Non-erotic The Scarface I Hated by Trambak

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Story :- The Scarface I Hated

Written by Trambak

[Ramesh_Rocky]

India is a land of immense diversity. Often cultures, languages, castes, perceptions clash. Human values still rules supreme. This story is about the journey of a '. orphan girl trying bravely to face the life that poses difficulties. But, she braves on.

It's a romantic story because love has the capacity to overcome social deficiencies.

Some names and words may be unfamiliar. I have tried to give some meaning to them in brackets.

Chapter-1: Meherunissa

Only the great ,.'-Taala (the Lord Almighty) could possibly be privy to the information as to under what compelling circumstances my parents named me Meherunissa and swiftly left together for the Jannat (heaven) leaving me under the care and guidance of Chacha and Chachi (father's younger brother and his wife).

To be fair to them, I was not ill-treated. I grew up with rest of the family. But, they never wasted many words on my parents except that they were big blots on the good name of the Anwars (my Chacha).

Fortunately, we all went to colleges and I turned out to be better of the lot in studies. When I finally landed a scholarship for the college education, things got a bit complicated. Chachi demanded to know that why the scholarship could not be transferred to my sister. Thankfully, Chacha persuaded Chachi that I could contribute monetarily if I got a good education. That tilted it in my favour. Incidentally, my other two sister's enthusiasms for college were confined to getting away from home. I completed my graduation and got a teaching position in an important college. The money that I was bringing in kept Chachi in a comparatively good mood.

20 summers had passed and things had started changing. Chachi wanted to get her elder daughter married and streams of eligible bachelors were invited on a daily basis. Somehow, the results were disappointing and to her extreme annoyance, a few made dubious remarks indicating that instead if I could be made available for the alliance, they could be more accommodative. Chachi, at first stopped my appearances in these mehfils and then became increasingly irritated whenever a prospective groom sent in a negative feedback.

The behaviour of the alliance seeking crowd surprised me too. The comparison between me and the great Noorjehan was limited to the illustrious name only. But now, I too started noticing myself and after some critical analysis concluded that "I was passable, maybe a little more than that". I looked at myself and reasoned that for all these 20 years, I was oblivious of myself. I did not know whether to feel good or bad; happy or sad; exhilarated or humbled. But I did notice myself. The woman in me suddenly wanted to bloom.

But there are a lot of hindrances to a good idea. I never had an idea that it would be soon.

One evening I came back from the college, collected the dried clothes from the clothesline and started folding them. Suddenly, my uncle entered, like a thief. I was surprised since he usually returned late but today he was early. With him also entered Chachi and I knew something was brewing.

There was an uncomfortable phase of hemming, hawing, and fidgeting. I waited for them to speak. Slowly, both regained their composure and my Chacha launched into a monologue as to how saddened they were when I was left an orphan by my parents (of course they died due to their own stupidity) and how despite all their financial difficulties my Chachi embraced me wholeheartedly and how my own comforts always took priority over their own children and how today no one would dare raise a finger at them accusing that they haven't looked after an orphan child to their best. Still, there are always some ungrateful shaitans who would say so many things but ultimately, it's ,.' who sees it all and he will judge. This was verbatim Chachi's script, clumsily delivered by my uncle.

I was interested in knowing what was coming next?

Here on, the water turned a bit murkier. Uncle was ill at ease but with sustained nudging from my Chachi, he said, "Meher, we are getting old and your Chachi goes through sleepless nights thinking what will happen to you in our absence." Considering that Chachaji was only 51 and Chachi considerably younger, I wasn't that sure that they would make an early exit from the ethereal world.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Undaunted, uncle continued, "After all, you are in our care and we are responsible for your future. So, we have arranged your marriage. To a very good boy, mind you. Very good. You are educated and you know it's a man's heart that is important. Looks and money, everything will go but heart? It will remain forever."

What could I say? I kept quiet. Suddenly, my marriage had become their priority. There had to be a catch somewhere.

Sensing discomfiture, Chachi decided to take over. In a nutshell, she explained with surprising lucidity that my marriage had been fixed to a boy named Imran and there was no necessity of my seeing him because it has been done by them already (They were not my enemy and how much do I know about these things anyway?) Unfortunately, our economic condition was appalling and in case there were some deficiencies in band baaja etc then I should pardon them. As such they were such colossal waste of money. The marriage was to take place 7 days later. I needed to resign from the college, collect my dues and start life afresh as ordained by the God Almighty.

With that, the exited.

Bottom line. Everything was decided and I had no options.

Well, here I was. Well educated, employed, reasonably good looking but still enslaved to the social imperfections. I was supposed to have no choices, no aspirations and therefore an unlikely future. I was not entitled to voice my opinions, my concerns, my likes, my dislikes.

I was cattle. To be fed, fattened and sold.

Should I protest. To whom? I need not cry, nor lament the fact that I am only in custody, to be released to the highest bidder. For Qurbani.

The easiest option was to accept things as they came. Have we not been instructed precisely this? Don't complain, don't resist, don't say no. Say yes, always and every time.

There are wounds that never show on the body. Laurell K. Hamilton

Chapter-2: Alone

I sat alone, miserable and time stood by my side, offering no hope.

Was it happening to me? I had thought this happened only to others. I was secure in my own small cocoon. It was fragile but I never knew that. My life, howsoever pedestrian had a pace and maybe an elusive direction. The great force of life suddenly brought me down to my knees and I looked up towards a vast emptiness, a nought.

Since childhood, I have been severely challenged on the emotional quotient. I could not cry even when appropriate. I would always be standing at a corner twirling my thumb, not knowing what to do when all our kith and kin would launch into wailing and weeping (often false). More often than not I would be reprimanded later for being rude and arrogant. Invariably, the blame would fall on my 'never been seen' mother for my bad upbringing. Genes after all were all too pervasive.

I seriously felt that this was a fitting occasion for me to cry. But lack of training failed me.

I had never seriously contemplated the absence or lack of parents. I never missed them because I never had them. Whether they were good or bad or indifferent made no material difference to me. There was so little discussion about them at home that they were just a nebulous image in my mind. Of little consequence, of little importance. Of course, Chachi very rarely spoke about my mother except when she had to reinforce my deficiencies being a direct responsibility of my mother and It affected me very less. My father was never ever spoken at home. I didn't even have a picture of them. Why? I do not know. I should have tried to find out one. But I never did.

I never remembered anything about my parents. Not even at college. To be honest, the type of college that I studied in and the type of friends I had, it was more of a time pass for all. It was a girl's college and all our energies were focussed on cinema, affairs and other girlie things. We all learned giggling and conspiratorial tones but never anything serious like career, higher studies or even politics. I on my part allowed my life just to float around in frivolities. Maybe, later when I received a scholarship, I was myself surprised. My parents were conveniently non-committal by their absence.

Today, I thought about them more than all these 20 years put together and I felt disloyal, a two timer. I could not gage my complete disinterest till today. Since my life moved on with much deterrence, the path of least resistance was that much easier. A bit self-centric, I had to admit. I was amazed at my complete ignorance about them and felt a trifle lost.

Did my parents have interest in me. They must have protested when I was born, a girl. Who wanted a girl? But they called me a princess. Maybe they were happy for me. For the first time in my life, I felt that void in my life and I missed them. Had they been there I would have fought, expressed my anger, thrashed about. But they weren't there. Not for me. Chachi wanted to protect her daughter from harm and that harm came from me. That what's a parent does. I couldn't blame her. I felt completely distraught and helpless. I wanted to shout, "Mother, where are you? Why aren't you there when I need you the most." It was hopeless.

I felt a strange sensation in my chest where the heart beats. An agonizing pain broke through that little heart and the dam broke. I cried. I cried like never. In my tears, I found my parents. I felt them near me and that steeled my resolve. I would no longer beg anyone for anything. If uncle has looked after me for 2o years, I will not hold back my gratitude. I will do what he says. So be it.

A fresh morning follows each stale night, that is the law of the nature but things change. I was no longer the same girl anymore. A part of me died during the night. I worked quietly through my daily chores but I was someone else. This home where I spent all my life now looked a house, an alien land and I no longer belonged here. It did not scare me anymore where I would go next. I belonged to nowhere. In one evening, I was firmly shown my place. My existence was smashed.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

The rest of the household was uneasy. People tried to be nice to me. A pathetic effort, I thought. I was a guest in a hotel. Hospitality sans the rights were provided. It was time for me to check out. It was difficult for me to act normal. I worked quietly. What can you say to someone who doesn't protest? Nothing. I went to the college, Chachi escorted me to the door like a VIP. I felt like laughing. The road looked different, the trees, the buildings, all were different. Only the college looked familiar. This was my workplace though not for long. The day went off routinely and now it was time. I knocked at Shubhra Mukherjee's door, our headmistress. She looked up and gestured me to enter. With a twinkle in her eyes, she said, "Ah, who do we have here, Meherunissa. Well, what brings you to this foggy old woman."

