THE ROOFTOP

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FOR: JULY 2014
        

THE ROOFTOP

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED       

                                                                                           

We have a rooftop. Quite uncared for and left unkempt. It’s used mainly for hanging the daily wash, sun-soak jars of pickles and, of course, sometimes for Putul Mashi to hide away from others and read the chits of paper she takes out from her bosom. She has a room up there to keep her stuff, but she sleeps downstairs with us in our room -- which is meant for Grandma and me.

Nobody went up to the terrace. Actually no one had the time to. Mom and Dad were out the whole day and I came back home from school in the afternoon to have lunch with Grandma and then rest for a while. I was told not to go there either as the walls, skirting the terrace of our ancient building, were unstable and hence, dangerous in parts. Also, there were too many pots of cactus plants that had thorns along the boundary so people wouldn’t go near the walls.

Grandma said the house was built by Grandpa’s grandfather and that my dad wanted to hand it over to the promoters to build over it. She didn’t like the idea. “Nobody likes old buildings anymore,” she wailed.

“We’ll get two massive flats in place of this dilapidated building, Maa,” Dad had said and looked at Mom’s anxious face -- anxious because Mom knew what Grandma’s answer would be.

“Do so only when I’m gone.” She had repeatedly told him,

“But Maa, this building can collapse any day and it’s illegal to keep it like this. Besides, we’re getting good offers because of its location. Property on Hindustan Road is a gold mine today,” Dad had argued; but soon he also got fed up of getting her to agree, after all the house was still in Grandma’s name.

So the roof-top remained Putul Mashi’s private little domain.

The huge Sintex water-tank placed strategically in the west, blocked the glare of the afternoon sun. It would spread out its rotund shadow in one corner for Putul Mashi to sit and unfold those notes and read them over and over again. Sometimes she would shake her head and even talk to herself like there was someone with her. I knew exactly when she would go up to read them because on certain days she was always a little unmindful while she fed me or put away my things after I got back home from school. As soon as all the work was over, she’d find an excuse to run up to the terrace and sometimes, I’d follow her tippy-toeing without her knowledge.

I never knew what she found in those yellow pieces of paper torn out of note pads. Nor could I ask her to tell me why she looked so happy one moment and then sink into depression soon after that. But it irked me and I often wondered why she was so secretive about reading them. When she came down from the rooftop, I’d study her expressions with care. However, most of the time she’d be either very happy or very sad; she wouldn’t even notice my concern.

I liked Putul Mashi from the very first day she came to our household to look after Grandma and me. The part-timers we had, left much before I came back from school and so I was happy to have someone to cater to my sole needs when I was home. So was Grandma.

Putul Mashi was quite pretty, I thought, with big dreamy eyes and shiny swept back hair knotted in a bun on her nape. She was clean and looked tidy but what mesmerized me most was the dimple that showed up on her right cheek every time she smiled. Mom had looked at Dad for permission to appoint her and I remember he had nodded and later told Mom, “I think, she looks quite ok.”

Mom didn’t speak for a while and then added, “But do you think it’s ok to leave Orko with her? He’s such a devil and she has no work experience.”

“She’ll learn. What we need is someone in the house while he’s here to get his food on time and pick up after him, Ritz.” He always called Mom by that name even though her actual name was Rwitti. So that was it and Putul Mashi became a part of our family ever since, just as an extra pair of hands.

******

It was one of those days when Putul Mashi was more than just absentminded. She put fish into the rice dish in a daze instead of on my plate; the food got all mixed up and Grandma gave her a mouthful from across the table. Putul Mashi was in tears and ran into the kitchen. She came out after quite a while. As she cleared the table, I noticed that her eyes were swollen and red. I knew she would soon escape to the humid heat of the terrace and take out those bits of paper to go over again. This time I decided not to follow her as the terrace would be wet with the showers in the morning. I got busy in the balcony with the new wooden chariot I had got from the Raath Mela two days back. Grandma went to sleep. I don’t know how one could sleep through the noise of the new building coming up across the street. All the banging and din from the churning machines were quite deafening.

Later in the afternoon, when Putul Mashi was still not down from the terrace I decided to take a peek. The door to the terrace creaked open and I stepped out onto the wet surface of the ground very gingerly. The chorus of the crows continued unabated. Wet sparrows flew past me. A colorful torn kite was hanging caught in the web of cable cords looking wet and miserable. And when I peered, I did not see Putul Mashi. She was not there in her corner with the afternoon sun hiding behind grey clouds. I moved on ahead very carefully, my rubber slippers feeling bigger than usual and the ground still slippery from the showers in the morning. I looked behind the tank. I looked under it, but she was nowhere to be found. Certainly she could never have climbed up to the top, I thought. Where could she be? In her room? But the room was locked from outside, I noticed. She was nowhere downstairs either. All kinds of worries filled my little heart about Putul Mashi’s strange disappearance.

