, “Now, if you don’t stop immediately and finish your food, there will be worse to follow.”
Kishore’s crying reduced to whimpers immediately, as he tucked into the food. Ruchi was refusing to have any more food, so, the lady asked her to get up, wash her face and go to bed, which she did. The lady started eating herself and asked Kishore in a softer voice, “Would you like some more rice and curry?” The boy nodded his head and she served him two more spoonfuls of rice and some curry and potatoes from the pan.
She turned to me and asked, “What about you? Let me give you some more rice and curry.” I covered my plate with my hand and said, “No, no, you gave me more than enough the first time.”
Kishore finished his food and licked his fingers clean, then gulped down some water from a small urn and got up to have a wash outside. As he came in, the lady called out to him to come to her, which he did with downcast eyes. The lady gave him a small peck on the cheek and a pat on the back as she said softly, “Now, go to bed and sleep. You must be tired after all the hustle and bustle of the day.” The boy gave her a hug and went to lie down beside his sister.
The lady gave him a glance then darted a look at me, and resumed eating with downcast face. I had finished eating by then and was sitting watching her eat. Noticing that I was finished, she said, “There is a bucket of water and a mug outside the door. Why don’t you wash up? I will be done in a moment.”
I went outside and washed my hand and mouth and reentered the room. She had finished eating by then and was picking up the empty utensils, which she carried outside. After a short time, she returned and said apologetically, “I am really sorry for snapping at you like that. But believe me; having too many eggs is not good for his constitution. He invariably gets an upset stomach if he has more than one egg a day.”
I said, a bit stiffly, “its okay. I think I should get going now,” not at all eager to tarry any longer.
She reached up and felt my clothes on the line above the fire and said, “Give it just half an hour more. By that time, they should be dry enough to put on. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable in the meantime?”
The sharpness of her rebuke still stung me and I sat in silence. She glanced at me and said with a sweet smile, “You still haven’t forgiven me, have you?” She was silent for a while before she said wistfully, “You cannot understand how difficult it is for a single mother to bring up two young children all alone. To care for them, to think of their future, their schooling and further education, to look after their health and nurse them when they are sick.”
Sitting there in the solitude, in the dim light of a lantern, with nothing but the sound of frogs croaking and cicadas chirping for company, I could empathize with her feelings and situation. I cleared my throat and said, “It is awfully brave of you to stay all alone like this, with no neighbors around to respond to your calls in an emergency.”
Her smile was rueful as she said, “It wouldn’t have been this way if my husband was alive. He was due for a home base posting in another 3 month’s time and I was so looking forward to spending some time together again, free from the constant tension of wondering whether he was safe,” she paused, and her voice quavered as she continued, “and then came the news of his death, shattering my dreams and world to pieces!” She was sobbing now, tears glistening as they ran down her cheeks.
I felt myself sliding across to her, and laying a hand on her shoulder as I said, “The world can be so cruel at times. But we have got to overcome our grief and take the challenge of living on. And you have the added responsibility of rearing your children as well.”
She leant against me, seeking support and companionship and I hugged her still sobbing frame to my side. She laid her head on my shoulder as she came nearer, so that her legs pushed against mine. I held her closer, feeling her bare shoulder through the thin sari, her left breast pressing softly against my side. We sat like that in silence for some time, till her sobs gradually subsided. I was becoming increasingly conscious of her body against mine. The sari I was wearing as a lungi had slid from my legs, so that her elbow was resting against my bare leg. I became embarrassedly aware of my tumescent penis, as I shifted position, afraid that she would notice it. But she pressed closer to me, her left hand clutching my bare shoulder tightly, as her face nuzzled into my chest and her quickening breath played on it.
Then, all attempts at control was gone as she lay down on the bare earthen floor, pulling me down on top of her, her eyes clenched shut as she took my rigid penis in her hand and guided it into her.
It was the first time I had made love to a woman and never in my wildest dreams had I thought it would be so sudden and so unplanned. Her breath was coming in short gasps as she hugged me closer to herself as I hesitantly moved inside her, a sense of desperate anxiety in both of us to reach a climax. She thrust her pelvis at me, urging me to go deeper, her nails biting into my arms as she clutched me hard. I came in an explosion inside her as her whole body shuddered and she let out a soft moan before loosening her grip on me. It was one of the most exquisite experiences I had had and I lay down my head on her chest as we both panted, waiting for our breathing to normalize.