Foggy!! She was always being like a friend. Humorous, sometimes naughty but always sensible.

I have to resign", I said.

She sharply looked at me. Sceptical.

"Will you have a cup of tea?" She asked.

I said nothing, kept looking down.

"Sit down." She said.

I sat, the words refused to come out.

She got up, came around the table and put her hand on my head.

"Tell me everything." She said.

In her simplicity, I found an incredible heart.

Chapter-3: Acceptance

My headmistress was patient. She just held me for some time. I narrated my story and my predicament. She heard me quietly. I had no idea how much time I took. At the end of it when I no longer had the strength or inclination to say anything further, she went back to her chair and sat quietly for a long time. Then she looked at me and said, "What's happening to you is preposterous and if you wish to say no, you can. And, I will support you with whatever little strength that I have. But you must tell me what you want."

I told her that my options were very limited and I had decided against any remonstration.

She said, "I respect your decision and I will not say no to you but I am not going to accept your resignation. You take leave for a month and let this letter be with me. Come back whenever you want. This college will always welcome you. I see a great future for you here."

I could not understand what she meant. I was the youngest teacher but here I felt the oneness that I had never felt anywhere. I was sad to go. I got up from my chair and slowly walked out of the room and then the college gate. I looked back. The door was closing on me. I was outside. My feet were laden, this was my home and I did not want to go back to the house that till yesterday was my home. I did not say goodbye to anyone and just walked off.

My feet took me back to my uncle's place. Just out of practice. Nothing had changed in that house but I was no longer the same. I entered and went to my room. I sat on my bed. I had nothing to do. Nothing interested me anymore. My Chachi came in with bowl of kheer. I took it and ate some and left the rest. Then I felt guilty and finished it. With resolve, I went and sat with the family that was mine not so long ago. I tried to act normal and spoke about the college as I did every day. My sisters were quiet and I felt bad for them. I really loved them and so did they.

Meanwhile, my uncle came in and announced the dates and the preparations that needed to be made. I listened. As if I was a spectator to a play unfolding before my eyes. There were discussions about a lot of things. After some time, I went back to my room. Both my sisters followed me. The younger one embraced me. Large drops of tears welled out of her eyes. Both cried, quietly. I kept sitting like a stone.

The next few days passed by. There were endless number of people who visited. Each had their special ideas and advices. Some were sympathetic and some were twisted. Very little was spoken about my parents except that few wanted to know whether they had left something for my marriage or not. Once informed that they hadn't the crowd enthusiastically espoused the godliness of my uncle for having done so much for me. Some advised me to feel a little grateful towards him. And, I did.

Meanwhile, I distributed all my belongings to my sisters. All my clothes but a handful. Majority of the money, I handed over to Chachi who accepted them as a small token of repayment. I kept my books and a small box in which I found some remnants of my parents. One fine dress, few certificates and some books that I had never examined.

Time passed quickly and finally, the day arrived that I thought I was dreading. But I felt nothing much except some detached curiosity. In the morning, a motley group of ladies came to talk to me ostensibly to educate me about my marital duties. But soon they sensed the futility of it all and begged excuses. That suited me perfectly as I had started enjoying my solitude that had become an integral part of mine.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Early in the evening, the maulavi with his team of shagirds arrived and started the proceedings. I was asked my razamandi (consent) to which I answered in affirmation. The same question was asked of my counterpart. The yes from the other side took some time to come. I was surprised. And it was over. My marriage was solemnized, the celebrations and gaiety was one notch below than the lowest level and it was time for me to leave. The groom apparently came with a big crowd of one friend cum driver and they were there to escort me to my new life.

The goodbyes were stressed and perfunctory and I walked down towards the car waiting for me. The groom was already inside. The driver cum friend deposited my luggage consisting of a single suitcase behind and we moved off. The crowd of six waived. My sisters cried, others strained to look pained. I felt nothing. In the car, I looked ahead, not to the new life though, the roads that snaked in front of me. It was a mechanical view telling me nothing, what lay ahead.

In a short while, we reached a decent looking building and my groom got down, sehra and all. We three quickly moved inside into a second-floor apartment. The door was open and a girl of my age was standing there. The groom namely Imran took of his sehra and I looked at his face and an audible gasp came out of my mouth.

The face had a huge and ugly scar on the left side that distorted the face completely.

I had never seen anything so abominable in my life.

My reaction was noticed by all. The girl came forward and escorted me to a sofa. Imran and his driver quietly looked down probably digesting my discomfiture.

I welcomed my new life.

Somewhere between giving up and seeing how much more I can take. The Goodvibe .co

Chapter-4: The Scarface

I sat shell shocked. The scar and the face was the final frontier of my agony. How much more was I expected to bear? Still, that initial expression of shock was unlike me and I felt sorry. The suddenness of the event had completely taken me by surprise. But the damage had been done at a human level. Imran stood there shamefaced and there was complete silence. I looked up and said to no one in particular, "I am sorry." That appeared to ease the atmosphere. Imran came forward and said to me, "He is Suresh. He works with me and drives a taxi. This is Sumitra and she stays here with me. She will take care of you and I am Imran and I work in a car repairing company. You should not feel sorry. I scare everyone, at least the first time and I don't mind it. I am used to it." I sensed some pain.

He did not introduce me to others. I had a hunch that he had already told them about me. What exactly had he said about me and how much did he know about me was a big mystery. We again lapsed into silence. Sumitra asked me if I wanted to change and I agreed. She took me to the bathroom attached to what I presumed would be our bed room. The bathroom was simple but clean and all necessary toiletries were there including a clean towel. I was a bit surprised with the presence of Sumitra who apparently stayed with Imran. She was obviously a ***** and of a decent background. I could not understand the equation. I forcefully rejected my curiosity and changed into something comfortable and came out. By then Imran had also changed and Sumitra had made some tea. Suresh was helping her.

I looked around. The house appeared frugally furnished but clean. Only the bare minimum furniture's were there. The walls were blank and llight subdued. There was one photograph of a lady on the mantle that I assumed to be Imran's mother. But she wasn't there. Why? As if on a prompt Imran said, "That's my mother. She doesn't stay with me." I was mildly taken aback. Was he thought reading. Imran said that he planned to order some food and wanted to know my choice. I sharply said that I wasn't hungry but immediately realised that I wasn't alone and amended myself to their choices.

Despite the initial shock, the scar continued to engulf my mind. It was bothersome and something impossible to ignore. Somewhere in my mind this made me obdurate and resistant to this entire marriage fiasco. This complete episode seemed a great travesty of justice. Still, the presence of two other people made things a little more palatable and tolerable. Suresh went and brought in some food which was a simple fare. I nibbled and so did Imran. Still, the dinner passed off without any incident and Suresh took leave. And now the most awkward time. We were to sleep as husband and wife. This seemed completely unreal. It was an antithesis to everything that I knew about marriages. There were no flowers, no relatives and no inkling of an event. Suddenly, I remembered the marriage between Wang Lung and O-lan in "Good Earth". Wang had simply gone to the great lady and was handed O-lan in marriage. They came back and their conjugal life had started straightaway, nothing fancy. But that was a story. This was real.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

A bed is always a welcome for tired souls like us but Imran led me in to an impossibility. Sumitra retired to the other bedroom. I found that she had kept some water and lighted a mildly scented incense stick. I had to appreciate her taste. More often than not, due to the extreme enthusiasm the number of sticks would drive away all habitation from the room. But, I for one was at complete unease. I kept standing knowing not what to do. Imran came towards me and I hurriedly withdrew. Was I scared or was it revulsion? Possibly both and Imran perceived it such. Maybe he was hurt by my behaviour but I cared less.

After some time, Imran said, "You have nothing to fear from me. If you want I can sleep in the other room and Sumitra can sleep here."

I looked up abruptly and said, "Why would you sleep elsewhere? This is your house. You are the owner." That was the final straw and he lay down on the other side of the bed. I don't know whether he slept or not? I didn't. I kept sitting and I never realised when sleep overcame my senses and my eyes shut in slumber. The new bride and the new groom failed to establish the minimal requirements of societal norms. Failed.

I woke with a start as the light entered my eyes. For a moment, I was in a daze, confused. Then, the events of the last night rushed back. Sumitra was standing with a cup of tea. Embarrassed, she apologised for scaring me. I smiled at her weakly. I looked at the other side of the bed but Imran was nowhere to be seen. I looked questioningly at Sumitra. "He has left for the workshop", she informed and then she said with some concern, "Bhaavi, you have not eaten anything. Can I make something for you?" I nodded my head vigorously. Sumitra was in a fix and I felt bad for her. She was trying to make me feel welcome. I asked her to make whatever she wanted and finished my tea which incidentally was good.

