Mahashweta (8 page)

Anupama mused. . .sooner or later her sisters would also get married and go away to start their own families. They would have a companion to share their joys and sorrows, and they would have children. But her own life would be as silent as a graveyard. She wondered where she had gone wrong. Why was she being punished? Was there no escape from this ordeal? It seemed as though even God had turned a deaf ear to her prayers.

There was still no word from Anand.

Was he, perhaps, too unwell to write? Or, had he sent his reply to Radhakka’s address? Should she ask Radhakka to redirect all her letters to the village? No, that would be a futile exercise. But then she remembered that in her letters to Anand she had written the correct return address at the back of the envelope. She thought of Dr Desai who had brought them together. Though he was now in Delhi he would certainly know where Anand was and what he was doing. Should she subject herself to the humiliation of asking a third person for her husband’s address? Anupama was well aware that the relationship between husband and wife was an intensely private one. But now, circumstances had forced her to ask an outsider for help. Anupama cast aside her doubts and wrote to Dr Desai.

Late one evening, when Anupama was alone at home, there was a knock on the door. Sabakka had gone to the temple, her father had gone to the market, and her sisters were at a neighbour’s house to attend some function. Anupama was only too aware that she was no longer welcome on auspicious occasions, and even when people invited her she refrained from going anywhere.

When Anupama opened the door, she saw two men standing outside. They looked Anupama up and down, as if they were examining her, and she felt extremely uncomfortable. ‘Please come inside. Appa will be returning any minute now,’ she said, and brought them some water to drink.

The older of the two asked her, ‘Are you the eldest daughter?’

‘Yes,’ she replied. When the strangers did not say anything further, she went into the kitchen.

When Sabakka returned home and saw the visitors, she grew visibly excited. She went inside and asked Anupama, ‘What did you offer them? Do you know who they are? They are our Nanda’s prospective in-laws!’ She happily hurried away to prepare some snacks for them.

Anupama slipped away to her room, knowing that Sabakka would not want her around the guests.

Shamanna arrived a few minutes later with Nanda and Vasudha in tow. Nanda quietly went to help her mother in the kitchen.

‘I’m sorry I was not at home to receive you properly. We did not know you were coming today. Please stay with us tonight. I wanted to meet you earlier and fix the date of the marriage, but there were some problems and I was held up. What will you have—tea or coffee?’

The old man gestured to him to stop. The other person who was his brother said, ‘Masterji, we just happened to be in the neighbourhood, so we came to see you. We cannot stay for dinner as we have to go back soon.’

They had tea and Shamanna then accompanied them to the bus-stop.

Sabakka spent the next few days preparing for her daughter’s wedding. Her standard response to anything that needed to be done for Anupama’s wedding had always been, ‘It is beyond our reach.’ But for Nanda’s wedding, she did not spare any expense. Anupama sighed. She had found a husband who was far above anything she had aspired for. But he had slipped out of her reach.

A few days later, Papanna brought two letters, one for Anupama and the other for Shamanna. Dr Desai had written to tell her that he had been to England the previous month, and had met Anand there. When Anupama saw the address Dr Desai had given, she was shocked. It was the same address to which she had written all her letters. The implication was all too clear—Anand must have received her letters but had chosen not to reply.

Anupama turned to see what her father was doing. Shamanna had collapsed after reading the letter that he had received. Anupama wondered what the letter said as she ran to get him some water.

The letter was from Nanda’s prospective in-laws.

We
had
heard
a
rumour
that
your
eldest
daughter
has
leukoderma
and
because
of
that
her
husband
has
left
her.
We
did
not
believe
it
and
had
come
to
see
for
ourselves.
We
now
know
that
it
was
not
a
rumour
but
a
fact.
We
do
not
want
a
daughter-in-law
whose
sister
has
white
patches.
As
you
are
aware,
ours
is
a
very
orthodox
family
and
nobody
will
accept
this
alliance
.
 
.
 
.
Perhaps
this
alliance
has
not
met
with
Lord
Brahma’s
approval.

Please
do
not
misunderstand
us,
but
we
are
forced
to
call
off
the
wedding.

The news came as a shock to everyone and Anupama bowed her head in shame. The grim silnce that swept through the house was broken by the sound of Nanda’s sobs. Sabakka’s anger erupted like a volcano; if she had possessed the power of Shiva’s third eye, Anupama would have been reduced to ashes.

