Wednesday, 6 August 2014

THE GUARDIAN


Please check earlier stories by clicking on the month on the right 

For August 2014

THE GUARDIAN                                                                                 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


The morning sun was already blazing. It was the middle of May. The air was hot and burning. The shadow of the three-storied building facing Pritha’s balcony was almost touching the wall to her room and she knew it wouldn’t embrace it completely before nine-thirty-five in the morning . She just finished watering the plants in the balcony before the moment arrived so she could hide in the cool comfort of her bedroom with all the shades down.

Pritha Biswas was late in rising today and she felt guilty about it. But then she realized there was nothing to do for her.She was not late for anything. Anything that could make a  difference in anybody’s life.

For the last couple of years,everyday she woke up around four in the morning to the chirping of the birds that flew about outside her window. Lying in bed she would stare at the blue sky for a while changing shades. She liked the color of the vast expanse at that time; not quite indigo blue but more like royal blue and it amazed her to see the shade change to a grayish tint as the sun ascended the sky.But that’s where it ended. She had no time the rest of the day to look out her window at life that went past her. The clock moved around to remind her of the time to give Ravi , her husband, his breakfast, wash, his meager afternoon meal followed by some shots, then some snacks, physio-therapy, the douche, the bed-pan and, of course, loads of medicines, in both liquid and tablet forms. There was help at home to look after Ravi's needs, but Pritha made it a point to supervise everything personally that was being done to poor old Ravi. It was only at the end of the day that she would make a mental note of another uneventful day spent well. For Ravi's sake, at least. Ravi hardly complained as he lay in bed, inert. It had been like this for quite some time until tragedy struck and Ravi bid his final adieu to the world. He was gone. Gone with his baggage of sufferings; his moans and groans when the pain was unbearable. That was just a couple of months ago.

Today again she was at a loose end. It was another day to face alone. Everyday seemed so quiet and peaceful and yet so meaningless.Uneventful, to be precise. 

Only two months back there had been many footfalls in the house.The house had been buzzing following Ravi's demise. Ramona, her daughter, flew in from Delhi and stayed with her for a long time and so did her own sister, all the way from Jamshedpur. But they all had a home to return to, a family that they could not neglect for too long. For some time, there was the sound of laughter with children playing about, in spite of the somber atmosphere in the house that had just been visited by death. The flow of visitors shedding secret tears to share the bereavement of a loss, the loss of precious life, was a welcome change in her otherwise dull life. Pritha had no idea so many people cared for her and that she had invitations to visit anybody, any time she wanted, anywhere in the world -- now that she was free from her duties. 
The sound of human voices kept the house alive for some time. Suddenly all that stopped and there was nobody to talk to. She could even hear herself breathe. The silence grew ominous. 

She remembered how she had longed for days like this for many years and suddenly when she found them, she didn’t know what to do the whole day. 
Her daily routine generally revolved around Ravi and when he dozed off in the afternoon, for a short time it was her own time.She would take a book in hand to read or turn the TV on softly. Sometimes she even sat with some knitting but she neither finished her book nor did she watch TV or complete her knitting.Sending off emails to Ramona also grew irregular.The attendant woman would sleep in her chair to make up for lost sleep at night looking after her patient sometimes. 
But Pritha grew restless.

And even today she had all the time she wanted but nothing special to do. She got tired of the song and dance programs on TV, the endless chains of cookery shows with treasures of international cuisines to suit your palate, or even the churning of tear-jerking sentimental sagas of the soap serials. If this was entertainment, she didn't want it. 

******** 


Sitting in her bed Pritha stared blankly into space. Then all of a sudden she was overcome with emotion and fear. She wept for a while knowing it wouldn’t reach anybody’s ears. She swallowed the fear that was creeping up from the middle of her navel to her heart. She realized that she was already forty-eight years old and there was nothing much to look forward to. “It is the beginning of the end,” she thought to herself. There was nothing but waiting and counting days inching towards her own end and then finally passing into oblivion.