I took a bath and washed my clothes and joined Sumitra in the kitchen. I found her to be efficient and pleasant. She made a simple and but tasty breakfast and served me. I asked her to join me but she hesitated. I insisted and she finally agreed. And she slowly opened up. She told me that she had to prepare a tiffin for Imran who usually left by 7.30 in the morning and came back late in the evening. But today he was likely to come early because some people were to visit. I felt a fleeting shadow of unease in Sumitra's eyes. It looked like fear. It was a little disconcerting but perchance I was overreacting. I too was worried. Who is coming and what was I supposed to do.

Worrying will not take away tomorrows troubles, it may take today's peace.

To be continued...

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Chapter-5: The Man in White

The day passed on. Sumitra after her initial discomfiture turned out to be pleasant company. However, she appeared to be pulled back by some apprehensive force that I failed to measure. She had that immense capacity to run a conversation while working. I too got caught up in work, unknowingly.

She showed interest in my college duties and asked whether I planned to pursue my job. I wasn't sure so I sidestepped the answer. On my part I was still searching for the equation between Sumitra and Imran. It was baffling. I was trying to find out what she was in the household. Was she a maid or was she a relative (that was unlikely). Why was she staying here? Wasn't she scared of the society? Meanwhile, I found that Sumitra was studying in a college that made her only a couple of years younger to me. This was a big revelation and I grudgingly viewed her with more interest and some admiration.

I realised that my initial assessment was correct. The house had space because there were very little domestic items. But thanks to Sumitra the everyday administration appeared efficient. Things were happening with clockwork precision. On my appreciation Sumitra said that henceforth I would be required to take over but once she recognized my awkwardness, she didn't press further. Despite discussions on myriad nature I steadfastly avoided any mention of Imran but Sumitra by habit brought him in midst.

Time passed and Sumitra insisted that I take rest and I agreed. I needed time to think, to reflect and ponder. What would I do? I could think of nothing and I let it rest. There was no point in contemplating unknown boundaries. Lack of sleep brought to the verge and I fell asleep. This time it was much more relaxing. I woke up only near lunch. Again, Sumitra had prepared a satisfying fare. I was grateful.

I was curious to know about the people who were likely to visit and somehow, I was detecting the disquiet both in me and Sumitra. She was not as forthcoming this time and so was I.

Around 4.30 pm Imran came back and he waited at the window, looking towards the street. There was an uneasy silence pervading the air. At around 5.00 pm, one gentleman in white along with some more similarly dressed persons entered the house. The gentleman in white appeared self-assured and in control. Rest were only following him. He came directly to Imran and embraced him and looked towards me. Imran called him "Bhavaniji" and introduced me. He brought both his hands to a namaskar and spoke with a greatly subdued voice congratulating me. He then brought out a small box, opened it and offered it to me. I hesitated and looked at Imran who imperceptibly nodded his head. It was a silver coin with Laxmi embossed on it. Once I accepted the gift he looked behind. I now realised that my uncle too was there with the group and so was Suresh.

Bhavaniji as Imran called him summoned Suresh and asked him to be at my beck and call, whenever I required. He didn't talk to my uncle. Finally, he went near Imran and with great gentleness caressed his scar, turned sharply and moved out. The rest went with him. Me and Imran kept standing. I now realised that Sumitra all through this had stayed indoors. The visit had lasted barely five minutes.

Never in my life did I witness anything so short but so overpowering. Who was this man? He appeared to be a person of great authority and influence. How did Imran know him? Who were these people with him? Why was my uncle there? And finally, why was he so gentle with Imran? I had so many questions but not privy to any answers.

I went in and to my great shock found Sumitra weeping and shaking in fright. Before I could say something, Imran bypassed me and embraced Sumitra as if trying to protect her from all calamities. Sumitra continued to sob and held on to Imran. Embarrassed, I moved out. It took quite some time for Sumitra to normalise and recover herself despite Imran comforting her.

The evening passed in a state of bewilderment for me. I couldn't connect anything. Things were moving haywire and I wasn't in control. Suresh came back and sat with us. Quietly. He kept on glancing at Sumitra and appeared to be greatly disturbed himself. There was very little conversation going on. All of us were in a way captive of that 5 minutes of the visit by that man wearing white. He left behind him a trail of chaotic insights.

Dinner came and went but none were hungry.

In a way, it was funny. Each one of us were affected by the tribulations and evils of life that doctored our destinies. In my view, I was an outright victim. But others had their own stories shrouded in mysteries and obscurities. All were hesitant to admit that they were a bunch of normal people leading normal lives. The face of my uncle in the crowd had surprised me. Who knows what were his compulsions and obligations. Suddenly, it appeared to me that we were all a cast in a dark play, puppets whose strings were attached elsewhere, unknown to each other.

It did not frighten me anymore. I wanted to laugh out loud. I was not alone. There was hope amidst futility.

Today Suresh was quiet, immeasurably so. He sat with Sumitra, both bound together by lack of speech. Then, he left, leaving behind uneasiness and fatigue. Although, there was hardly any physical exertion, I felt tired. Weariness encompassed all round. I was grateful to sleep. Imran, as usual slept on the other side of the bed. He was letting me off the hook yet again.

Funnily, today his scar looked a little less intimidating.

I was exhausted from trying to be stronger than I felt. I didn't believe everything I thought.

Chapter-6: Amaya and Ardeshir

The next morning was like the first except that Imran had not left for work. But, he was out of his bed sitting with Sumitra in the kitchen. As I entered, both looked up simultaneously and Sumitra hurriedly went to get my cup of tea. Me and Imran were alone.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Imran looked at me and said, " Can I speak to you?" I nodded. " Not here. In our room." He moved to the room and I followed. Once in the room, he closed the door, looked at me and said, " I am really sorry about all this. I know you are unhappy. If I had options, I would have not allowed this to happen. Not because of you but because of me. I scare away even dogs and cats. You deserve much better. Not me. I can't undo things. But you are at liberty. Do what you want. Whatever that brings you peace and happiness."

He stopped. I was surprised at the mild tone of his voice as well the clarity of thought. It was so unexpected. But I had to say something. I said, "Who is Bhavani?" He was clearly embarrassed and said, "Give me some time. I will tell, I promise. But if you want to know immediately, I will tell it now." He said.

I was annoyed. If he must tell then he should better do it now. But then, he was clearly under strain. I decided not to force his predicament. So, I just said, " Okay. Some other time."

He appeared relieved. He said, " One more request. I want you to continue working. Will the college take you back? Sumitra goes to college. I will be grateful if you can guide her a little." I was again surprised at the request but did not resent it. I said that I would try. I had to speak to the Headmistress and things had changed. Imran appeared a little relaxed but our conversation had ended and the awkwardness had returned. Imran hurriedly opened the door and Sumitra was waiting for me with tea.

The conversation reverted to its pedestrian state. Imran left for work and we two were left behind. I realised that for a long time now, I had become accustomed to continued work and free time did not suit me well. And as usual, Sumitra hadn't left anything for me to do. So, I started talking to her and in a very short time realised that she was extremely sharp and well read. She appeared well versed with the geopolitical nuances of our country as well as the world. She was a revelation. We quickly gelled and time flew. Soon we realised that an hour had passed and Sumitra was embarrassed.

I felt better in two days. But a thorn was still pricking away. Regarding Sumitra. For me she was a riddle.

Not having to do anything, I opened the small box that belonged to my parents. The dress was really nice. Old fashioned but striking in its elegance. There was a book of verses named, "Ol' Man River and other songs. Paul Robeson." This was presented to Amaya by Ardeshir. Fancy names. My parents? Now I was getting the clue about Meherunissa, my name. Then there was another book titled, "Life and contribution of Nadezhda Konstantinovna Krupskaya."

There were a few magazine and pamphlets. There were two newspaper that had turned yellow due to age. The first one was a copy of Indian Express dated 20 Jan 1976. On the top, it was marked and underlined, "Chasnala-372." Another paper in Gujarati was similarly marked, "Morbi- 25000." This was dated 12 August 1979. And there was a diary. There were certificates and two medals (blacked out, certificates pronounced it as gold). The name of the University surprised me. So that was my pedigree.

I sat with those remembrances that I for 20 years never thought important to even look at. Had never ever glanced at. Today, they appeared close. I felt proximity to Amaya and Ardeshir, my parents? Who else? Unfortunately, there were no pictures. How were they? How old was I when they died? Nothing. It was a big void and I had no way to go forward. Did it matter? People whom I neglected for 20 years had now suddenly become important because I was in turmoil? That was typically selfish of me. I had lost the rights. I was inhuman bereft of minimal emotions. Suited me right.

But I felt distraught. Logic did not work.

Time passed on. Nature demanded and it was evening and time for Imran to return. He did so at the appointed time. I noticed that he was quite a stickler for time. He came in and handed over a package to Sumitra that turned out to be samosas. First, I thought that I would refuse but later decided against it. Today, the atmosphere was better and congenial. Although I had decided to get to the bottom of the Bhavani affair, I put it off for later.