I went down and debated if I should tell Grandma about Putul Mashi not being there. But the old woman was fast asleep resting her fatigued bones. When I got tired of thinking, I crept up in to my bed and can’t remember when I fell asleep.

I dreamt of school and my friends playing games near the pet corner and being reprimanded by none other than the Principal who was pulling me by the arm almost tearing it off. When I woke up, I found Grandma pulling my arm to wake me up.

“Wake up, Bumba, wake up,” she was screeching. “Get ready; you and I are going to Piyali Pishi’s place to stay.” Only Grandma and Putul Mashi called me ‘Bumba’ and sometimes Mom too when she was happy.

“What do you mean?” I rubbed my eyes and yawned. I liked going to Piyali Pishi's, my father's only sister, but I could hear Mom downstairs and even Dad, and I grew rather curious. Why were they home so early? It was only 5:30 by the clock on the wall.

I could also hear a lot of voices from outside and inside the house. A creepy feeling ran up my back. What’s wrong? I ran out of the room down the stairs with Grandma shouting behind me trying to muffle her voice as much as she could. Down the stairs, I came to a halt bumping into a guy in uniform. I looked around to see some more of them questioning my parents. Mom looked harassed and Dad was trying to stay calm. I ran up to them and he grabbed me.

From their conversations I gathered that there was a body of a female found at the back of our building, a woman in her mid-thirties, her head completely smashed at the back and face looking up. It was all swollen up. My parents had identified her as Putul Mashi by her clothes and bangles and whatever was left of her. They were being interrogated as to the reason why and how she fell and met this tragic and  untimely death. Both my parents insisted that they had no idea. They had perfect alibis as they were both out at work when the woman fell to her death and the fact was corroborated by their colleagues too.They also asked me a few questions and I told them how Putul Mashi looked after me.

Nothing special was found searching her room and belongings to find any clue or motive for the unfortunate event. Some of the policemen found bits and pieces of broken bangles and rags. The Investigating Officer asked them to put the items in individual plastic bags to take back for inspection. The body was going to be taken for postmortem and the investigation was to continue.

It felt like I was suddenly in the midst of a TV show in real life. But somehow it filled me with real fear too.

My heart felt empty. Putul Mashi was no more! I longed for her soft touch and playful ways telling me stories from her village in the Sunderbans, of tigers and crocodiles, of fishermen and boats in the Matla River. I hid my face in my Dad’s arms and wept. Dad told me not to be frightened. I was not really frightened, but sad.

Grandma was packing and preparing to leave for Piyali Pishi’s when Mom took me upstairs. “Where do you think you are going, Maa?” she asked Grandma.

The old woman shot back, “I don’t want this small boy to witness all this nonsense when there are ten million people and police wondering what happened to a village woman! I’m taking him off with me to Piyali’s. I’ve already spoken to her.” She sounded very annoyed and disturbed.

“But you can’t.” Mom looked at Grandma’s absurd expression. “The Police say nobody is to leave the premises till they are satisfied.”  

Grandma sank in to the chair next to her and looked pathetic. I held her hand and smiled to comfort her. I was not so small but seven years old, I reminded her.

Mom left the room to join Dad who was still answering some questions downstairs. The police wanted to know where Putul Mashi came from and how long she had been with us. They asked what her job entailed and if she had any family or friends in the neighborhood. Some guys had also gone fetching the woman who had brought her to our house some two years back. I was standing at the top of the stairs and listening in to their conversations.

******

“Putul was a nice girl.” I heard the voice of an unknown woman whom the police were interrogating this time. “She came from a poor but goor family in the Sunderbans and was deserted by her husband for another woman. She had no friends around here when she came along. But if she has befriended anybody now, I wouldn’t know. I don’t have time for all that.”

“You mean to say you never had the time to chat with her even once after you introduced her to this family here?” The investigating officer was persistent.

“Where is the time, Saab?” the woman was quick to say. “But some time back I ran into her picking up Bumba from the corner of the road where the school bus drops him. She said she was happy being with the family.” The woman said emphatically. “That’s all that matters to us, getting a good family to be with.” She was dismissed soon with a warning that if she had hidden any facts from the police, she might get into trouble. 

