Rupsa Mukherjee

Kharagpur, West Bengal, India

“Rengech her!” Sorbojaya Devi muttered. Bimal gardener, apparently busy with a trowel, had been ogling at Marang, our new house cleaner. Embarrassed, he looked away. Teesta was pacing up and down the veranda. “What does that mean Ma?” she asked. “Poor fellow!” said Sorbojaya. Having spent years at Binpur, Teesta’s mother-in-law, Sorbojaya Devi was well versed in Santali. Besides, her mother hailed from an educated elite Bhumij family of Jharkhand. Hence, she knew the language. Sorbojaya Devi’s occasional stray remarks caused much vexation to the servants. They abhorred her. Teesta had tried talking some sense into her. Well, who cared!  She would hobble around the house, find flaws with domestic workers, and get all snotty and snide over trifles. Someday these tribal folks would boycott their house, and Teesta would be compelled to do all the household chores like those in Western countries. Her nosey mom-in-law would sit and knit and make observations on how lazy and callous the present generation was as regards their duties and responsibilities towards home and society etc. etc. Uufff!

Something glistened under the transparent gamchha tied on Bimal’s waist just over his loincloth. “What’s that?”Teesta asked. Startled, Bimal stood up and down fell the silver straight edge barber razor that belonged to Teesta’s late father-in-law. “You thieving bloke!” shouted Teesta. Sorbojaya intervened. “It needs to be repaired and restored. I have given it to him on purpose. And don’t ever doubt him dear!” she added. “He’s our most trusted employee.” Then Sorbojoya turned her attention towards Marang to shame her further. “You see how Marang has anointed her hair and tied the red ribbon. Aw, she has painted her nails and lips before coming here! Does she look like a maid of Choudhury household?” Sorbojaya looked up at Teesta for her approval.

“Why? Should she come in an old shabby sari looking poor and ugly?” Teesta blurted out and went inside. She felt sorry for these poor folks and her mom-in–law would not let them be. Last year, Teesta’s doctor husband, Rothin Choudhury, an employee with the State Government hospital had been transferred to Binpur Rural Hospital. It was 2009.There had been a sharp rise in insurgent guerrilla activities by a banned Naxalite group in the forested belt of Binpur and Jhargram. Rothin would not put up in the government quarters as his ancestral parental house was here. Thus began Teesta’s ordeal.

After sudden demise of her husband two years ago, foul-mouthed Sorbojaya Devi’s eccentricities aggravated. Sorbojaya lived all alone in this mansion with the servants. There had been a few distant relatives from her maternal side, who paid occasional visits. Rothin would find time from his busy schedule to visit her now and then from Kharagpur. Nevertheless, Sorbojaya Devi was lonesome. Teesta still remembered Sorbojaya Devi’s blissful ecstasy when Rothin came to stay with his mother. Teesta heard Sorbojaya’s voice. “O’, I know Teesta, you too long for cosmetics and all those vulgar things they put on their face to make themselves palatable to men. Shame on you Bouma (daughter-in-law) and your western education. That’s why Titli fell for that vagabond.” Teesta could not contain herself any longer. She ran outside to the verandah and threatened her mother-in-law shaking her forefinger, “Next time you mention my daughter I shall go and stay in our quarters in the hospital compound”. Sorbojaya’s face fell and she kept quiet.