“What should I do now?” Pritha got up and got ready to make some tea for herself. Having tea alone with no one to even admonish and chase, didn’t seem alright.She needed company. Ramona had suggested keeping boarders or a PG for company.The house was big enough for four people and if she wished, she could even rent out a section of the flat to a young couple by locking the door that led to a passage and the two rooms on one side of the apartment. This way she could have her own privacy too. At least, there would be some people close by, some noise and some friends to reach out to. Pritha didn't dismiss the idea and had said she would consider the matter. 


Having nothing constructive to do, she had dwelt on the idea for half a day and dismissed it by the evening. Pritha felt uncomfortable with the thought of having unknown persons in the house with Ravi gone. She was not really a people’s person anyway and now she had evolved into a recluse altogether. She could spend hours sitting in the balcony watching the frantic pace of life in motion below. The clamour, the noise in the distance and the smell in the air kept her alive.  
But Ramona did warn her that that was an unhealthy approach to life.

So today when she sat down to have her first cup of tea, she made plans for the day. She was going to start it by giving the dirty linens in to the washing machine and then take out all the little knick-knacks from the glass cupboard to dust and clean as Shonkori, the cook and housekeeper, went about her chores around the house.


**************                          
2.
The bell rang for too long, thought Pritha. Someone seemed happy to keep the thumb on the button for some time. Shonkori just pressed it once and waited.  When Pritha opened the door, she found a little boy standing there with an awkward smile.

“Who are you ringing the bell at this hour for so long.? Is this the time to play ringing the bell and waking people up?” Pritha looked rather angry.
The boy was taken aback. He stood there with his mouth open looking for words for a while.
“Maa sent me to tell you she won’t be able to come today. She has fever.” He said rather in one breath.

“Maa? Are you Shonkori’s boy?” Pritha’s tone softened a bit. The boy gave a definite nod.

“Maa said if you want anything you could tell me. I could do some work for you.” His eyes were wide open. Pritha thought for a while and then let him in. She looked at his childish face, his faded striped T-shirt and frayed Bermudas. She could tell his hair had not been oiled or washed for some time either. He couldn’t be more than nine or ten but was rather tall for his age even though quite thin. 
He should be going to school now, she thought, and instead he was sent to help her out! "Come inside," Pritha said with an air of authority.

The boy stood stiffly in a corner and waited for commands to follow. His eyes were following Pritha as she made herself comfortable in a chair at the dining table. “What do they call you?” She asked him gently.

“Rana.” He said giving a slight twist to his body. But he was still unsure of himself in a strange place with a peculiar and irritable lady. He kept rubbing his feet on the mosaic floor.

“Don’t you go to school?” Pritha frowned. The boy inclined his head and looked down making half circles with his toe nail on the floor this time.
“Then why haven’t you gone to school today?” Pritha looked rather stern.

Rana looked up with a start. “Maa said you were alone and needed help.” He stuttered. He didn't understand why the lady was being so difficult. His mother had told him to bunk school and see if the lady needed help and he had obliged. 

Pritha got up from her chair and went to the kitchen. She put the tea kettle on the fire and took out some bread and butter from the fridge.
“Has she seen a doctor?” She asked the boy from the kitchen.
The boy fell silent. He didn’t know what to say. “I asked you a question. Has she seen a doctor?” She repeated. The boy shook his head.
“And why is that? Doesn’t she know that there is a chance that it could be dengue or something serious?”  She toasted a few pieces of bread and put them on the table. The boy didn’t take his eyes off from the ground.

 “Have you had something to eat before you came here?” Pritha looked at him.
Rana looked up and scanned her face for a while with suspicion. Was he going to be rebuked for that too? he wondered. Then he just shook his head a little. "We get 'tiffin' at school," he said without really looking at her.
Pritha had already buttered some toasts. She put two pieces of toasted bread on a quarter plate and held it out to the boy. Rana put his hands behind him and shook his head.