‘It is because of her that they want to cancel the marriage. There is no point in weeping about this; you must go and inform them that Anupama and Nanda are stepsisters, not real sisters. Tell them that Anupama has inherited this affliction from her mother, and reassure them that they need have no worries about Nanda.’

Anupama knew that what Sabakka had said about her mother was not true. But if a harmless lie could help Nanda get married, she would not object. Anupama could not bear to see Nanda suffer because of her. She said in a low voice, ‘Appa, please do as she says. If you can revive the alliance by doing that, no one will be happier than me.’

Shamanna was filled with despair, but he agreed to go the following morning. The household was in a state of nervous anticipation all day. Shamanna returned in the evening, looking downcast. They had told him bluntly, ‘You are saying this because it suits you, but we don’t want to take any chances with our son’s future. We can always get a better alliance.’

Nanda’s marriage was cancelled, and Anupama was blamed for this misfortune. This time Anupama did not weep—there were no more tears left inside her.

Shamanna seemed to age overnight; he became even quieter than before. Fate was conspiring against him, nothing was right in his life anymore. By the end of the month, he was transferred to another village, not unlike the one they were living in. Encouraged by this turn of events, Shamanna and his family soon settled down in the new village.

It had been a year since Anupama had returned to her father’s house. Before moving to the new village, Anupama gave her new address to Papanna, and requested him to redirect her letters promptly. Even though she had realized otherwise, she still hoped that Anand would come for her one day. Since Shamanna was new to the village, no one had approached him for private tuitions yet. Life had become a struggle, and Sabakka vented all her frustrations and anger on Anupama. ‘Your in-laws are rich. Why can’t they send some money every month for your maintenance? It would have been better if you had stayed with them instead of coming here and adding to our burdens.’

But Anupama could not bring herself to add to her humiliation by asking her in-laws for money. Sabakka firmly believed that whatever they spent on Anupama was a sheer waste; she refused to acknowledge the fact that Anupama helped with the household chores all day long.

Anupama had wanted to take up a job as a teacher, but for that she needed a B.Ed. degree. So she resolved to go to the city—there she would start giving tuitions, and earn enough to study further.

If only she had contracted the skin ailment while she was at college, then Anand would not have married her and she would not have lost everything. She could have continued her education and taken up a job, casting aside all thoughts of marriage, instead of being a burden on her family.

A small white patch had ruined her career as well as her marriage.

As a student, she had always acted in plays that had a happy ending. She would tell Sumithra, ‘I do not want to play the tragic heroine, Sumi. I want to show the audience the joy, the happiness, the magic transformation that love and beauty can bring. I believe in happy endings!’

But real life had proved to be different—she was learning the hard way that life is not always a fountain of happiness, but rather a mix of pain and sorrow. The drama of her life had only just begun, and she had no choice but to see it through to the end.

Sumithra had moved to Bombay after her marriage. She knew about Anupama’s problem and in one of her letters, she wrote,

Dear
Anu,

I
know
you
are
extremely
unhappy
there
and
I
want
you
to
come
and
stay
with
us
in
Bombay
for
some
time. Instead
of
sitting
at
home
and
brooding
over
your
fate
in
that
village,
come
to
this
mega
city.
I
am
sure
you
will
get
a
job;
even
I
got
one!
I
have
discussed
this
with
Hari;
so
you
need
not
worry.
Have
courage
and
do
not
lose
your
patience.

Love,
Sumi.

Do
not
lose
your
patience,
Sumi had written, but how could Anupama not lose her patience when everyone around her treated her with such contempt? The only thing that was keeping her despair from overwhelming her was the determination to overcome all her misfortunes without ever giving in.

Savantri, the school ayah, would leave the school keys every day in Shamanna’s house. One evening, she took Anupama aside and said, ‘Can I suggest something to you?’

‘What?’

‘Our village goddess is very powerful. She never rejects a sincere devotee’s prayer. If you worship her with white flowers every morning for twenty-one days your disease will disappear.’

‘Savantri, I have prayed to many gods and goddesses in various temples. I have gone to dargahs and churches, but nothing has helped me.’

Savantri persevered, ‘This is a different goddess. Why can’t you try?’

Anupama kept quiet. Despite the cures that people suggested for her condition every now and then, it was spreading quietly and inexorably.

Shamanna and Sabakka were discussing Nanda’s future. ‘If you carry on doing nothing about it, my daughters will die unmarried. Why aren’t you trying to find husbands for them?’ Sabakka urged her husband.