We lay like that, one on top of the other, for a couple of minutes before she stirred and said softly, “Let me go wash myself.”
I lay down on the floor beside her, a wondrous feeling of languor taking hold of me, as she rose and went outside. I could hear water being splashed from the bucket and she came back inside. She had redone her sari, so that she was demurely covered now. I lay gazing up at her, the golden lantern light softening her features and giving a golden tinge to her arms as she reached up to the line and felt my clothes.
Her voice was reserved and grave as she said in a business like voice, “Your clothes are dry enough now for you to put them on. You will have to leave now, if you are to catch the last train to Sealdah.” She refused to look at me as she said it, but the dryness of her tone snapped the sense of euphoria in me and I came to earth with a bang, the full significance of what I had just done sinking in.
I got up hastily and put on my clothes, not able to look at her as she stood mutely. I left the hut without another word to her and put on my still wet shoes, slipping the socks into my pocket. As she saw me preparing to leave, she said, “Just ahead is the road, turn left and it will lead to the station.”
I did not dare look at her as I left, squelching through the muddy ground as I made my way to the road. Just as I was about to turn, I heard her call out, “Babu!” I stopped and slowly turned round to face her, standing at the door of the hut. Her voice was softer now as she said, “Babu, do not reproach yourself. And forget that this ever happened.” Then, she turned around and went into the hut, closing the door after herself.
The road was circuitous and had quite a number of other roads branching off it, so that I lost my way, with no one at that late hour to give me directions to the station. I was still some way off when I heard the blare of a train’s klaxon and by the time I reached the station, the last train for Sealdah had already left. I did not contemplate returning to the hut, nor was I confident of being able to find it out again, so I lay down on a concrete bench on the station platform and tried to sleep, waiting for the first train in the morning.
My visits to Baruipur continued afterwards each month, but I never saw her again. Then, about two years later, as I was returning, as the train left Garia station, I saw a woman leaving the station with a young boy and a girl following her, with a little baby cradled in her arm. The train had picked up speed by then, so it was only a fleeting glance as the train sped past. But I was more or less certain that it was the same lady and the two children following her Kishore and Ruchi, now grown up a bit.
And then the possible significance of the baby in her arms struck me like a hammer blow. Please, please God, I implored, let it not be my child, I prayed, desperately wanting to convince myself that it was not the same woman I had seen.
Call me a coward if you will, but from that day onwards, I stopped going to Baruipur by train, nor ever made an attempt to find out whether it was the same lady -- whose name I do not know to this day, and the child in her arms the outcome of that misadventure on a sultry July night.
Kanta(A Chowdhuri)
Kanta
The 3.35 p.m. Diamond Harbor – Sealdah UP Local was overcrowded as usual, more so since due to one of those frequent disruptions which took place in this line, trains had not been running from Baruipur onwards for more than two hours since 4.00 p.m.
I had fortunately been able to park myself in a seat, though in imminent danger of spilling out from it onto the aisle, since the bench seat, which comfortably seated three, was now accommodating six persons. Opposite me sat a young lady with a girl of about three on her lap and a young boy of around five or six pressed firmly to her side. As the train left Sonarpur station, the lady struggled to stand up, with the child held in her arms, pressing against the passengers standing between the two rows of seats, saying, “Let me get through. I need to alight at Garia.” The crowd reluctantly heaved and made room for her to move towards the aisle, while some shouted, “Didi, make it quick! I can’t hold my balance for long.”
But the lady made no move towards the aisle, instead, pushing against the other passengers as she stooped to drag something out from under the seat. One of the passengers protested, “Didi, what is it you are doing, why don’t you get out into the aisle?” Her voice strained as she said, “I have a bag under the seat, and I am not able to pull it out!”
There was a lot of grumbling as some of the passengers pushed against each other and managed to drag out a fair sized sack from beneath the seat. One of the passengers who had helped retrieve the sack said, “It is so heavy, who will help you take it down from the train, and how are you going to pull it through the aisle to the gate amongst this dense throng?”
The lady’s voice was panicky as she replied, “There’s no one with me. I had not expected the train to be so crowded.” A fresh round of disapproval and disparaging comments started once again, with no one offering any help to the woman in distress.
