By Shraddha Pokharel
The day was very cold. She could feel the air gush past her ears and pierce the green trousers of her kurta. It made her shiver.
It was half-past eight and she was almost late for the day. Hurriedly, she emptied all the washed dishes onto the bamboo rack beside the stove table and moved through the kitchen arc into the small room she shared with her two sons. She looked at her room: two beds at the end, a table in-between piled with books. At the other end of the room was the Godrejcupboard which was her wedding gift, and a small TV alongside. That was, she thought, all her belongings, which were worth forty years of her life!
A cold wind blew in.
‘Babu forgot to shut the window. Oh! He is more careless than his elder brother,’ she told herself, as she shut the window with a familiar creak.
She knew those thin blue curtains wouldn’t be enough during the cold winter days. But she was happy the way the colorful patterns made the room look bright. She took out her grey sweater from the cupboard, put on a small bindi on her forehead, and some bideshi lipstick her Bhauju had given her. She glanced into the mirror. For a thin figure that she had always been, she had a somewhat circular face. Over the years, a few creases at the sides of her mouth, and cringes on her nose bridge had developed. If only it weren’t for the scars on her forehead! For a moment she had forgotten…
Just then her phone rang.
“Hello… Didi? I haven’t left. What about last week’s order?”
“I am done with them. I was just locking up; will bring them right away.”
She was glad she had taken up the task to make the battis; the little earnings made from it was quite a relief during hard-hitting times. She took the plastic bags from the small puja-sthan in her kitchen and locked the door. The bhai next room had left already, for it was almost nine.
“Didi, here….done perfectly; your last week’s order.” She handed the rounded batti to Uma Didi and smiled.
“Nice, Rita Baini. I will deliver the order today, and you have 500 more to make for next week. I hope you can manage. Here, take the money for this week’s work,” she said, handing over 250 rupees.
“Dhanyabad. Surely I will. I’m running late. Take my keys, Didi. Give them to Rabi when he gets back from the college. Avishek has extra classes. Tell him that I have put some rice and dal on the stove. Bye.”
She smiled at the people she met on the way, for she had no time to talk like she did on other days. It had been quite some time she had been living in that locality to be near her brother. How fast time went by, she thought. She couldn’t believe how a single turn could change life so drastically.
She passed by her uncle’s house where her brother lived with his family. As she walked through the same narrow gullies, she remembered how different it was when she had walked down this galli to her uncle’s house two years back.
It seemed to her like yesterday that she was brought from her rented house to this place near her brother’s home so that he could take care of her. Everybody had said, she would go crazy if she lived by herself. She recalled as she walked down the slopeto the tempo stand. The distance didn’t bother her at first.
Today she was panting with all that swift walking. She could see the house they used to live in from the tempo stand. Other days, she would have remained aloof. But today, a strange chill passed down her spine when she saw it because, this morning was as gloomy and cold as that day in her past.
How normal that day had seemed, she recollected. Just as on any other day, her sons had left for school. It was Tuesday; so she had gone to the Ganesh Temple to worship. It was almost noon by the time she finished her puja. She had to get home quickly, before her husband left for his night duty. She had literally run home, but only to find the door locked from inside. She had tried a hundred times to open the door but there was no answer. He must be knocked out in drunken stupor, she thought! It took almost an hour after she called her brother and he broke in that they faced a reality she had dreaded.
The police was informed. Her little children sobbed bitterly as they kept clinging to her sari, as she sat beside the dead body, mutely.
She still had it vivid in her memory. The feelings of that moment: how she had wished he was still alive despite the pent-up frustrations he daily vented on her! At least if he were alive, she would be spared of all this sorrow, and a life of uncertainty. How she had forgotten all the beatings and thrashings, and how she had wanted him back! How she had sought to end her life! How she sometimes still did!
But she had to live, she knew. She had to live for her children. Her children were her only hope. She knew he continued to live through them. But the world was not kind to her. She had become a victim of social prejudices. So, when his office called her a month ago asking her if she wanted a job there, she had gathered all her courage and agreed.
Thinking about all these things, she got on the tempo and headed towards Durbarmarg. She got off the tempo atJamal and walked down the crowded street. The rush made her a bit nervous and hopeful at the same time.
She reached the gate of the casino of the five-star hotel, where she worked. When she got nearer, she saw a small crowd gathered outside the door. Within minutes, the crowd got bigger and she saw some familiar faces there. The crowd started chanting slogans. She stood there trying to figure out what was happening. A little later, she saw Durga, her supervisor.
“Ma’am, what is this about? Who is behind this fuss?” She asked.
To her utter dismay, Durga replied, “Rita, this is not a demonstration by any political party. These are our staff members and they are protesting since the casino hasn’t paid for the last six months. And the casino is closing down from today, until further notice.”
Rita was shocked. But there was nothing she could do.
“Baini, you better get going. Nothing good is coming out of this today. You will just be wasting your time if you decide to stay back. I was on my way home. You should return too.”
“But Didi, I was supposed to get my first salary today.”
By the time her words came out, Durga had already walked out of the gate. The protest turned into a riot and police vans started entering the premises. She decided to leave.
She started walking back. Her mind went blank. She felt claustrophobic in the crowded street. A sharp pain seemed to pierce through her heart. How would she manage to get through the month without any money? No, she couldn’t ask her brother; she had done enough begging already. What would she to tell her sons? How was she going to support them? Her head spun with these questions. She had no answers. She wanted to shout, curse the universe for her misfortune. But she knew that wouldn’t solve her problems.
She trembled with frustrations which turned into a lump inside her throat. She tried to get to the tempostand as fast as her legs would carry her. She tried to climb the overhead bridge. The steps felt steeper than before as if they were telling her of the hardships that still were to come. She knew she could not hold back her tears any longer. She walked pushing her way through the horde of people.
As she got to the top of the bridge, her eyes caught sight of an old man in the corner. He was probably in his seventies. He sat there with all sorts of rings and lockets displayed neatly on a rag before him on the floor. A small board inked “Jyotish Sewa” rested nearby. He was an astrologer.
‘Maybe I should consult him; perhaps he will help me get rid of my bad times,’ she mumbled, moving towards him. He looked at her.
She knelt down and checked the rings. They glimmered in the afternoon sun.
“Do these rings work?” she asked.
“Yes, Nani. They do for sure,” he said as he adjusted his old-rimmed spectacles.
“Show me your hands and I will tell you the one that best suits for your need.”
She put her hand forward. He took her palms into his own wrinkled ones and looked carefully at the lines on them. After a moment of study, he fixed his aging eyes deep into hers. He looked ancient with folds all over his face, as he hummed the mantras and said, “Nani, you have some trouble with your stars. But if you wear a ruby ring, it will all go away.”
He gave a toothless smile. The smile reminded her of her own father. A warm feeling seeped into her heart.
Then she saw the ring right there at the center—a ring with a big, bright fake red ruby.
“How much for this ring, Bajé?”
“You can give me 250 rupees.”
She took out five fresh 50 rupee notes from her bag and thanked him.
“May God be with you, Nani,” said the old man and gave her a marigold flower together with the ring.
Tucking the marigold on her hair she started off.
She looked at the ring on her finger. It was the only ornament she had on her right hand. The ruby flashed in the mid-day sun.
Maybe the gullies will be different today. She smiled as she descended the steps down the overhead bridge.
***
[Shraddha Pokharel is an MA in English from Pokhara University. Many of her short fictions have been published in periodicals and anthologies, including Crossroads, a collection of stories published by IACER, an institution of higher education under Pokhara University.]