“What happened? Finish these and then we’d talk.” Pritha put the plate in the boy’s hand and went into the kitchen to pour some tea out for herself. Then she thought for a moment and poured some tea in the cup that was meant for Shonkori and held it out to the child. 

”Like to have some tea? I hope you are big enough to have tea.” Pritha parked herself in the chair again. Rana had squatted on the floor folding his legs and was relishing the buttered toasts shyly. He gave a nod. 

“Maa gives me tea too. She says it's good to have tea as it has some milk in it.” He said sheepishly. Pritha poured some more milk in the boy's cup and offered it to him.
Pritha was still sipping her tea when Rana got up to wash his plate and cup. She watched him. A slight boy with a squeak, he had a sweet innocent face. His large eyes drooped slightly at the ends giving him a pensive look. He came back to take Pritha’s plate and cup to wash as well. She let him. 
Wiping his hands behind his shirt, Rana waited for orders from the lady.

“What can you do for me?” tilting her head on one side Pritha asked him. 

"Anything. I can wash the dishes, do the floors but…., “ he stopped abruptly.

“But ?” Pritha was amused.

“I can’t cook for you.” His eyes looked fearful.

“No, you don’t have to do any of these.” Pritha couldn’t help but smile. “You will go home now. Actually, go to school and in the evening you can come by and get me some milk from the Mother Dairy stall and a few things from the grocer's nearby.” She looked at the boy’s reaction and added, "Do you think you can do that?”
The child looked apprehensive, " But Maa will be angry if I don't do your work now," he said looking concerned.

"Well, then let it be a secret between you and me and you don't have to tell her you went to school instead," Pritha laughed. "Can you keep a secret?" Rana gave a big smile and said he could.

“Now run along and tell your mom to get well soon and see a doctor.” She took a strip of Paracetamol from the medicine box and handed it to Ratan. “She should take two tablets a day for five days and she’ll feel better soon. But she must see a doctor too." Rana agreed readily. He left in a hurry saying he would come in the evening to get her milk and whatever she needed. In a few minutes he was out of the building and Pritha saw him running to cross the road towards the slum under the bridge in the distance where his mother lay sick in bed.

********

3.
For the next three days, Rana came every evening to fetch milk and some small essentials for Pritha. Shonkori was ready to join work soon. Every time Rana got back with milk and other things from the grocery store , she gave him some snacks and they sat down to discuss his progress in school. At first Rana was hesitant to talk about school but Pritha probed and learnt that his favourite subject was Maths but he hated History as it was loaded with boring facts. He was in class five and enjoyed going to school but not the teachers. Pritha would tell him to take his studies seriously if he wanted to be somebody someday and that it was the only weapon one could have in today’s world. 
Rana was no longer scared of the old lady who listened to him and also cared for him.

The next day when Shonkori came back, Pritha was secretly a bit sad as she hoped to see Rana again. 
“What happened? Did you take the tablets I sent you with Rana?” She asked Shonkori who looked emaciated.
The woman had lost weight and looked tired but had not lost her spirit. She giggled a little and said that she felt better from the second day but didn’t quite have the strength to go on. She hoped that Rana did his job and didnt' give Pritha any trouble. She hoped she didn't have to work hard. 
Pritha laughed. “Well just because you have spoilt me, doesn’t mean that I have forgotten to do any work around the house.” She said sounding rather glad that Shonkori was back and would take over from there. “By the way, did you get to see a doctor?” She raised her eyebrows.

Shonkori shook her head. “No chance. You go to see a doctor and you waste a whole day. Who has the time, tell me? I have two more houses to take care of.” She pouted. “Then they ask you to take so many blood tests and god knows what. I don’t have so much money to waste.” She started doing the dishes furiously and then started washing the vegetables she had just chopped. 
Pritha knew why Shonkori was scared to go for a check-up. Her husband had died of lung cancer and it was detected after several tests that wiped out all their savings. She neither wanted to spend that kind of money nor did she want to hear any bad news. She was willing to challenge destiny.