I was to take the train till Sealdah and was reluctant to leave the dubious comfort of my seat. At the same time, a sense of decency did not allow me to sit idle and see a helpless woman and her children unable to get down at her intended station. So I stood up and said, “Here, let me help you with the sack. You try and push your way through the crowd to the door, or else you will be unable to get down at Garia.”
She gave me a grateful look and clutching the girl to her bosom with one hand while taking hold of the arm of the boy with another, she struggled to make way towards the door of the compartment, calling out every now and then, “Dada, please, let me through, I have to get down at Garia.”
I caught hold of the top of the sack and tugged it behind me as I pushed my way after her, ignoring the howls of protests of the standing passengers as the sack made its uneven way over the feet of some of them and brushing against the legs of others. The local’s klaxon gave a blast as it entered Garia station. There were not many passengers alighting at the station and there was a dense crowd before the door, as the lady shouted in a panic stricken voice, “Please, let me alight, I have children with me!” The child in her arms was now wailing away, jostled by the crowd at the gate, while the boy was calling out every now and then, “Ma, I can’t breathe!” I was having an equally tough time pulling the sack behind me, as I heaved and pushed against those standing in front of the gate to make my way outside.
I saw the lady stumble and nearly fall as she finally made it to the platform, with the boy following closely behind. Then, I too was on the platform, but the sack was lodged firmly in a sea of legs within the compartment. The klaxon of the train sounded as it made to leave and I gave a last desperate heave on the sack, as it jumped out of the compartment amidst a chorus of oaths. By the time I had regained my balance, the train had picked up speed, so it was impossible to jump in again and resume my journey. I resigned myself to taking the next train as I looked at the lady. The girl in her arms had now quietened down and was looking at me with large eyes as she sucked at her thumb. The lady too had regained her composure as she turned to me and said earnestly, “I do not know how to thank you for what you did. Or else, I would have been unable to alight at all with the children and the sack. And over and above that, I have made you break your journey onwards!”
I said, “That is okay, I can take the next train, but you shouldn’t have ventured out alone with the children as well as that heavy sack in the local train. You know how crowded they can become.” She replied, “Actually, the train was quite empty when we got on at Hotur. I had not expected it to become so crowded.”
There were no porters at Garia station, and I was wondering how she was going to proceed onwards. So I asked, “Do you stay nearby? How are you going to take the children as well as carry the heavy sack?”
She replied, “No, I stay some distance away, but I will hire a cycle rickshaw from outside the station and we can also ride on it on our way home. Thank you ever so much for your help. I don’t know how I would have managed alone!” She gave me a fleeting smile, which lit up her face. It was quite an attractive face, I noticed, not having given it a detailed examination earlier. I stooped down and picked up the sack, saying, “Don’t mention it. Let me help you get the sack into the rickshaw.” She made to protest, then changed her mind as she gave me another smile and proceeded towards the station exit.
We emerged from the station, but there was not a single rickshaw to be seen at the stand. She was stunned. A roadside tea shack was about to close down and she went to the owner and asked about the missing rickshaws. Apparently, there had been a fight among two rival rickshaw unions as a result of which, all the rickshaws had withdrawn, fearing attacks and damage to the rickshaws by the opposing union.
Dusk was fast falling as we stood outside the station, the lady at a loss as to what to do. I asked, a bit reluctantly, “How far is your home? Let me help you take the sack home.”
She murmured, “No, no, you have already done so much. My home’s some distance away.” The boy was tugging at her arm and saying insistently, “Ma, I am hungry, I want to go home.”
I picked up the sack again. It was quite heavy, so I heaved it onto my shoulder and said, “Come on, lead the way, or you will be standing here indefinitely.” She made to protest again, but lacking options, smiled and said, “It is so kind of you!” and proceeded down the road.
After going some distance, by which time, I had shifted the sack twice from one shoulder to another, she said, “Give the sack to me, I will carry it for some distance. You take the child instead.” I was half tempted to agree, but the child clung tightly to her mother’s sari and screamed, “No, no, I won’t go to him!”