Imran asked me what I did the whole day. I told him about the books and pamphlets though not the details. He probed further and asked about the books. That irritated me. I shot at him, sarcastically, "Do you know who Nadezhda Konstantinovna Krupskaya was?" He was stumped for a moment but recovered smartly and said with a smile, "Ah Russian, I think she is the one married to Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov. Am I right." And he started laughing loudly at his own joke. I was infuriated and I was in no mood for a gag. I stormed out of the room. Imran looked rightfully mortified.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

At night Imran came to the room and apologized for his frivolity. He said that he was only trying to make me happy but didn't realise that he had overshot the limit. By now I too was kind of seeing the joke so I let it pass. After some pause he said with hesitation, "Look, the place where I work has a tradition. When someone gets married, the staff throws a party for them. A very short function. They want you to come. I have told them that I will ask you. Will you come?"

That was a new complication and I wanted to say no straightaway but the downcast look on Imran's face prevented me from saying it. I asked him, "Can I say no?" Imran said, "Of course you can, if you are not comfortable." I said with some hesitation, "All right, I will go. But when?" "Tomorrow, it is a half day. Can you come at 3 pm? Suresh will bring you." Imran replied with some relief.

"I can come on my own, just give me the address, I will reach." I retorted sharply.

Another night passed.

Relatively peacefully.

Life begins on the other side of despair. Jean Paul Sartre

Chapter-7: Kiana-The Workshop

I was getting used to the daily routine. Imran gave me a card of the workshop where he worked. It was called "Kiana". I wanted to ask him what Kiana meant but decided against excessive familiarity. It was not very far off and near my college. So, I decided to visit the college first and then go to the workshop. I was very uncomfortable with such formalities. But, I had said yes and I was going to stick to it.

Today I woke up early but by then Imran had left. I helped Sumitra with work and insisted (somewhat strictly) that she should not miss college anymore. Initially she was uncertain but later warmed up to the idea. She was worried that whether I would be able to manage alone or not. I shot her a scathing look and that made her scurry towards college.

And I was alone. Suddenly, I felt oneness with the house. Everything was mine, if I wanted to. I could give it a shape of home if I wanted to. But the million-dollar question was that did I want to? I was torn between too many variables that life was throwing at me. Unable to solve the problem, I started towards my college and reached during the lunch time.

Teachers and students were happy to see me. Somehow the news of my marriage had reached them all. They complained about not being invited and I had no answers. Some teachers asked me in a conspiratorial tone regarding my state of marital bliss which I managed to answer by looking duly demure. Everyone wanted me to join back and so did I.

Eventually, I met Shubhra Mukherjee who was genuinely happy seeing me. She took me to her office and asked many questions. She had no problem in taking me back. Apparently, she hadn't informed the management about my resignation at all. For the college, I was on leave.

After the initial euphoria, she tentatively asked me about my new life. What could I say? I said things that were relatively better but that did not fool her. She knew that I wasn't as happy as I portrayed. But she didn't explore further. But she asked me out about Imran and his behaviour towards me. Despite my antipathy, I had to admit that I was not being mistreated and let it slip that Imran was essentially instrumental in my coming back to the college.

During the course of the chat I mentioned about the Russian fiasco the night before. The headmistress was interested so I told her about 'Nadezhda Konstantinovna Krupskaya'. She was surprisingly intrigued and asked me Imran's reply. I continued the banter and told her that he thought she was wife to one 'Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov'. I also told her how he had laughed at his own joke and my dismay. Shubhra Mukherjee was surprisingly silent. I looked at her. She quietly said, "Lenin!!" Then after a pause she said, "Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov is the original name of Lenin and his wife was Nadezhda Konstantinovna Krupskaya. Fancy Imran telling you this."

I was stunned. Who was the teacher in a college? Me or Imran!

The headmistress deftly steered the discussion away from Imran and asked me about other general things. I told her about the impending evening celebration at the workshop. I told her that the workshop was named 'Kiana'. Again, she appeared startled. I left at 2.40 pm thinking about the weird happenings today. Coincidences, I surmised.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

I reached the workshop exactly at 2.50 pm, ten minutes before the appointed time. Contrary to my expectation, I found Kiana to be a fairly large car repairing workshop. Many advanced cars were parked inside. I entered a large foyer and found many smart men and women. I was a little perplexed and uncertain, when a smartly dressed girl came forward and then suddenly gave a broad smile and asked if I was Meherunissa. I nodded my head. In no time, a number of people came around to welcome me. I was feeling a bit out of place. I had dressed normally (not shabbily though) but the people around me were much better dressed. Though unreasonable, I felt that Imran should have told me to dress better.

Meanwhile, a middle aged distinguished looking gentleman came and shooed the others away. He introduced himself as Mr Desai, the manager. I asked him about Imran and he escorted me to a large glass partition wherefrom the entire workshop was visible. I found many people in blue overalls working on cars. Imran was busily running from one car to another and shouting instructions. In work, he looked impressive, I had to admit. Mr Desai said that some delay was anticipated and he took me to his office.

He started telling me about the workshop and how it had grown over the years and it actually had no competition. He said that he was proud to be the manager for the last five years. I suddenly saw a board in his office that had pictures of about a dozen boys and girls. Mr Desai saw me looking at it and said that the management provided full scholarships to the children of the workers and many of them were studying in big named colleges that their parents could ill afford. I was suitably impressed.

After some time, a girl came and called us. I found that the foyer had been decorated and two fancy chairs had been placed in one corner. Many people were milling around and Imran was standing in a corner looking nonplussed and self-conscious. The girls made me sit on one of the chairs and literally forced Imran still in his overalls to sit on the next. Everyone settled down and the program started with a song which was nice and was followed by a stand-up comedy by one of the workers that was hilarious. He took pot shots at the management and demonstrated how bad, things were out here. I found Imran laughing to his heart's content although I seriously felt that the assault on the management was a little out of place. I tried to see Mr. Desai's reaction and genuinely felt a little worried about Imran and the comedian.

Finally, Mr. Desai got up and gave a small but elegant speech. He congratulated us and wished us happiness. It was really touching. He ended it all by saying that henceforth, if the comedian had any complaints or grievance against the management then he should directly approach the maalkin (owner) of Kiana namely Meherunissa, me, for redress.

I was startled and looked around in utter disbelief. Through the haze of incredulity, I could hear catcalls and applause that seemed to go on for ever and ever. I had never felt so silly in my life. I had a serious doubt about the sanity of it all. There was a deluge of people congratulating me. I must have looked stupid. I tried to search out Imran but he had conveniently vanished.

I wanted to kill him.

And it started to rain heavily.

Suresh brought me home and Imran did not surface back till 9 in the evening. Suresh was petrified and so was Sumitra. Both thought that I was most unhappy with the turn of events at the workshop. And surely, I was. I was completely taken for a ride although if someone had asked me why I felt so, I actually had no answer. Honestly, I did not expect to be told anything that I did not show interest in. Still, I felt strangely agitated. Possibly, Imran and his lifestyle and demeanour failed to indicate his stature. So, when he came at 9, bone drenched in rain, I looked the other side. He looked perfectly ashamed. He tried to apologise but I did not look back. He went to sleep without having dinner.

Enjoy, endure, survive each moment as it comes to you in its proper sequence -- a surprise. Vera Nazarian

Chapter-8: The Scar

During the night, I could hear Imran tossing and turning. He was restless. Suited him well and I did not bother. But around 4 in the morning he started coughing and I was a little worried. With a lot of hesitation and for the first time, I touched his forehead and he was burning with fever. His body shook with cough. He was not well. I did not know what to do. I called Sumitra and indicated towards him. Sumitra took over and in no time, she started sponging and gave medicines. I stood on one side, useless, like furniture. At six, Sumitra asked me to wait while she went to call the doctor. After what seemed an eternity, Sumitra returned with a doctor who examined Imran and advised injections for pneumonia and many other measures. Sumitra was like a demon possessed. For two days, she nursed Imran. Called the doctor, brought medicines and sponged him. The house had changed into a hospital. I only stood by the window, doing nothing. Suresh too stayed round the clock. He had quietened. He would rush and do a work that was entrusted, return quickly with and sit at the door looking at Imran. He seldom spoke a word.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

But the fever persisted. On the second night, I sat with him. Sumitra had dozed off, out of sheer exhaustion. He opened his eyes and looked at me with red glazed eyes. He held my hand and said, "I know you don't love me but I have started loving you." He closed his eyes and let my hands go. I realised, he was in delirium. He kept calling my name and clutched my hands. Early in the morning, the fever came down and Imran slept peacefully. Sumitra came and I asked her to go and sleep. I sat with him, dilemma raging within me.