"But if anything happens to you, what'll happen to the boy? Have you thought of that?" Pritha argued.

"Well, whatever God doles out to us, we have to accept. I've prepared my son for that." Shonkori twisted her face in a grimace. Pritha thought it best not to pursue the matter any further.

But Shonkori didn't come the next day and the following day either. Nor did her son Rana show up in her place. The third day Pritha got worried.She had no way of getting news from them. She had no idea where exactly they stayed and realized she had never actually cared to know. She was so busy with her lot that everything else was a blur for the last couple of years. She didn't know how to get any news of them and it bothered her.

She managed the housework alright and didn't let things upset her if they remained unfinished. Everything seemed so unimportant these days. Life is like living in a quicksand where there were no traffic lights to guide you and warn you of impending catastrophes. She checked with a couple of girls that worked in the building but nobody seemed to know what had happened to the mother and son. As it appeared they didn't live in the same slum.

A week later, Pritha debated to go on foot to look for them across the bridge to the slum that lay under it. Then she decided against it. Her knees and ankles gave her trouble with the rise of Uric acid in her system. She couldn't walk for long. And a rickshaw was difficult to find locally.
Just when she was giving up on them one morning and wondering if she should look for some other maid to take Shonkori's place, the bell gave a familiar long ring. Pritha went eagerly to the door.

Rana was clad in a white piece of cloth and clinging on to a rough piece of jute in his hand. Pritha stood there with her eyes wide open. It took her a while to find words to say. Looking at the boy's hollow, stricken face she said quietly,"When did this happen?"

Inside Rana kept whimpering. In between sobs what he said was that the day his mother returned to work, she collapsed on the way back near their dwelling. Neighbors brought her in and called for him. By the time she was taken to the nearby hospital for the poor, her condition had declined rapidly. There were seizures and vomiting, and before she could get proper care at the hospital, she passed away in front of him the next day. Fortunately some of their neighbors were with him who took charge to get the body released and cremated. But as her son, people said he had to perform the Sradh or the last rites, to release his mother's soul from the agonizing cycle of birth and rebirth engaging in penance. 
He had come to Pritha to ask for some money for the ceremony. 

Pritha slumped on to a chair at the dining table. God doesn't spare anybody, she thought. Not even a child. She looked at the child with blank eyes for a while and then got up to get some money from her cupboard. Her gait was slow and tired and she released a long sigh as she came back and sat down. The boy was sitting on the floor on the piece of jute that he was carrying as is the custom among the Hindus. The white wrap that draped around his frail form looked too new on him and would be his mantle till the Sradh was over. 

" Are you having an elaborate ceremony?" Pritha asked Rana.

"I don't know. Shadhon Jethu says I must do the right thing and properly so Maa could be happy and proud of me. So I need a lot of money to do the puja and feed the Brahmins." Rana said looking at the floor. 

Pritha realized the boy was following orders and was perhaps taken for a ride even at his poor mother's expense. 
"Who is Shadhon Jethu?" Pritha scowled.

"Our neighbor next door," Rana said with no emotion. The boy obviously looked famished. She wanted to feed him but she knew he had been briefed not to take food from other homes as is the norm when there has been a death in a Hindu family.

"When is the sradh?" Pritha asked quietly.

"Day after tomorrow." Rana took a quick gulp of his own spit in the mouth.

"And after that?"

"I dont' know." Rana looked up at her for the first time. There was uncertainty mixed with fear in those eyes.

"What do you mean?" Pritha frowned.

"I don't know where I'll be. Jethu said he would put me in a boy's centre where they give you food and clothes against some light work..... or maybe to what they call a Home...." he paused for a moment and then continued, "Perhaps I'll move into one of those."

"What happens to the place where you already are?" Pritha was not quite pleased with the turn of events in little Rana's life.

"They have given the place to Shadhon Jethu as I cannot pay the rent." It figures, Pritha thought. Turn out the child and take away his home.

"And your Maa's belongings?"

"I can take what I want, the rest they will throw away as no one would be interested in them." Rana's eyes were welling up. 

