Non-erotic The Scarface I Hated by Trambak

[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."