Over the next three days, he recouped. He was probably ashamed of his behaviour although I thought that he had only spoken those words in a delirious state. He probably remembered nothing, I guessed. On the fourth day, he insisted on going to the workshop. Our life again started its normal routine.

It was just a stopover.

In seven days, Imran improved but the scars of illness showed through his frail body. I too had joined the college. I had nothing to do at Imran's house but couldn't wait for the closing time and my feet took me back to the house that I refused to recognize as my home.

It was a Friday and college was closed for the long weekend. Before I returned, I went to meet the headmistress. She was sitting thoughtfully. I entered and she gestured me to sit down. She had an odd expression. She said, "Strangely, I am not able to dissociate myself from you and Imran. Since the time you spoke about him, I have been trying to connect many disjointed facts. Meanwhile, you did not come for a few days on account of Imran's illness. I am told that he is fine now!"

She paused and continued, "I have been hearing things about Imran and I am not sure as how to assess him. On one hand, he is intelligent and hard working. On the other hand, it appears that he has had a difficult past. And that past is closely associated with his scar. You are like my daughter and a strong one. I want you not to react but find out for yourself and decide. Don't allow emotions to overtake your finer judgement, either way."

I tried to decipher the puzzle that Shubhra Mukherjee was throwing at me.

She said with a chuckle, "You also need to know why Kiana stays away from him. Don't be surprised. Kiana is his mother."

My head started spinning.

I don't remember how I came back. I found Suresh and Sumitra. I had three hours with me. And I had decided to know the truth.

I directly confronted Suresh and asked him what he knew about the scar. He was completely tongue tied and miserable. But I pressed hard and told him that today was the test of his courage and faith. If he faltered today then I would never be able to know what was right and what was acceptable. That broke Suresh. And he started to speak. I soon realised that he was an awful narrator. His story went through roads, lanes, by-lanes, bridges and came back to the same crossing. It was a nightmare. After 20 minutes of monologue, I could decipher the gist.

Suresh said, "About five years back, Imran had just finished his engineering degree but was jobless. He stayed with his widowed mother who worked in a hospital. Going was tough. I was his friend and he looked after me like his brother. Wherever he applied for jobs, people were impressed by his brilliance but the job went to someone else because he had no influence. He was getting frustrated. Slowly both of us got into bad company. Imran was very good at heart but poverty made him desperate. We started doing odd jobs for Bhavani. He was very fond of Imran and was hugely influential. We thought that he would help Imran get a decent job but Bhavani started using him more and more for his own purposes.

One day, we were asked to pick up a girl and bring to Bhavani. We had no idea why we were being asked to do this. Imran managed to persuade the girl and brought her to Bhavani's place. We later realised that it was an act of kidnapping and for ransom. For two days Bhavani tried but the girl's parents refused to pay. At the end, Bhavani called all of us and declared that the girl needs to be eliminated. The girl was also present there and she was scared to death. We were all very upset. Suddenly Imran walked to Bhavani and asked him not to do anything to the girl. Bhavani was awestruck by Imran's defiance. He slapped him hard and said that did he not know the rules? Imran remained adamant. We were all very scared and surprised by Imran's attitude. Slowly, Bhavani got up and walked up to Imran and took out a knife. He said, "Imran, what you are doing deserves death. Do you want that?" Imran continued to look at Bhavani fearlessly and nodded his head in assent. Bhavani suddenly slashed Imran's face. Imran did not even flinch and continued to stand. There was blood all over. The girl meanwhile had fainted. But immediately after the slash Bhavani broke down and embraced Imran again and again, saying sorry. He really loved Imran.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

He asked me to take him to a doctor. But Imran won't go anywhere till Bhavani released the girl unconditionally. Bhavani finally agreed to Imran's demands. We got a doctor who stitched up Imran's face but the scar remained. Subsequently, Bhavani pleaded with Imran a number of times to accept a plastic surgery but Imran always refused. Imran told me that the scar was a reminder for him, to the path that he had taken and he never wished to forget his indiscretion. After this incident, Imran's mother left him. She was a strong lady and had tremendous faith in her son. She could not accept Imran's folly. He desperately appealed for her to reconsider but she just left. I too left Bhavani with Imran. He opened this workshop and with his extreme efforts brought it up. We all are owners there, except him. He distributes all the profit among us and keeps almost nothing for himself. Till date, Bhavani loves Imran dearly but has never dared to offer help."

I was mesmerised by this extraordinary story. But I decided to check further, "What happened to the girl?" I enquired.

Suresh had great difficulty in answering. He fidgeted but could not make himself speak.

Suddenly Sumitra came in and said, "Bhaavi. I am that girl. My parents refused to take me back. Had Imran not let me stay with him, I would have been dead by now."

I looked at her critically and then to Suresh and I said, "So that's it. Your great Imran is actually a mafia. And, our lives are governed by people whom others fear. Fine?"

I let it sink in and continued, "Suresh, Sumitra. There are things that I need to sort out with this man and I cannot do that with you two around. I need both of you to leave, now. Suresh, will your mother allow Sumitra to stay with her for two days?"

Suresh was dumbfounded but Sumitra was smarter. Like me, she too could feel the Rubicon that was emerging on the horizon needed to be breached. She said, "Bhaavi. Don't worry about me. What you want will be done. It is required. For each of us."

I had one more question for her. But my voice dried up, "Sumitra, you have been alone with him for five years. Did he ever not.......?" I could not complete. Sumitra looked at me serenely and replied, "Bhaavi, had he demanded, I would have done it with happiness." And after a pause she said looking pointedly at me, "He will never force you for anything if you say no."

I kissed Sumitra on her forehead. This girl was a messiah for me. Compared to her I had suffered nothing.

They left and I had one hour to me. One hour.

"I prefer to believe the opposite - that there is always an indestructible beauty at the heart of darkness." ― Mary Balogh, A Secret Affair

Chapter-9: The Scarface I Hated

One hour I had. The golden hour for me. I, Meherunissa needed to experiment with life. The decision had been made but implementation was terrifying. My life would change henceforth. That was sure.

I took a bath and adorned myself (for the first time) in the grand dress that Amaya had left in that box. It entwined my body as if it was waiting for me to embellish it. The sheer fabric of light green muslin showed nothing and hid nothing. I did my hair, my face, my lips and lastly my eyes. I wasn't good at it but today things fell into place and after 30 minutes when I looked myself in the mirror, Meherunissa stood in all her glory. Now, she could only wait. Filled with apprehension and trepidation.

The man appeared at the appointed time. He was seldom late and was surprised when the door was opened by someone other than Sumitra. In front of him stood a woman who hated him but he loved her. And in front of the woman stood a man with a hideous scar; a man with a miserable past; a man shunned by his own mother. He looked at me stunned and then mesmerized. He was simultaneously fascinated and awestruck and I looked at a man in overalls, ghastly in his scar.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

I stepped aside for him to enter. He looked around trying to confirm that this was the rightful place he had entered. Confused, he sat and I took over. I went near him and said, "I need to talk." He nodded his head dumbly. "Not here, in our room." I went in and he followed. I kept the door open, unlike last time. I held him by his hand made him sit on the bed. He looked up to me, muddled.

I said, "We are Imran and Meherunissa, husband and wife and partners for life. In the eyes of all except us. Isn't it? Why? Because, I don't love you. Because you look horrible, atrocious. And look at me. More beautiful than many. Is there any reason that I could love you?"

Imran tried to say something but I stopped him, "And you think you can make me love you by being emotional and melodramatic? Taking advantage of fever? Sorry, no!"

I pushed him onto the bed and sat with him, "Do you think, you should ever touch me in your dirty overalls? Never. And can I? Why not? See, how beautiful I am." I brought my face near his.

Imran's eyes were glazed with confusion and desire.

I opened his overall buttons. Under it, he was a body full of sweat and grime. I leaned onto him, nuzzled my face and lips near his scar. He was sweating. My breasts touched his grimy chest. The muslin (fine fabric), remained the lone barrier. His hands were trying to go haywire. I stopped them.

I whispered into his ears, "I can never love you because you will always love me more. I cannot tolerate competition. And that is a travesty. I can never allow it."

I slowly sat up and removed my dress, very slowly. Imran continued to breathe hard. I looked into his eyes. I leaned on his chest again. The wall of muslin was gone. His heart was racing. But I was in control. I again said with my lips close to his, "Don't even dare or I will leave but not before I am sure that you have understood my point." My breast crushed on his body.

I said again, this time I put my legs over his, "Though I cannot love you, I will have children with you. Why? You will never understand." I rubbed my lips on his scar from the temple to the edge of his lips and kissed him on the lip. I said, "I want to have a son with you who will love his wife as you do. A son who will allow his wife do her bidding as Imran does."

I caressed his scar and his forehead. I whispered, "I want to have a daughter with you who can tell who Lenin's wife is and that too in a jest."

I kissed his eyes, "I want a daughter who would be a stickler of time and look after her people wherever she is."