The part-timers were also brought in and lined up along with the Maali, and questioned one by one. But the police didn’t find anything interesting that could throw much light on Putul Mashi’s fall. Soon they were dismissed with the same warning given to the other woman.

Grandma was questioned too about Putul Mashi’s work and habits. She was the one who spent most of the day with her after all.

“What can I say? Putul was quite good at her work and seemed to love Bumba very much so he was well taken care of. We were happy with that. These days we have to depend on hired help to look after our kids after all.” She sighed. This was, of course, a dart thrown in Mom’s direction for working long hours and not giving me enough time. Mom said nothing.

“As for her personal life, I have no idea. She was at home most of the time doing her chores and sleeping in our room.” Grandma stressed the word ‘sleeping’ a bit heavily, I thought, but couldn’t understand what that had to do with her fall. Suddenly remembering something she added, “But she often had a habit of running upstairs to the terrace after lunch and God knows what she was up to,” she sighed and paused looking exhausted. After taking a breath she added, “There are several male domestic helps, drivers, durwans in the neighboring buildings. If she was romancing any of them, it’s hard for me to say and I wasn’t interested in her private life either as long as she didn’t bring trouble home. But now it seems….” Grandma gave out another sigh of resignation and held her head in her hands. She looked tired.

The police let her go and decided to concentrate on Putul Mashi’s home address and family background. But my parents knew so little about all that. In fact, they never had the time to speak to her ever. “How can you be so indifferent to these matters when you’re hiring someone from outside?” The Officer was exasperated. 
Quite confused they left sealing her room.

Interestingly, Putul Mashi’s body had fallen from behind the tank that overlooked the car park in the back of the building. There were no cars at that time as both my parents were out at work; Dad at the hospital and Mom at the bank where she worked. They usually worked long hours and got back late. Mom also went out to Hyderabad and Chennai often on work and I knew Grandma was very unhappy about it.

The wall behind the water tank was a mess anyway with the rains and damaged parts that needed repairing. It seemed more shabby and jagged now after the fall because the body was found just below that portion.

Putul Mashi’s body was covered in a white cloth on a stretcher that looked dirty and taken for ‘autopsy’ as they said. That night we had a very simple and quiet dinner. The police had left Mom, Dad and even Grandma in a state of shock and fear that upset me. I slept close to Grandma in her bed that night as Putul Mashi was not in her usual place to sleep in our room. I feared she might want to come back to lie down there again. Perhaps, this time in spirit form.

The next few days were hectic for the family. Relatives poured in more out of curiosity than concern. There were several visits from the police and also a few trips were made to the Police Station. Dad was at his wit’s end and Mom was totally shaken. There were times when I saw Grandma staring at them with disbelief and I even heard her curse Putul Mashi under her breath several times for making the family go through distress and disgrace. The neighbors were talking about us, she said, and the Press and Media were making mountains out of a mole hill unnecessarily. It filled her with anxiety and when Dad shut the TV and wanted to console her, she snapped at him and, I thought, I even heard her say, “Let me be. I had to live to see all this at this age!” Then she started weeping and cursing Putul Mashi again for bringing shame and misery to the entire family.

******

Putul Mashi’s autopsy report said that by the way she fell and hurt herself, she had fallen not because she had jumped out of the terrace, but she could have been pushed to fall to her death. Her neck was broken. And it also said something about her being pregnant. I knew what that word meant as Anish said his mother was pregnant and he was going to have a baby brother or sister. Grandma hid her eyes with her hands and Mom looked miserable. Dad stood stunned too. I looked at them and realized it meant something ominous.

There were more interrogations by the police. 

Putul Mashi’s father and younger brother brought people in front of our gate and threw stones and shouted obscenities. They were not alone. There were people from the ‘basti’ or slum nearby and some came from the neighborhood -- some unknown bystanders, just taking in the show. Thank God, we had police protection that kept the gate locked and we generally stayed upstairs. Dad made several calls to important people and lawyers and Grandma kept yelling and weeping at intervals. I couldn’t go to school. Since Mom stayed home too, I liked that. She was more on the computer than talking to anyone though. Dad said she had work to do from home.

Three days later the police brought a guy to the police station to question, we heard. Police Uncle came home that night and told Dad and Mom he was the guy from the school bus that would drop me back home every day. I said I knew the guy too. Putul spoke to this Helper Uncle off and on and he said rather sheepishly that he thought she was sweet on him. But he also said, he had never been close to her. There was no occasion or opportunity for that. I’m not sure I understood what that meant.