I said, “No, let it be, just lead on.” Some further distance down the road, she paused and said, “You know, the road is quite circuitous. If you do not mind, we can take a short cut through the fields; it will be much shorter and faster that way.” On both sides of the road were paddy fields, bifurcated into plots with slightly raised partitions of mud, called awls. The fields were flooded with water, which glinted pale silver in the light of the reflected moonlight.
I looked a bit dubiously at the watery fields and the thin awls separating them, unsure as to whether I would be able to retain my balance on the slippery mud with a load on one shoulder. But the thought of carrying that heavy sack for long was more unattractive and I said, “Okay, let us give it a try!”
She led us down from the road onto an awl with marked assurance, and I followed suit gingerly, following the boy. After some tentative steps, I gained some confidence and could more or less keep pace with the others. There was silence all around, other than for the monotonous sound of some bull frogs croaking in mating frenzy. We crisscrossed across the fields, so that I lost my bearings completely. But the lady seemed quite sure of her route as she went along at a fast pace, the girl cradled in the nook of her arm.
And then it happened. My left foot slipped from an awl and into the muddy water of a paddy field, so that I lost my balance and fell on my side against the awl, the sack perched on top of it. I must have let out an involuntary cry as I fell, for the lady stopped and turned around, saying, “What’s happened?”
I made to rise, but my feet kept slipping on the muddy side of the wall of the awl. The boy was gaping at me, standing motionless, as the lady set down the child and stood above me and said, a hint of amusement in her voice, “Give me your hand, let me help you up.” I gave her my hand and pushed with the other till I was once more erect on the awl. My shoes were soggy and had mud in them, while the right side of my trousers and shirt was wet and muddy. The lady said, “We are nearly home, let me carry the sack the rest of the way,” calling out to her son at the same time, “Take Ruchi’s hand and lead her after me.”
I did not protest this time, as she tried to lift the sack and helped her heave it onto her head. She led as we followed, while I wondered how I would find my way back to the station without aid and in the soggy state I was in. After another five minutes of walking, we were finally out of the paddy fields and onto higher, level ground. A hut stood immediately after the last of the paddy fields and the lady made her way towards it, calling out to me, “Home, at last!”
She took down one side of her sari from her shoulder and with a key from a key ring tied to its end, unlocked a bamboo door into the hut and disappeared inside. I stood outside with the children, unable to discern anything within the pitch dark hut. Then, there was a spark of a match lighting followed by a soft golden glow as a lantern was lighted. She hung the lantern on a hook handing from the thatch roof and came to the door again and said to me with a smile, “Come in, please enter my humble abode.”
I hesitated outside, worried about returning to the station and home. “I should better leave for the station if I am to catch the next train,” I said, “What route do I take to return to the railway station?”
She replied in a reproving tone, “You can’t just leave without taking anything after helping me so much. Besides, your clothes are in no state to be worn any longer without a wash, they have mud all over them! Come in and make yourself comfortable while I prepare some food and give your clothes a wash.”
I was feeling so unclean myself that the idea of having a chance to clean myself somewhat before leaving for the station was not unwelcome. But how to get into the hut in my soiled clothes? I stood leaning against the doorway as I unlaced both shoes and drained the water out of them. I wrung my wet socks and placed them beside my shoes. Seeing me hesitating to enter, the lady came to the door with a sari in one hand and a thin towel in the other and said, “There is a pond just behind the hut, you can go and have a wash there and clean the mud from yourself. Leave your clothes beside the pond and use this sari as a lungi. I will put the rice to boil and then go wash your clothes.” As I still hesitated, she said, “Go on, now, and go clean yourself quickly!”
I made my way to the back of the hut, apprehensive about sliding down the muddy slope of the pond to get to the water and slipping again in the process. But mercifully, there was a flight of brick steps leading down from the bank to the water. I stood on the last steps and flung up water from the pond to wash away some of the mud from my clothes before I took them off. Since it was now quite dark, I had no hesitation in disrobing and having a good wash in the pond. Then I wrapped the sari around my waist, folding wallet and comb into the end of the sari at one side before tucking it into the top of the sari at my waist. I dipped the shirt, trousers and underwear vigorously into the water a number of times, then wrung them dry. Feeling a bit self-conscious at my bare-bodied attire, I made my way back to the hut, my clothes held in a bundle in my hands.