I pushed down the overall and let it fall off. Now I was like a creeper around a tree. Imran put his arms around me and I put my legs between his and continued, "My son will keep nothing for himself and give away everything because needs of others are more important."

I let my tongue enter his mouth. I said, "My son should be able take criticism like my Imran does and consider it a joke. His looks will appear worse than his fellows because their comfort will be paramount in his eyes, always and every time."

He was hard and his embrace was taking my breath away. I caressed his back and said, "My son should be able to stand up to a woman's honour even at the face of death."

I snaked my hand between our bodies and felt his hardness. I kissed him again and said, "Let my daughter never lose control of herself even when provoked." I too was breathing hard. Our bodies were becoming one. The ecstasy was taking over.

I said with difficulty, "My son will never dishonour a woman even when she is at her most vulnerable and unable to protect herself. Whether it is Sumitra or its Meherunissa."

Imran pushed me down like a rag doll and looked at my eyes. I closed my eyes for the first time and said, "You can say something if you want!!"

Imran whispered as if under duress, "I will be gentle. It may pain."

My arms encircled him in a garrotte. I tenderly licked his scar and laughed, "You did not even wince when you got the scar. I can tolerate this pain."

I nuzzled closer and time flew. Two bodies transforming eternity to timeless void. We transgressed the barriers of two unknown body to one soul, a solitary entity. He held me tighter making me gasp for air and I let him.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Time stopped for us and much later, I found my man looking curiously at me. His hairs ruffled over his eyes.

"You scary girl!" He said

"Not as scary as you!" I replied.

"But you do not love me." He complained.

"No I don't and I am a complex woman. What do I know about love? Between us maybe you can love and I could be the capable wife." I whispered and said weakly, "If you permit me."

He looked at me with alarm and tried to say something. I smothered him in my kiss and said, "Yes, if you permit me."

Did I mistake the glint in his eyes as tears? The man who stood fearless to death for someone he barely knew. Was someone shedding tears? For me?

"Yes", I said again. "I have been always been a speck of insignificant and meaningless dust for everyone I have known. I want to have a corner all to myself in your large heart. I want to be the beautiful yet imperfect wife to this terrible face that my Imran is not ashamed of."

He stopped me from saying a word further. The bear hug crushed my face to his broad chest. It was a comfort I never knew existed.

"What are we going to do tomorrow? It a holiday." I casually asked.

Imran considered, "Let us go somewhere. I will call Suresh with his car."

I laughed, "Balls, Mr Imran. You need more practice."

Imran laughed too, "Okay then. Balls to Suresh and his car."

And we practised harder. In right earnest.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Chapter-10

The day passed like a dream. Imran was thoroughly confused and I enjoyed it immensely. For a straightforward person like Imran, his life was strictly divided between black and white or better still as right and wrong, my cryptic one-liners like 'I don't love you' etc simply proved devastating. He would look at me and say, "I know you love me but you are saying the opposite." And I would say, poker-faced, "of course not. You are the one who loves me but I am only a capable wife." It was hilarious to watch his face look so sad. When needed, I kissed him, caressed him and made love to him but said things that he was not expecting. He was torn. I loved tormenting him.

I suddenly realised that I need not wait long for a child. There was already one at home. Imran was a child who had all the innocence, simplicity and an eternal capacity to hear that I loved him. I was acting the typical stone hearted girl who was not ready to yield to a request. Even today, in midst of my fulfilled happiness, my mind constantly fought unease. Was he really mine? What if it was all a dream? Would he still be there when my dream ends, to ask if I loved him or not or would I just be what I have always been, forsaken? Worry was my companion. I was not used to good things in life. They came to me only to be snatched away.

But if it was all real then I wasn't worried. His eyes, his touch, his broken voice, burnt down by fever on that fateful rain filled night, was a lifelong assurance. There was someone in this universe who was kind to me. I had someone all to myself who was loved and adored by so many and most importantly respected by so many. How would I be able to assimilate so much goodness in one? What did I do to justify such largesse, such benefaction?

But again, what should have been an unadulterated joy for me was watered down by dilemmas. Ups and downs in life had made me incapable of accepting the good and negate the bad on its face value. I looked hard at Imran trying to decipher hints of emotions that could give away his goodness or the wickedness. But, it was difficult, he would look down evading eye contact and then peek stealthily when I looked elsewhere with a kind of greedy look reserved for something too precious and unattainable. Like a child stealing a hungry glance at an expensive toy.

After some time, that glance became so disconcerting that I decided to ask him to get up and get some food. Finding something to do worthwhile (or maybe because I commanded it!!) he was up in a flash and rushed out like a burst of air and returned with a bag of food sufficient for five persons for three days. Though inappropriate for a newlywed bride, I admonished him harshly and he looked at me so shamefaced that I had to let it go. Yet, when we settled down to eat, I realised that we were actually starving and at the end of some silent devouring, the leftover was fairly manageable.

I looked at the bed and the general disorder made me blush. I showed it to Imran and he blushed mightier. So, we took bath, got the house in order (for the first time independently) and lay down side by side, in complete fulfilment. And we talked for the first time. Time flew and we shared, our innermost desires and dislikes, that we never knew existed. It came out like a flood. We spoke as if there could be nothing to conceal from each other. Our secrets melted away with a fierce understanding and faith. Now I knew what troubled him.

Imran's father died when he was five years old. His remembrance of his father was vague and hazy. He, for all practical purposes, was brought up single handed by Kiana, his mother. They stayed in several small towns where she worked in colleges as a senior teacher. She took tuitions in the evening. Although he was uncertain as to why they moved every 2-3 years despite changing colleges, he performed admirably well in his class and soon became favourite of many teachers. His mother was a very organized woman and planned and executed each move with efficiency. Very less was spoken about his father but Imran gathered that there was deep love between them but something had gone amiss right before his death.

After finishing college, he finally joined a very famous engineering college. Though they had little finance but Kiana with single-minded doggedness arranged for his studies. As expected, he excelled and after passing out they moved to this town. By now, the struggles of life had a taken a toll on Kiana and Imran wanted to take over his responsibilities and provide some relief to his mother. But, life turned out to be cruel on him and he failed to land a job despite his excellent records. Various social factors contributed to this and he gradually became frustrated and desperate. The rest of the story was known to me through Suresh.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

He spoke animatedly about his workshop. His description of the difficult times, failures and finally success. It seemed like a story right out of a novel. His love and dedication for his workers and staff made me feel a wee bit jealous. But, I could sense his sincerity. He could not speak about his mother much. The pain in him was palpable. I could feel his intense sorrow for his mother. He genuinely felt that he had failed her.

His momentary lack of caution and imprudence continued to be a relentless source of self-mortification. In the last five years, he never allowed himself to forget his indiscretion, even once. His penance was interminable and his conscience unyielding in perennial repentance. He could neither absolve nor forget. With his mother being unforgiving his indictment was complete. Worse, he suffered this profound pain in silence and in isolation.

He had tried to rectify himself. He worked like a maniac and deprived himself socially and monetarily. He effaced himself to be non-identifiable to social scrutiny. He was ruthlessly striving to disown his own entity to some unfathomable depths. Forever shrouded in self-guilt, his confidence towards redemption was destroyed.

Only one question remained unanswered, the circumstances that made him say yes to our marriage. I did not force him to reveal.

There was a knock on the door. Imran was in deep sleep. For a moment, I hesitated but went ahead and opened the door. It was Sumitra. Her face lined with deep anxiety as if not had a wink of sleep after I made her leave the house. She looked at me searching for an answer. I did not want to prolong her agony. I nodded and smiled. The dam broke. She rushed in like a woman possessed, hugged me and started crying. She kissed my face many times. I let her unburden all her grief, apprehension and finally her happiness. The relief on her face said it all. I, for one, was happy and proud of my new family who was standing by me; ecstatic in my joy and miserable in my sorrow.

After what seemed an eternity, Sumitra stepped back looking shamefaced for her unusual expression of affection. By now two more people had converged at the door. First Suresh, who was probably lurking at a distance, looking completely bewildered. The other person was Imran who looked the most embarrassed of all. No one knew what to do. I tried to recover the situation and said, "How come you two are here. I thought you will enjoy some time with each other away from us." Both were uncomfortable and sheepish. I nudged Imran to take Suresh in and I held Sumitra by her hand and led her in.

In a short time, the awkwardness vanished and there was a great merriment. We spoke till early morning. Though Sumitra suggested that it was time for Suresh to go home but I vetoed the idea. Sumitra looked radiant. Suresh, as usual, looked discomfited. I had never seen Imran so jovial. He enjoyed the most. In five years, for the first time, this house was witness to such happiness. We were all in high spirits. But my eyes did not fail me. I saw Imran, often looking at his mother's picture, though for a short instant.