“But what about the little notes?” Mom sounded agitated."Who gave them to her?”

“What notes?” Dad was really surprised. The investigating Officer looked up. I saw his eyebrows come crashing down and the eyes go narrow.

“Yes, Ma’am. What notes?” he said quietly studying her face with sharp eyes. That really made me nervous.

“I thought Orko said Putul…” she looked at Dad and frowned trying to remember what I had said to her earlier. Mom always liked to use my school name. “He said that Putul would often go to the terrace to secretly read some notes written to her.” She stopped abruptly and pulled me close. “I guess it’s a child’s imagination.” She hugged me tight.

But Police Uncle was now looking at me. I saw fire in his eyes like in the eyes of the evil one in the Batman stories. He looked fierce. “Did you really see Putul read some notes?” he asked me quite sweetly though. I just nodded. “What did they look like?”

I thought for a while and said, “Like pages torn from note pads.”

Police Uncle looked around and then picked up the small writing pad, kept next to our landline, and said, “Like this one?” I shook my head.

“No…. No, like the one that Mom has on her work-desk. They were yellow in color.” They all looked at Mom. She looked shocked. I don’t know if I had said anything odd. Dad was really getting fed up. He got up and threw his arms up. “Millions of people have those common writing pads. What does that mean?”

Police Uncle also got up and looked at the floor. He was thinking.

“That’s true. But the strangest thing is that when we searched her room we found no trace of any bits of paper, not even on the terrace.”

“But she took them out from inside her blouse,” I said hurriedly. Police Uncle gave me a quick look and smiled. He paced the room absentmindedly and then took a sharp turn to face us all. Grandma was gaping at him with fear mixed with admiration. She always told me that the wicked always got punished and I knew in this case also, Putul Mashi’s killer, if any, would be punished.

“There was nothing much upstairs when we searched her room, but a tin suitcase with some odd clothes and personal items. But there was a nice silk sari and a pair of gold earrings that Ma’am said were certainly not stolen from her. They looked new.” He looked at Mom. “Am I right?”

Mom just inclined her head in agreement.

“So maybe, we could understand that the silk sari and the pair of earrings were gifts from her paramour.”  Nobody said anything. Only Grandma started whining and cursing Putul Mashi again.

“The other thing that baffles me is the torn piece of a cotton sari with a green and zari border that we found stuck in the thorns of a cactus plant on the terrace close to the tank.” He held out a plastic bag with the torn piece of rag for all to see. I thought, I heard Mom give out a faint gasp. .

“But we couldn’t find the matching sari in Putul’s room.” He continued. “For that matter, not even anywhere in this house. I find that odd. Perhaps someone was up there before or after, looking for Putul and left in a hurry and got caught in the cactus plant getting in the way.” He moved around like an actor on stage engaged in a soliloquy. Then he looked at our faces with a smile and added, “Don’t worry, we’ve come so far and am sure we’ll get the right person.” He picked up his cap and bid us adieu most graciously with a quick exit.  

We had hardly breathed a sigh of relief with his exit, when he was back again in a few minutes with a young man in tow who was none other than Raghu, the guy from the local laundry. Raghu had a load of clothes in a big bag that he was bringing back to us after washing and ironing them. As he had walked in through the gate, Police Uncle got off the car and stopped to ask him a few questions. Then he decided to bring him in for a session with all of us.

“Do you all know this guy?” He looked at all of us. We all said yes. Mom said that he came from the local laundry that did our good clothes, especially Dad’s office clothes and some good saris.

“How often does he come to take the clothes?”

“Once a week. We have a deal with them…” Mom was saying when Police Uncle interrupted her.

“Did he know Putul well enough?”  He was now looking sharply at the boy.

“I…I don’t know anything about her, Saab,” Raghu started stammering and folded his hands.

“Officer, he didn’t interact much with her,” Mom said quickly. “He just came regularly and took the load that was kept ready for him and handed over in my mother-in-law’s presence.” Mom stuttered. “I’m sure he’s innocent.” Mom looked almost in tears.