Pritha rose from her chair quite alarmed. Visions of Rana in a rehabilitation centre with a pack of street boys into drugs and many other vices flashed through her mind. Horror stories of what happened to the innocent in those Homes nauseated her.
"And school?" she said with a hiss."Do you go to school?"

"I have no idea," Rana wiped his eyes and tried to look brave."Jethu says they teach you new skills at the Homes to get a proper job in life." 

Pritha was pained to realize the stark reality of the existence of the unfortunate. It was a tragic revelation. There was perhaps no sign of grief among those surrounding the child; no home that would embrace him as a member and no one who cared about the future of the orphaned child. Before everything was over his dwelling and belongings were being auctioned off casually as redundant items. Rana himself was thrown into the big bad world to learn the ropes of survival the hard way. Life could be so relentlessly cruel and sinister at times, she thought.

"Just leave your address here and I shall be there for the sradh, day after tomorrow." Pritha gave Shonkori's full-month's salary that she owed her and five-hundred rupees extra to the boy and asked him to keep in touch. 

"But it's not taking place in the slum." Rana said between breaths  with sudden realization .

"Then where are you having it?"

"Jethu said it's better to do it at the Mandir near the river."

"Mandir ? River? Where?" Pritha was a little taken aback.

"The Kaali Mandir next to the bridge. Way out there.” He went to the balcony and pointed a finger in the direction of the tram lines running over the bridge and down below where a thin ribbon of a waterway ran past the hut-ments.


When Rana left, Pritha sat there with the boy's address on a chit of paper in her hand and ruminated. It was not nice for a child to lose his mother at this stage in life when it had just begun, she thought. Is there no relative or friend who could give the boy a home, some shelter ! She wondered. She got up and paced the room with a vacant mind that wouldn't let her rest either. It left a bad taste in her mouth. Then she thought of more practical things at hand. She should talk to Shyamoli, the maid upstairs, to give her someone to take Shonkori's place. The day soon fell into the traps of routine work and she forgot about Rana's displacement.

*******
4. Pritha managed to get a cab to go over the bridge to the Kaali Temple where the Sradh was to be performed by little Rana. When they stopped in front of the temple, she found throngs of people crowding the place but she didn't see anyone vaguely resembling the boy. Of course, she didn't know how Rana would look with his head shaved as he must sacrifice the remains of his hair and nails to close one chapter for regeneration as life has to continue thereafter. 

She asked people around for a ceremony being held there for a departed soul. People gave vague answers and some said honestly that they had no idea. They were only interested in receiving blessings from Kaali Mata. Finally, when she spotted a priest in faded saffron, she got some answers. She was told that there was a ceremony being held behind the temple under a banyan tree for someone. If it was a sradh he wouldn't know. Pritha moved gingerly to the back of the temple over a dirt filled open field.

There was a priest with a child performing some rites in the shade of a big banyan tree. The place was littered with junk, empty plastic water bottles and rags and rubble. A small area was cleared up in the shade to perform the puja under the tree that looked at least a hundred years old with its heavy branches touching what was left of a ravine next to it.  Some food, some clothing and essentials, were displayed on a straw mat next to the boy. Pritha made a note of the pair of sandals and an umbrella on the mat too. It was everything that a living person needed to carry to the other world. Some scrawny looking hungry pie-dogs were hovering around to get food after the show was over. Street dogs had picked up the way of life in a city like Calcutta. They had learnt that patience usually paid off in situations like this.There were two men and a woman sitting close by. A row of five men sat on the side in shabby clothes and bidis in hand, busy chattering away. They were the Brahmins Rana had to feed to secure blessings from for his mother's departed soul.

As Pritha neared the puja area, some of the dogs went slinking past her, as if in shame. The chattering of the five ravenous pure brahmins stopped. The two men and the woman turned to follow the gaze of the famished  bunch and grew curious. 