I cornered Sumitra in the kitchen on the pretext of making tea and asked her about her abrupt return. She looked at me awkwardly and finally said, "Bhaavi, I was almost dead with anxiety. I could not even imagine a situation that would hurt Imran and any pain to you was also not acceptable. But I did not know what would happen. In the afternoon, I decided that if something had to happen, good or bad, it would have happened by now. So, I asked Suresh to come with me. He was terrified by the prospects but I insisted.

Sorry Bhaavi (elder brother's wife), I just could not control myself."

I patted her cheek and said, "I would have been very annoyed, had you not come today. Your Imran is a big crooked man. Very naughty." The glow on Sumitra's face told it all. Her happiness was complete. Lifelong, I longed for love and from Sumitra, it came unannounced. I felt numb with gratitude.

Late in the night, it was time to call it a day. Suresh slept on the sofa. I was tired and so was Imran. In a short while, Imran was deep in sleep. I looked at him. There was a deep satisfaction on his face. He was in a dreamless sleep. I could sense his happiness and touched the locks of hair on his forehead. He instantly caught my hand and pulled me to him. This scheming man had completely fooled me! But what could I do? I let him have his way. Sumitra and Suresh were just a partition away and I was a little concerned. But they too must have been in deep sleep so the calamity of them waking up was averted.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Chapter-11

I woke early in the morning. I opened my door carefully so as not to disturb Suresh. I found Sumitra sleeping in a sitting posture and Suresh too in deep sleep with his head on her lap. They looked like two innocent children, in deep contentment.

I quietly came back to my room.

Imran was sleeping and the locks of his hair was falling on his forehead. I wanted to touch him but was suspicious. Couldn't forget the deception he had played only a couple of hours earlier. But this time he did not wake up. He continued to sleep in a childlike state.

How was I to retrieve him out this quagmire of self-chastisement, I wondered. How could I make him rise from the ashes? I needed to be his strength and bring him out of this limitless depth of self-depreciation that he had sunk to. My task was cut out and I was not letting my beautiful husband to be scarred anymore. Whatever it took, I was ready. And I needed to be strong. I had made up my mind towards the first step.

So, I poked him in the ribs. The poor fellow got up with a start and found me in my stern self. Our honeymoon was over and I was now in my practical avatar. The household activities started with precision and efficiency. Sumitra and I started cleaning up the house as if nothing had happened the previous day. Suresh was dispatched back to his work. Imran looked completely out of sorts. He would have run over to his workshop had it not been a Sunday.

In the afternoon, Imran was back to his funny tricks but I stood firm. I asked him about the mystery behind our marriage. He remained quiet for some time as if trying to organize his thoughts. In nutshell, Imran was approached by Bhavani with the proposal for marriage. It transpired that my uncle was working for him and had requested him to arrange a match for me within his severe monetary limits. Imran was shown my photograph and he was head over heels. But, knowing his own background and embarrassed of the scar, he had refused. Bhavani had been insistent and he later agreed.

I got the picture but asked him with stern sarcasm, "Good story, but I think you did not say 'no' strongly enough." He looked pale and mumbled that he really said 'no' many times.

He was in difficulty and I continued like a teacher, "Tell me Imran, did you or did you not?"

He looked down and after some time said, "You made me forget all my resolve. Believe me, I said no but my heart said yes. Bhavani knows me. He can read my mind. He said yes to your uncle."

He then said weakly, "I know, it is not fair. I am sorry."

I replied with the same severity, "You are very bad Imran, very cunning. But don't do it again." And I laughed and pushed him to bed. The cloud shifted from his face and the sun started shining. And so, did his errant activities of late.

Next day, I went to the college. I had decided to put my first plan into action and I did not want to involve Imran. This effort was going to be my lone responsibility. I had a free period before the final bell and went to meet Shubhra Mukherjee. She, as usual, was enigmatic in her smile.

I sat in front of her and said without a prelude, "Madam, I want Kiana's address. Please!" She appeared perplexed at my request and kept assessing me.

Finally, she said with a twinkle in her eyes, "How am I to know anything about her whereabouts? But, even if you are guessing, there must be some reason for it. Do you know anything else?"

I considered the question and replied with caution, "Madam, I know something, but am not very sure of. I am certain that you know many things about Imran's mother. Will you give me her address?"

Madam retorted back, "Why me? Why don't you ask Imran?" This was a tricky question and replied, "I wish to meet her and I don't want Imran to know. For the time being." Madam took out a sheet of paper; wrote the address; handed it over to me and said, "Meher. All the best. Maybe you will succeed. You are a sharp girl. I knew that I will see you again when I told you that Kiana was Imran's mother. But I never imagined it would be so soon."

After a while, she said, "Let me know what happens. I am interested." I knew she would be. There were large gaps in the puzzle but I was sure that few of the pieces were nearby.

I took her leave and reached home (now, it was my home!!). On reaching, I found things that required rectification and lot of work was pending. Things that I did not notice even two days back glared at me. I felt queer. I had been here for some time but never felt that there was anything for me to do and today work was staring at my face. It felt nice when Sumitra welcomed me with a cup of tea. We discussed household as if we have been doing it for eternity. My viewpoints were changing, I thought. That better be. I had a lot to do. Overturn things that needed turning. Find answers to questions, if not solutions. My hands were full.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

I told Sumitra that I will be travelling for the next two days. She looked up, momentarily taken aback and said, "All right." I passed necessary instructions to Sumitra that was really unnecessary and superfluous. Still, she listened carefully. What a joke!

Imran came, in time and we chatted for some time. I told him that I would be travelling. He, like Sumitra looked surprised but didn't say anything. I felt that some explanation was necessary so, I said, "It's important, I will tell you when I come back." Imran was probably intrigued at the role reversal but he didn't comment. Rest of the evening passed in mild uneasiness. Discussion was laboured.

When we reached our bedroom Imran asked me, "Where are you going? Tell me. I am not stopping you."

I said, "Imran. If you won't stop me then, do you really want to know?"

He took me into his arms and said, "Meher. I am worried."

I was feeling bad for him and I said, "There's nothing to be worried. I can take care of myself."

I then looked at him and said, "I have a job for you. There are papers and other documents in my box. I want you to examine them and see if you can make any sense. That is the first question I will ask you when I come back."

He held me tight and so did I.

Next day I was out, leaving Imran sleeping. Sumitra was already up and had packed a lunch. That was wonderful. I took a rickshaw and reached the railway station to catch the first passenger. The train was near empty and there were a few women in the 'ladies only' compartment. They were carrying milk and vegetables to the city and would return in the evening. This was their daily routine and I was travelling by train in years. The train moved and I was reliving experiences of a train journey that I thought was unique. The early morning sun was imparting a lovely glow on the fields. The distant trees appeared to be running with the train and the electricity lines went up and down. I felt a strange feeling of deja-vu sitting on the window and feeling as if I have been through this earlier. Stations came and went. The train stopped and there was a flurry of people alighting and entraining. There was urgency in the voices, lest the train left. The hawkers came with their fare. Then, the engine whistled and we moved laboriously ahead. There were people chatting incessantly. The people changed, the terrain changed. The only thing that was constant was the relentless change.

Chapter-12

Finally, I arrived. The station had a low platform embellished with a red gravel and two yellow boards at the two ends of the platform. The board informed me that I was 48.3 mtr ASL and I needed to change train here if I had to go to the Junction. There were Gulmohar trees on the platform resplendent in brightest fiery orange. Around the tree, there were pabangts and hundreds of parrots, competing to shout down each other. It was something I had never seen before. The train soon left and those who had alighted from the train too quickly vanished. The station suddenly became deserted.

For a moment, I felt panicky, being alone. I came out of the gate. There was no one to check my ticket. I now understood what a rural area meant. There was one lone cycle rickshaw and I showed him the address. He looked at it for some time and confessed that he couldn't read. I told him the name and he said that it was about 3 miles away (? miles) and the road was bad and he would not take a paisa lesser than ten rupees. Not knowing that I could have further bargained, agreed. He was very enthusiastic and we moved through a typical dusty uneven road, mango groves and by the sides of ponds. Time passed well because he was a great storyteller.

In a short while, I was privy to all the happenings of the area including some scandalous ones. After about 30 minutes or so, we entered a village. Many children were playing. They came running towards the rickshaw and stood around us. To them, my rickshaw man freely doled out derogatory sermons. Though I was aghast, they seemed to be used to such language. I asked them about Kiana. After a momentary silence and calculations, a smart girl cried out Kinudidi! (Didi: elder sister)

She went ahead and confirmed with me, "Angry angry; white hairs, teacher?"

I nodded (what else could I do?) The convoy of children led the way like a procession. We came in front of a mud house with a thatched roof. I got down and moved towards the door. I asked the rickshaw man to wait as I was yet not sure of the correctness of my guides. Anyway, nobody left. Visitors were rare here and everyone appeared curious. In a village, life is pedestrian, nothing new happens here.