Teesta and Rothin’s only child, Titli, was enamoured of her fair-skinned Anglo-Indian music teacher who would give the teen piano lessons and taught her a few steps of hip-hop. Convent educated Teesta loved western songs and so did Titli. Teesta recruited Nathan in August 2009, seven months after they had settled at Binpur. And in less than a year the chap eloped with their naive impulsive daughter. It was over three months now. Rothin found out that the couple had been staying in a rented railway quarter at Kharagpur town. Rothin tried to convince Titli into coming back home in many a way. However, that was not to be. To her, Nathan was a demi-god, and that they shared a platonic relationship, etc., etc. Now that’s absurd. Titli seemed to have been bewitched. At least that was what Rothin had told Teesta. He even tried to bribe the poor Anglo-Indian music teacher. All in vain. Teesta’s princess was carried off by a demon. One day she would realize her mistake and come back to Teesta. Teesta knew that. She waited for her return. Sorbojaya held Teesta responsible for the entire incident. Teesta would watch English movies, listen to western songs and even try some steps of the hiphop. Sorbojaya called dark Teesta a crow in peacock’s plumage. And Titli had taken after her mother. To Sorbojaya’s chagrin, Titli preferred trousers to salwar and tees to kameez. She would even speak in English at home. Titli fell in love with English speaking, half English Nathan the moment she had set her eyes on him.  The day Teesta appointed the Anglo-Indian, who had also been new to the locality, her mother-in–law was furious. “Don’t dig a canal to let the crocodile in!” Sorbojaya had cautioned. However, Teesta took a fancy to the young suited booted pianist, a professed orphan. He was polite and social. He would even mix and crack jokes with the servants! Teesta and Nathan would teach spoken English to local tribal children free. Why didn’t Nathan ask for their daughter’s hand like a gentleman?

Rothin returned late on Saturdays. He ran a charitable clinic for santals, savars and lodhas near the bus stand. Teesta felt sad and out of things. She longed to go for a stroll along the ruddy road lined with shaal, mahua, kendu, outside, beyond their beautiful garden, amidst wilderness. Choudhury house was a bit off the road, far from the local crowd, on the periphery of the forest. From here, she could feast her eyes on the hilly landscape dotted with dense jungles. Owing to sudden rise in terrorism and growing political anarchy, she wouldn’t be allowed to go outside. Teesta decided to have her special fruit juice laced with mohuli. Marang had familiarised her with the magic potion during Tusu Puja; and Teesta was thankful to her for it. The drink helped to pacify her noisy mind.

It was October noon. There was a nip in the air. Teesta had her lunch served in her room by Marang. She did not feel like going to the dining space and have her food with that monument of negative mockery, Sreemoti Sorbojaya Choudhury. At quarter past five, after her afternoon siesta, Teesta went outside, to the verandah. Marang and the cook were chatting merrily, while Sorbojaya was knitting a muffler rocking on her cane chair. There was a wicker basket at her feet. Teesta stooped to inspect the contents of the basket. “What’s in there?” she asked her mother-in-law. “Apple snails” Marang chipped in. “We eat them. Bimal Da has brought those for me.” “Ah! Bimal Da!” smiled Sorbojaya Devi sarcastically. Keep it to that only! Mind you!” she added. Bimal stood there picking his nose, as if a diamond mine lay there, under all that mucus. Teesta filled with disgust got down to the garden from the open balcony. She walked along the narrow lane by the newly dug flowerbeds. Rose saplings of different colours had been planted there two weeks back. There were many ceramic and terracotta flowerpots. Saplings had grown a little. They would thrive. With the last rays of the setting sun, the foliage seemed to blush into deeper green. Indeed, Bimal was a competent gardener. Sorbojaya had engaged him three years ago. Now, their garden was the best in the area. The fellow simply had an eye for details. Seeds, saplings, shrubs, cobbled narrow causeway through the garden- he planned everything. Besides he was simple and docile, a sharp contrast to that minx Marang.

Teesta had tea with her mother-in-law who had been trying to humour her with sweet talk. Teesta’s eyes were  swollen. Shasuri Ma (mother-in-law) must have realised that Teesta had been crying. Marang took an early leave that day. Bimal left half an hour later. Teesta sipped at her afternoon tea watching Ma dunk biscuit into her cup of herbal tea. Sorbojaya sometimes preferred raw tulsi herbal tea to regular milk tea, to soothe her frayed nerves. She too must be missing her granddaughter wondered Teesta. Hence the herbal tea. The thought comforted Teesta to some extent. They were after all same boat brothers. Dusk waned into evening. Teesta went indoors. She would have to assist the cook. There was a sudden commotion across the garden, beyond the high walled grill gate. “Who would open the door?” asked Teesta, going out to the verandah. An aged tribal cook was the only servant that stayed in the Choudhury household after sundown.