A small coal fire was burning in the middle of the hut, with an aluminum pot on top of it. The lady was sitting beside the fire, peeling some potatoes with a ‘bonti’, while some diced onions lay in a saucer in front of her. The young boy was munching at some biscuits as he sat watching his mother, while the girl was fast asleep lying on a mattress at one end of the room.
The lady looked up at me and smiled as I entered the room, saying, “Ah! So you have had your wash and must be feeling much cleaner now. Why did you take the trouble to wash the clothes, I would have done it! Come; give me the clothes, so that I can hang them on the rope above the fire. It will help dry them faster that way.”
I handed over the wet clothes to her and watched her fling them on a rope above the stove, and tug them this way and that to spread them out evenly. She turned to me and said, “Now, if you will excuse me, I will go and have a quick bath as the rice cooks, then we will have dinner ready in a jiffy.” She left the room, leaving me alone with the boy, who was now staring at me with wide eyes.
I smiled at the boy and asked, “Hello! What is your name?” “Kishore,” he replied.
“Do you go to school, Kishore?” I asked. Kishore nodded his head.
“What is your school’s name and in which class do you study?”
“Shiny Tots. Upper K.G.”, Kishore replied in a monosyallable. “And do you like going to school?” I asked. Kishore just nodded his head. At a loss to keep the conversation going any further, we sat in silence as the lid of the pot drummed against the top of the pot as the rice cooked.
The lady came back, her hair tied in a bun behind her head, wearing a fresh sari draped in the traditional way around her. She smiled at me and said, “You must be hungry. The rice must be cooked by now, so, if you will give me just ten more minutes, I will have the egg curry ready!”
She took down the pot from the fire and went outside to drain the water from the rice. Placing a frying pan on the fire, she poured some oil from a bottle into the pan and asked me, “So, you stay in Calcutta, do you?”
I replied that even though my home was in Jalpaiguri, I was doing my graduation in a college in Calcutta and stayed in a mess near Sealdah with some of my class mates. She asked me so how come I was on the Diamond Harbor local that day. I told her I had been visiting an aunt in Baruipur and was on my way home.
I had noticed that she did not wear any vermilion on her hair parting – the sign of a married woman, so I asked her tentatively, “And what about you? Do you stay here alone with the kids? Don’t you have any other family members?”
She spooned through the rice in the pot and took out three eggs from it. She sighed as she peeled the eggs and said, “My husband was a Havildar in the Army. He died in the North-East during a military operation against the Manipur rebels in 1998. Since then, I have been living alone with the children.”
I felt sympathy for her and asked, “But don’t you have any other relatives you could stay with? It must be difficult managing alone with two small children.”
She fried the shelled eggs in the pan as she gave a wry smile and said, “There are so many cross-currents, babu, you won’t understand. I have a brother-in-law. But his wife refused to let us stay with them in the ancestral house since she said that I was a harbinger of ill luck and it would ruin the harmony of their lives if I stayed with them. My husband had bought this plot of land some years before his death with the intention of building a separate house for ourselves. After three-four months of endless bickering, I had no other option but to have this thatch house erected and shift here with my children.”
She fried some onion in the pan, and some diced potatoes with it, put in some salt and spices and poured in some water into the frying pan and covered it with a dish.
“But where were you coming from with the sack?” I asked.
“My elder sister stays in Hotur. They have some land holding there and I try and visit them once a month and spend some days with them. Theirs’ is a joint family and my brother in law has two other brothers and their families living there along with their aged parents. Every time I return, they insist on giving some of their agricultural produce with me. The sack contains rice – they ensure that I don’t have to buy any rice for the family. Normally, it is not a problem getting their gift home, since I am able to get a rickshaw from the railway station and am able to coax the rickshaw wallah to carry the sack inside.”
She was laying some plates on the floor as she talked and after lifting the plate and taking a peek at the egg curry, she said with a smile, “There, the food is ready. Come; sit down to a humble dinner.”
Kishore had already taken his place before one of the plates, sitting cross legged on the floor, eagerly waiting for the food to be served. The lady meanwhile had gone to the mattress and shaking the sleeping child, said softly, “Ruchi, wake up Ruchi, dinner is ready. Have your dinner and go to sleep.” The child woke up, sobbing and said, “I don’t want to eat, I am sleepy, let me sleep.”