Suddenly the priest, performing the rites, looked up and gasped. He forgot his lines and kept repeating the same words for a while and finally he stopped to draw Rana's attention. Pritha was standing at a distance behind him. When he saw her, his mournful eyes sparkled. His face broke into a sad but grateful smile. Pritha just nodded and waved to him asking him to continue with what he was doing.

Lunch was a simple meal. Khichuri ,thin slivers of potato crispies and a bit of ghee to go with it followed by a laddoo or two at the end. Nothing elaborate. Pritha was offered some food on a banana leaf, but she said she'd rather take it home and eat. So it was wrapped up neatly by the woman and put in a plastic bag for her. She noticed that the priest declined to have anything cooked but a sweet and plain water from an earthen cup. But he was too busy putting all the items on display offered to the dead and the ancestors of the deceased in his dirty little cloth bag. The ceremony was over and the dogs got busy looking for morsels of food. When they found none, they decided to lick the banana leaves that still had flavours of the Khichuri and ghee.

Rana started to sniffle when he came close to where Pritha stood. She put her hand on his head and asked him to stop acting like a child. She told him that he was a grown-up now to fight life's battles alone. "Will you be able to do that?" Pritha asked him affectionately. 
Rana just inclined his head to say yes. In the last few days, he had lost considerable weight and his eyes looked too big for his small face. His white robe had gone grey with the passage of time, Pritha noticed. Perhaps his only other outfit now. She also saw him carrying all his belongings in a big plastic shopping bag, ready to move on. As they stood communicating in solemn silence with words thrown in in between, one of the men came forward to remind them that it was time to go.

"And you are....," Pritha left it at that wanting to know if he was a relative.

"He's Shadhon Jethu I told you about," the boy said. "He used to look after us." The man with the scruffy look and deep sunken eyes gave a greasy smile and grunted.

"Are you taking the boy with you to stay?" Pritha asked emaphatically reminding him of his neighborly duties.

"Oh, no. We poor people have no money to feed an extra mouth," the man said baring his yellow teeth.

"A centre for boys?" Pritha asked."What is it called?" Pritha had no expression on her face.

Shadhon looked nervous. He started to press his knuckles and said to the other man,"Why don't you explain it to Madam."

The man in the checked shirt and navy blue trousers came forward with the woman in tow. Taking out a visiting card from his shirt pocket, he gave the name of a well-known centre for orphaned kids. "Actually, Madam, it's a centre for runaway boys we pick up from railway stations and the roadside who need help. We give them food and lodging." The man smiled a heroic smile. Pritha knew the type. She was sure he had connections with the underworld and ruined young boys -- training them to engage in criminal activities eventually. She shuddered to think of Rana in the clutches of a gang like that.

"And....?" she took a look at the visiting card and pinned him with a piercing gaze that said she didn't believe him.

"Aaand... Madam, we give them some education and teach them skills that they can use to earn a living in life." The man was rubbing his hands as he tried to explain their boundless acts of generosity and  how clever the boys were at the Centre and how happy they seemed. She also learnt that the Centre was funded by a well-known foreign concern and money was pouring in to rehabilitate and take care of these destitute boys. 

Pritha aborted the lecture saying that she had heard of the Centre and that they were doing a commendable job. But at the back of her mind she began to wonder if the man had stolen the cards to impress and deceive people. These days there was no telling.

"But why to a centre?" she argued. "Isn't there any home he can stay with? No relatives or friends?" Her voice rose with impatience.

"Who will accept an orphan boy like this, Madam?" Shadhon came to the rescue of the guy from the Centre. "They will neglect him, make him work  and treat him badly. Then he'll run away and turn into a criminal. We don't want him to go through that." He ran his hand affectionately on Rana's shaved head. Pritha looked worried.
"There are many organisations today that offer help to the poor, Madam." Shadhon continued to enlighten her. "Maybe that's where the children are better off than being with a relative or a friend,"Shadhon cleared his throat. "Otherwise even people like you could also help out but they don't. They are indifferent and don't like society to laugh at them and talk behind their back." There was venom in those words.