“Me”, said Sorbojaya Devi as she limped across the garden with her weak, knobbly knees. Rothin usually returned by 9:00 in the evening. Sometimes he would go to the doctors’ club for a peg or two. For Sorbojaya Devi would never allow such things at home. The moment the gate was unlocked Rothin barged in with Titli. Teesta couldn’t believe her eyes. “She? Here? Why? How?” Teesta uttered all in one breath. Titli flew into her arms and burst into tears. Both Teesta and Sorbojaya Devi looked lost and dumbfounded. “They had boarded a bus for Binpur at noon; they wanted to pay us a surprise visit”, clarified Rothin. “The bus was going along Dherua -Midnapur road. Near Dahijuri-Dherua road, a young tribal woman boarded the bus with a basket of apple snails. The woman had been sitting behind Nathan. The bus stopped at the Binpur Hospital More. Nathan got down for a cigarette. The woman followed him. Teesta saw the woman talking with Nathan near the pan-cigarette shop.” “Something was in the basket Ma!” Titli put in. “There was a sudden blast. Through a pall of smoke, I had seen people with masked faces rush to the pan shop. Some faces were covered with gamchha. Moments later, as the smoke cleared, the crowd dispersed. However, Nathan was nowhere. Even the tribal woman had disappeared. The pan shop owner lay injured and unconscious,” Titli recounted panting and weeping. “The rascal must have abandoned Titli and ran off with that woman!” observed Sorbojaya Devi. Teesta glared at Sorbojoya. No matter how much she despised that swindler Nathan, she was all tears to see her child in pain. “Binpur police is investigating the case. Afsar Ali has been transferred here last month”, said Rothin. Sorbojoya looked uneasy. “How come Ali didn’t come to visit us? He’s your childhood buddy!” she said. “Must have been too busy for formal visits right now,” remarked Rothin. He went inside and brought back some medicine. Titli had to pop in two pills. She had been sobbing and snivelling. Sorbojaya Devi went inside, brought some kaada and a bowl of stew and made Titli gulp those down her throat. Washed and refreshed, Titli retired to bed by 8:00 o’clock and was fast asleep. Teesta’s spirits were high. After all her child was home. She dusted the wooden shelf where she had kept small idols of gods and goddesses and offered those bits of dates and dragees.

Titli was in trance for the medicines administered to her by her father. She was under sedatives and tranquilizers to ease off her suffering and help her bear her pain. The family had an early supper. Titli must forget Nathan. That had been decided. Rothin had a professor Dada at Midnapore Medical College. He knew a promising young junior doctor. Rothin would invite him here someday. Choudhury family would sponsor the chap’s higher studies. That would be his dowry. After meal,   Rothin sought refuge in his study in the ground floor. Teesta’s mom-in-law had been helping the cook with the utensils. Teesta was restless. She wondered what had happened to the runaway groom who had been living with her daughter at Kharagpur, outside marriage, for over three months. Nathan was guilty of breach of faith, first to the family and then to their daughter. Who was that tribal woman? Therefore, Nathan had a tribal friend. Then why did he elope with their only child. Titli was seventeen only. Teesta was exasperated and fidgety. Still she tried to rest beside Titli, in her bed. She was tired.

Teesta had fallen asleep for perhaps, three hours or more. All of a sudden, there was a shuffling sound from somewhere, ground floor maybe and that tantalizing musk of wet earth. It had been raining heavily. Teesta got up. It was half past twelve at night. She went to the large window on the eastern wall of her daughter’s room, the one overlooking the garden. In pitch darkness, through the curtain of rain she espied two figures near the rose flowerbed, shifting flowerpots and digging the soil. Two more figures appeared, as if from nowhere. They lifted some gunnysacks from the place! There was a flash of lightening with the thunderstorm. Then Teesta caught a glimpse of Bimal gardener.  He was looking up at the window. Teesta swiftly moved behind drapery, away from the window. She stood there with bated breath. There was a soft sound of engine. Teesta peered through the darkness and saw a tempo speed off. In the light of the vehicle, Teesta saw Bimal waving from the vehicle, at someone at the verandah. Who was there at the balcony at this hour o’night? Teesta tiptoed downstairs and peeped into the library. Rothin lay fast asleep on the divan in his study. She went to Sorbojaya’s room. She was sleeping on her single bed in her housecoat, her mouth slightly open, while the cook lay asleep on a madur (mat) on the floor. Before the bathroom, lay Sorbojaya Devi’s soiled bathroom slippers. Teesta did not wake them up. She was terrified. Teesta went to her daughter’s room and lay down beside her. She was wide-awake. She would have to talk to her husband and mother-in-law in the morning. Something was very wrong with their most trusted employee, Bimal Murmu, the gardener.