Police Uncle stared at Mom for a while and then without taking his eyes off her face asked Raghu to open the bundle in the bag to show him the contents. Raghu was too happy to do so. He sat down immediately and struggled to take the clothes out of the bag and place them on a chair one by one. As he took them out I saw everybody looking bewildered. When Raghu had stacked them all up on the chair, Police Uncle took some slow steps forward and picked out a sari from the bottom of the lot that had a green and zari border. “Yes, yes Saab. This is the piece. I… I had a problem with this sari. It was too dirty and was torn from before and they shouldn’t blame me for the tear.” Raghu sounded agitated and looked at Mom with pleading eyes.

Police Uncle lifted up the sari and studied our faces very, very carefully. Then he suddenly sat on his heels bending down in front of me and asked very gently, “Do you know this sari?”  

Feeling lost and confused, I said, I did.

“Can you tell me who it belongs to?” He was looking at me with piercing eyes that frightened me. I thought for a while. I could feel mouth go dry. Then I said, “Grandma.” I could barely hear my own voice.

Suddenly Grandma shot up and grabbed Dad’s arm. “It was for you that I had to take this drastic step. You think I didn’t know anything?  I am an insomniac … and, oh yes, you know that. And still you dared. I knew exactly when Putul would leave our room at night and you’d be waiting for her downstairs when Rwitti would be away on “special assignments” to Chennai or God knows where." She was hysterical. "Shame on you. You have disgraced the family. After all -- a village woman?!! I am ashamed of you.”

Grandma slumped on the sofa and lost consciousness.

Much later when some women police came to our house, and Grandma gained consciousness, she told the Officer how she had moved up silently to the terrace that day following Putul while I was busy in the balcony with my toys in the midst of the din of the new building coming up close by. She found Putul in her room because of the drizzle outside. She was taking out the notes and stacking them up together neatly in a small box. What for? Grandma wondered. In a rage she had grabbed her neck from the back and Putul had jumped up. Seeing her there she broke loose and ran out of the room to hide somewhere. Grandma went after her and that’s when Putul moved behind the water tank. Grandma followed her there too. Evidently there was a scuffle and when Putul lifted her hand to strike Grandma, she gave the girl a push.

“Believe me, I had just gone there to warn her and ask her to leave the house -- not to kill her.” Grandma broke down. She looked older than just sixty-three. Her hair had turned more gray overnight.

Then, as if to complete the story, she continued to say that in a panic she had gone back to Putul’s room, and when she saw the notes she recognized her son’s handwriting on them. She didn’t waste time to think. She took them all. Putul was perhaps saving them to blackmail her son some day, she feared. She locked the room with the key that was still hanging from the padlock outside, quietly came down to her room and burnt them all. The notes were nothing but messages from her son to Putul mentioning the time she should go down while Rwitti would be away. The last note was most incriminating as it gave the name, address and time of the doctor she was to visit with him to get an abortion.

Grandma hid her face in shame more for her son than for what she had done herself. Mom was sitting there sobbing away. I walked up to her slowly and held on to her.

Police Uncle then turned to Dad and said, “Do you have anything to say?”Dad just shook his head without looking up. There were tears in his eyes.

“Don’t you have anything to say to your wife?” Police Uncle insisted. Dad looked up this time and turned to Mom. He mumbled a faint “Forgive me,” and fell quiet again. Then suddenly he raised his head, cleared his throat and said, “She is to blame too, Officer. If she had been less ambitious and given the family some time we could be happy. I didn’t ask for much but some time together. But she was never there.” His voice rose. “We had drifted apart. My Mom’s an old lady. I can’t run up to her for company, not even the day I came home with fever s and found nobody around who cared. It was Putul who sat by me, fed me and gave me daily care.” He coughed a little. “And then suddenly something happened one day…” Dad was shaking his head and I could see tears streaming down his face. I hid my face in Mom’s arms. I didn’t want to see him cry. He was my hero.

Some time later when we were left alone and I went back to school. People said that I was wrong. Dad could never be a hero. He was more of a villain in a Bollywood film. That day I came back home howling. I saw Mom’s eyes fill with tears. She hugged me close and whispered in my ears that she had a surprise for me. She said she had already taken a transfer to Hyderabad and that only she and I would go there. No one was ever going to bother us there anymore.

In Hyderabad we got the news later that our old house was given to promoters and a fancy skyscraper was replacing it. My memories of the abandoned rooftop and Putul Mashi’s mysteries came flooding back and it felt like a stab in my heart. She didn’t live to answer why she got herself in a mess. People forget fast. No one would talk about our family with reference to her for too long. The mysteries surrounding her would also fade away and get overpowered by new threats, new secrets and relentless fears with time.

                         ********************THE END ********************

June 18,2014

Word count : 4,991