The lady picked up Ruchi, still sobbing, and sat her down besides her, saying, “Take just a bite and go to bed, or else, you will wake up hungry in the middle of the night!”
She spooned rice onto my plate and that of Kishore and herself. Then, with a ladle, she poured the egg curry, some pieces of potato and one egg each onto the rice on the plates, telling me at the same time, “Come, Babu, have the food while it is still hot.”
Kishore, while mixing the curry with the rice on his plate with his fingers, whined, “I want to have two eggs!”
The lady said, “No, you cannot have two eggs. It will upset your stomach if you do so. Go on now, have your food.” She mixed the rice and the egg curry on her plate, broke off a piece from the egg and offered a bite to the still sobbing girl, telling her coaxingly, “Just take a couple of mouthful of rice and then you can go back to sleep.”
Kishore had a stubborn look on his face as he insisted, “No, I want two eggs. I won’t have just one.”
She looked sternly at Kishore and said severely, “Kishore, behave yourself! Eat the food that has been given to you and go to bed. You are sleepy.” But Kishore was not to be cajoled and kept insisting on having two eggs.
I had not yet started eating and made to give my egg to Kishore, saying, “Here, you can have this.”
Her voice rang out like a whip lash, “Babu, will you have what I have given you! I know he will fall ill if he has two eggs, or else, I could have cooked another one as well.” Then, turning to where Kishore was sitting, she gave him a resounding smack on his cheek with her left hand and said sternly, “Enough of your nonsense. Now, finish the food I have given you and go to bed!”
Struck by her reproof, I hastily withdrew my hand with the egg in it and started eating with downcast head. Kishore bawled loudly and the lady said warningly, “Now, if you don’t stop immediately and finish your food, there will be worse to follow.”
Kishore’s crying reduced to whimpers immediately, as he tucked into the food. Ruchi was refusing to have any more food, so, the lady asked her to get up, wash her face and go to bed, which she did. The lady started eating herself and asked Kishore in a softer voice, “Would you like some more rice and curry?” The boy nodded his head and she served him two more spoonfuls of rice and some curry and potatoes from the pan.
She turned to me and asked, “What about you? Let me give you some more rice and curry.” I covered my plate with my hand and said, “No, no, you gave me more than enough the first time.”
Kishore finished his food and licked his fingers clean, then gulped down some water from a small urn and got up to have a wash outside. As he came in, the lady called out to him to come to her, which he did with downcast eyes. The lady gave him a small peck on the cheek and a pat on the back as she said softly, “Now, go to bed and sleep. You must be tired after all the hustle and bustle of the day.” The boy gave her a hug and went to lie down beside his sister.
The lady gave him a glance then darted a look at me, and resumed eating with downcast face. I had finished eating by then and was sitting watching her eat. Noticing that I was finished, she said, “There is a bucket of water and a mug outside the door. Why don’t you wash up? I will be done in a moment.”
I went outside and washed my hand and mouth and reentered the room. She had finished eating by then and was picking up the empty utensils, which she carried outside. After a short time, she returned and said apologetically, “I am really sorry for snapping at you like that. But believe me; having too many eggs is not good for his constitution. He invariably gets an upset stomach if he has more than one egg a day.”
I said, a bit stiffly, “its okay. I think I should get going now,” not at all eager to tarry any longer.
She reached up and felt my clothes on the line above the fire and said, “Give it just half an hour more. By that time, they should be dry enough to put on. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable in the meantime?”
The sharpness of her rebuke still stung me and I sat in silence. She glanced at me and said with a sweet smile, “You still haven’t forgiven me, have you?” She was silent for a while before she said wistfully, “You cannot understand how difficult it is for a single mother to bring up two young children all alone. To care for them, to think of their future, their schooling and further education, to look after their health and nurse them when they are sick.”
Sitting there in the solitude, in the dim light of a lantern, with nothing but the sound of frogs croaking and cicadas chirping for company, I could empathize with her feelings and situation. I cleared my throat and said, “It is awfully brave of you to stay all alone like this, with no neighbors around to respond to your calls in an emergency.”
Her smile was rueful as she said, “It wouldn’t have been this way if my husband was alive. He was due for a home base posting in another 3 month’s time and I was so looking forward to spending some time together again, free from the constant tension of wondering whether he was safe,” she paused, and her voice quavered as she continued, “and then came the news of his death, shattering my dreams and world to pieces!” She was sobbing now, tears glistening as they ran down her cheeks.