Pritha kept quiet for a while and her eyes went back to the boy. Rana was looking at them talking and trying make out if they were fighting. He couldn't comprehend what was going on and what all this fuss about. 

"What if I do take him home and look after him?" Pritha couldn't believe she was actually conducting a deal with these guys over this dark, skinny slum boy!
There was a long silence for a while. The men looked at one another. They couldn't understand why the lady should offer to help. They grew suspicious and apprehensive.
"Do you want to take him home to work in your house?" This time it was the woman talking. 


Pritha didn't know what to say. She just shook her head. She thought for a while as she had to know herself why she should take the little boy home. It was a moment’s impulse that made her say so. What would Ravi have said, or Ramona or her other relatives? What would they think of this uncalculated act of kindness? Were they going to boycot her? Were they going to say she had lost her mind? She was quite blank in the head for a while and then suddenly she knelt down and looked the boy in the eye. 
The boy still looked apprehensive and exhausted. Perhaps he had had no time to mourn his mother's death and weep, or even find any comforting arms to envelope him and say all was going to be okay. He certainly looked scared and weary.

"Rana," Pritha's voice was filled with a flush of emotion, "would you like to come and stay with me?"

The boy looked with wonder in his eyes. He wasn't sure what Pritha meant by that. He looked up at Shadhon and the other man and woman. They looked down at him saying nothing. And when he saw that there was no hurt or anger in their eyes, he nodded hesitantly. 


Pritha got up carefully. Her ankles were giving her trouble again. 
"You heard the boy. Now what do you think we should do?" she asked the men who fell silent, thinking. 


"If you want, you can take him but take him as a member of your household, if you can," Pritha said to Shadhon, "and if you think, he'd be better off in your care with the other boys, you may take him with you too.” Her voice quivered a little. “But I'll be checking on his progress, and an organization of your stature wouldn't like to get a bad name,” she stared at the boy who still looked confused. “But I must tell you, I may be an old woman but I have very long arms if I want to stretch them." She sounded ominous meaning to warn them.

"Madam, there's no need to stress the fact," the man from the Centre scowled. He felt insulted."Our's is a reputable organization and we don't lack money. But if you ask me, I would say he should go with you if he wants to and if you have faith in him. In fact, we want more and more people like you to come forward to accept unfortunate kids and give them a home. That's all they need. But we find no such people coming forward. Instead, most people would like to hire them as child-workers -- as cheap labour." He grimaced.

Pritha was pleased to hear that. She wondered if she could be a bit generous and make a difference in the child's life instead. 

"Are you going to adopt him?" the woman asked suddenly. Her eyes were sharp and she was looking at Pritha with suspicion and disbelief.


"You mean legally adopt him?" Pritha thought for a while."I don’t think so. I would like to give him shelter and look after him,” she grew serious. “I would also like to give him a good education so he can look after himself later in life." Her eyes grew moist. She remembered the number of unknown boys who took shelter in her Granddad's mansion in North Calcutta, who still visited them after Durga Puja to touch their feet without fail. They were all well established in life.


When the boy was ready to go Shadhon hugged him and asked him to be good. He told him he was there whenever he needed him but he also added that he knew he was in good hands and wouldn't need him.
The boy started choking.

On the way back home, Pritha didn't know if she had done a favour to the orphaned boy or he did one to her at a time when she needed a purpose to go on. She made hurried mental plans of first feeding and clothing Rana properly. Soon she would find a good tutor before she could put him in a proper school. She must also clear one of the rooms next to hers. 


Pritha took in a fresh whiff of the fragrant air inside the temple while praying for Shonkori's soul. After a long time there would be light and laughter at home, she thought. When they came out of the temple, she tightened her grip on the boy’s arm. 

***************************** THE END ******************************
By: Dola Dutta Roy, Calcutta, India
Finished on Oct.1,2013

Wednesday, 2 July 2014

THE ROOFTOP

                                                                                                            Please check earlier stories by clicking on the month on the right  

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