 Next day, being Sunday, Choudhurys got up late. Neither Bimal, nor Marang turned up. Teesta tidied the house and did the household chores. Titli was still in deep slumber. By 8.30, a police jeep stopped at their door. Afsar Ali entered into their house, downcast and distressed. Sorbojaya Devi went forward, greeted him and offered him the garden chair. Next, Rothin walked up to him. “His body had been recovered from Sarakata village. When shells did not work, they slit his throat with a straight edge razor,” informed Ali in a hushed voice. Sorbojaya Devi looked pale. Teesta apprehensive looked inside to ensure if Titli was still asleep. “Who were they?”Sorbojaya asked trembling a little. Ali looked at her askance and sat on the lawn chair. “Why would they kill a poor music teacher?” enquired Teesta. Afsar Ali now turned to Teesta. “Here comes the twist, Didi! Nathan Brown, was an honest officer with the Special Task Force, Kolkata Police. “What does that mean? asked Sorbojaya. “Was Nathan a policeman?” she whispered aloud. “But he ra-ran away with Titli!”she stuttered. “Nathan had been working as an infiltrator jointly with CRPF Cobra commandoes to nail a powerful undercover area commandant of the Guerrilla Army,” Ali continued. “Who?” asked Teesta confused. It was given out that he had spotted an insurgent hideout and plenty of smuggled arms in a residential area at Binpur. Hence, he was eliminated. They all stood awestruck, mesmerized.

Teesta sank into an armchair. Ali sat staring at the garden. His eyes roved from the upturned flowerbeds to Rothin’s perplexed face.  Then Teesta spoke up. She related all she had seen the other night. She left out the last part of the story. For she did not know who Bimal Murmu waved at, at the time of his departure. Police force rummaged the flowerpots and turned over the flowerbeds. Nothing was found. Sorbojaya Devi was seething in anger. The police dared to enter Choudhury house owing to some unsubstantiated utterances of her daughter-in-law. Neither Rothin nor Sorbojoya Devi had seen or heard anything the night before. However, the STF hunted down several rebels from Burishole the next day. Marang, who turned out to be a “covert” Naxalite, died in an encounter near Metala village.  Titli identified her from a photograph as the tribal woman who had been talking to Nathan before his disappearance. Bimal Murmu who had supposedly come from Jharkhand, simply vanished like a wisp of smoke in the air.

Peace was eventually restored in the Choudhury house. Distant neighbours, relatives, even Ali and his police administration tried to help the doctor’s family through this difficult period. Teesta expected Titli to get over her bereavement. Teesta too was in pain for the brutal murder of an honest, diligent officer like Nathan, who sacrificed his life in line of duty. Teesta was in her daughter’s room arranging books on her study table. “Nathan would have made a wonderful son-in-law,” mused Teesta quite aloud. Once Nathan had rice and fish curry at their place. Teesta still remembered how he had manoeuvred the fork to separate fish flesh from the maze of bones. Nathan didn’t use hand and fingers to eat. Rothin had been standing by the window overlooking the garden. Suddenly Teesta remembered something. Who was there at the verandah that day at such an odd hour of night? Before she could ask Rothin about it,   Sorbojaya summoned them downstairs to the kitchen. “Look Titli has prepared pudding for us. I had challenged her that she couldn’t cook; and here’s the outcome”, said Sorbojaya quite excited. Teesta felt good. “Why don’t you taste it first, Ma!” she told Sorbojaya. Titli’s grandmother took a small bite from a piece of the pudding and remarked, “Cholable!” “What does that mean?” asked Rothin. “Choley(goes)+able”(bearable) answered Sorbojaya and Titli smiled. “What language is that Ma?  Teesta queried, quite serious. Sorbojaya Devi looked at her with an air of superiority and pronounced, “Benglish.”