I felt myself sliding across to her, and laying a hand on her shoulder as I said, “The world can be so cruel at times. But we have got to overcome our grief and take the challenge of living on. And you have the added responsibility of rearing your children as well.”
She leant against me, seeking support and companionship and I hugged her still sobbing frame to my side. She laid her head on my shoulder as she came nearer, so that her legs pushed against mine. I held her closer, feeling her bare shoulder through the thin sari, her left breast pressing softly against my side. We sat like that in silence for some time, till her sobs gradually subsided. I was becoming increasingly conscious of her body against mine. The sari I was wearing as a lungi had slid from my legs, so that her elbow was resting against my bare leg. I became embarrassedly aware of my tumescent penis, as I shifted position, afraid that she would notice it. But she pressed closer to me, her left hand clutching my bare shoulder tightly, as her face nuzzled into my chest and her quickening breath played on it.
Then, all attempts at control was gone as she lay down on the bare earthen floor, pulling me down on top of her, her eyes clenched shut as she took my rigid penis in her hand and guided it into her.
It was the first time I had made love to a woman and never in my wildest dreams had I thought it would be so sudden and so unplanned. Her breath was coming in short gasps as she hugged me closer to herself as I hesitantly moved inside her, a sense of desperate anxiety in both of us to reach a climax. She thrust her pelvis at me, urging me to go deeper, her nails biting into my arms as she clutched me hard. I came in an explosion inside her as her whole body shuddered and she let out a soft moan before loosening her grip on me. It was one of the most exquisite experiences I had had and I lay down my head on her chest as we both panted, waiting for our breathing to normalize.
We lay like that, one on top of the other, for a couple of minutes before she stirred and said softly, “Let me go wash myself.”
I lay down on the floor beside her, a wondrous feeling of languor taking hold of me, as she rose and went outside. I could hear water being splashed from the bucket and she came back inside. She had redone her sari, so that she was demurely covered now. I lay gazing up at her, the golden lantern light softening her features and giving a golden tinge to her arms as she reached up to the line and felt my clothes.
Her voice was reserved and grave as she said in a business like voice, “Your clothes are dry enough now for you to put them on. You will have to leave now, if you are to catch the last train to Sealdah.” She refused to look at me as she said it, but the dryness of her tone snapped the sense of euphoria in me and I came to earth with a bang, the full significance of what I had just done sinking in.
I got up hastily and put on my clothes, not able to look at her as she stood mutely. I left the hut without another word to her and put on my still wet shoes, slipping the socks into my pocket. As she saw me preparing to leave, she said, “Just ahead is the road, turn left and it will lead to the station.”
I did not dare look at her as I left, squelching through the muddy ground as I made my way to the road. Just as I was about to turn, I heard her call out, “Babu!” I stopped and slowly turned round to face her, standing at the door of the hut. Her voice was softer now as she said, “Babu, do not reproach yourself. And forget that this ever happened.” Then, she turned around and went into the hut, closing the door after herself.
The road was circuitous and had quite a number of other roads branching off it, so that I lost my way, with no one at that late hour to give me directions to the station. I was still some way off when I heard the blare of a train’s klaxon and by the time I reached the station, the last train for Sealdah had already left. I did not contemplate returning to the hut, nor was I confident of being able to find it out again, so I lay down on a concrete bench on the station platform and tried to sleep, waiting for the first train in the morning.
My visits to Baruipur continued afterwards each month, but I never saw her again. Then, about two years later, as I was returning, as the train left Garia station, I saw a woman leaving the station with a young boy and a girl following her, with a little baby cradled in her arm. The train had picked up speed by then, so it was only a fleeting glance as the train sped past. But I was more or less certain that it was the same lady and the two children following her Kishore and Ruchi, now grown up a bit.
And then the possible significance of the baby in her arms struck me like a hammer blow. Please, please God, I implored, let it not be my child, I prayed, desperately wanting to convince myself that it was not the same woman I had seen.
Call me a coward if you will, but from that day onwards, I stopped going to Baruipur by train, nor ever made an attempt to find out whether it was the same lady -- whose name I do not know to this day, and the child in her arms the outcome of that misadventure on a sultry July night.
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