I knocked, rather banged on the door. After some time, it was opened by a woman, in middle age. The description offered by the girl fit her well except the teacher part. She must have once been handsome but now looked older. Finally, I was face to face with my mother in law (not yet confirmed though). I was not sure how and where to start and the audience standing behind me was getting restless.

The so-called angry woman said mildly, "Come in. Let me deal with these fellows."

I paid the rickshaw and went in. Meanwhile, she disposed of the children in a manner that no one was seen in the vicinity again. She came in. I kept standing. There was only one way to describe the house. Small and clean. She examined me from head to toe and a wan smile crossed her face.

"Meherunissa", she said at last. I was surprised. How did she know my name? My face must have registered the query.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

She said easily, "So, my bahu (son's wife) has come to meet me, that too alone, not bad. Usually, people run away from this place. I am surprised."

"How did you recognize me?", I enquired.

"I have my ways and means." She said with mysterious finality and added, "I have lunch early, then I have to go to work. You must be hungry."

I did not say anything. I was here for a purpose and I was not going to be embroiled in mere civilities.

So, I said, "I have come to take you with me."

She looked up sharply, "Where to?"

I said, "Your home. To your son."

She smiled, "Your home, you mean. As far as I am concerned, this is my home and I have no son."

I immediately replied, "But you said I was your bahu. How could that be if Imran is not your son?"

Her eyes grew wide, "Ah! Smart girl caught me on the wrong foot. Imran is my biological son and that's about all. He has long ceased to be anyone for me."

I looked at her. Age had not defeated her but the harshness of life had taken its toll. She looked mildly disinterested with life. Maybe that was only a shield against her inner pains. Life had been too harsh to her. Anyone else would have bent their knees and accepted the inevitable. Each word, each sentence she uttered was a fight against her inner fears that had dogged her for years. Taking away her best time. I could argue with her, be smart with her but the solution was not in being smart but human. I had seen the human face in her son. His mother was upset with her son whom she loved dearly. I required to breach that barrier of hurt pride that separated her from her son.

I went and sat with her and embraced her. She was uncomfortable and fidgeted. I did not let her go and held her tight and said, "You know, I never had a mother or father. I don't know what relationships are. I don't know what a husband means; what a child means.

But in Imran, I see a son who misses his mother. Each day, he flogs himself, to seek your forgiveness, for doing things he should not have done. He repents every day. For him, you are his final shelter. Don't take it away from him."

She was not fidgeting anymore. She held my face with both her hands, for a long time, and said, "Now Imran has you and I don't worry about him anymore. I will be redundant in your home, a burden. I will only create problems for you. I am good here. My best wishes are with you."

I said with sadness, "Maa, Am I no one to you? Because I am a bahu, an outsider, and therefore without rights." For a long time, no one had called her 'mother'. She kept on looking at me.

At last, she said, "Of course, of course, I am your mother but today you are my guest. Today, we will talk, mother to daughter and tomorrow you decide what I should do." There were no assurances but there was a window of hope. I accepted it.

Lunch was frugal but I loved it. The care Kiana took made it worthwhile coming all the way. I suddenly remembered the packed lunch given to me by Sumitra. Kiana enjoyed the change of taste. The soft heart encased in an apparently tough exterior was in evidence again. We finished eating in silence. I understood the turmoil she was feeling due to my sudden appearance.

So, I broke the silence, "Maa, are you a teacher?"

She replied indifferently, "I had been one and that has continued here. Sometimes, I sit with the boys and girls and try to teach them something. There is no priority for education here. Everyone is looking for earning something to get two square meals. It's a daily struggle here to get food. Teaching and teachers are a source of ridicule." I sensed some sadness in her voice.

"But I do something that interests me. I will take you to a place if you are not too tired." She said.

It was around noon and we walked out of the house. There was no provision for locking it. She simply closed the door and put up a bamboo bar. As we walked through the village, I could not but help look at the naked poverty that was in evidence everywhere. The village showed signs of neglect. The ponds were silted with green algae. Each house was on the verge of being engulfed by shrubs and dense undergrowth. The hum of the mosquitoes was deafening. Suddenly, the village did not appear that romantic as portrayed in books. The place looked like a jungle and I looked around apprehensively.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Look out for snakes", shouted Kiana and I screamed and jumped, terrified. She started laughing, almost bowling over. I hated her for frightening me. I gave her a scathing look but she continued laughing. Okay, so she was teasing me. Well, I would pay her back, surely.

Kiana said, "I know you will kill me for this when I go to your home. So, I will not go." I gritted my teeth and said, "We will see about that".

After traversing through that horrible jungle (I wouldn't have been surprised had we encountered a tiger!!), we reached a clearing where there were a number of mud houses and a lot of threads were being dried in frames. I realised that we had come to a village involved in home-based cloth industry. As soon as Kiana reached, many ladies came out and they started discussing animatedly, forgetting me completely. I just stood there. After some time, Kiana realised that I was there, so she introduced me to everyone as a potential buyer coming from a distant city. Maybe she didn't want them to know my status as her daughter in law. I suspected that they didn't even know that she had a son.

There were large numbers of children roaming around, virtually naked. Both girls and boys. All of them looked malnourished and their skins were dull. The mothers were sitting in a circle and doing needlework. I peeked into their work and I was amazed at the finery and rich designs. In a short while, I was completely immersed in that village.

Each house had a handloom that was working round the clock. Every person was involved with either the loom or the fabrics or various kinds of threads, beautifully coloured. Kiana was busy with the people. In each house, sarees were piled up and one look was enough to say that they were exquisite. I was feeling a little awkward that they would soon come to know that this potential buyer could afford nothing.

And there was no electricity and no pucca building.

Chapter-13

After some time, Kiana said that we must go back before the night fell. The return was a careful exercise and even Kiana appeared alert and didn't crack her usual howlers. We reached home silently and swiftly. Once in the house, she closed the door and made tea. I helped her out in cooking the minimal dinner. For the first time, she looked uncomfortable.

I said, "I hardly take anything for dinner. It's too much."

She looked at me and said, "Liar."

The lantern was lighted that seemed to increase the darkness and the corners of the house looked ominous. Kiana declared with finality, "If you have to relieve yourself, go now. Then I will close the door."

I asked nervously, "Is there any problem going out later?"

She said in an easy tone, "Actually, a lot of jackals come and sit in the clearing and they can be dangerous in a pack."

I hurriedly returned back.

Swiftly, the night fell. The outside was a thick wall of darkness. I could pierce it with a pin. It was the blackest thing that I ever saw. And there were sounds of insects. The sounds they produced were singularly weird. There were separate sets of sound blending together to create an uncanny experience, fearsome. It would have been okay elsewhere but here it made me uneasy. Going out for anything whatsoever was out of the question. Here, once the night fell, everything came to a standstill.

How Kiana stayed here alone was beyond me. What kind of work did she do here? I looked up at her and found her looking at me intently. "Tell me about him", she said weakly. The mother's resolve to ignore her child was under strain. I told her what I knew, I told her about his workshop, his friends and his immense love for his fellowmen. I told her about the profits he shares and scholarships he grants. I did not talk about Sumitra. I did not talk about the scar.

She remained quiet and then asked, "What about the scar?" So, she wanted to know! I told her everything, hiding nothing. In the darkness of the room, I could not see her emotions but I thought I saw in her a momentary face of pride that quickly reverted to indifference. Was it happiness?

Next, it was my turn. I repeated what she had said to me, "Tell me about him."

She pondered over it and said, "He is a copy of his father."

I looked up to find her gazing dreamily at the lantern. She was in a different world. "Indranath, Dr Indranath, Professor of Sociology, International scholar in Marxism. A hardcore leftist ideologue."

I let the information seep in. I couldn't help but ask, "Leftist. And you?"

She said, "Yes. I too, though in a different way. Indranath was the firebrand student leader of the university. When he spoke, time stood still. He would talk about people, the oppressions and the pain they suffered. And we would be mesmerised. I was doing my Masters in Sociology and he was in final year of PhD and we connected. We would discuut our country, our people and our culture for hours. Nights passed into days.

Indra's commitment and energy was vast but his task was difficult. I shared his vision and I was convinced about his path. We two were serious persons. Our romanticism was different. We never spoke about us or our own difficulties, only about people whose backs were to the wall, neglected by our governments, tormented by hunger, illness and unending poverty. For them, whom the system had left behind."

She looked at me and said, "Am I boring you?" I shook my head.

She continued, "Indra left the university and soon became an international scholar. He could have settled down anywhere in the Western world but his heart was here. He became a journalist whose primary job was to go to the remote parts of India and expose the plight of the people there. He was popular with the media and students but government agencies were unhappy with his relentless actions. Meanwhile, I completed my studies and we decided to get married. True to our beliefs, the marriage was without any religious norms, a spartan affair, in a registry office. A few of our friends and students attended. Our parents refused to recognize it and we were on our own."