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The Bhattacharya family was by nature stubborn. I had heard from Thamma stories of Dadu’s stubbornness with the British Government when they increased Taxes on farmland. He used to go and sit in the Governor’s office every single day, without fail, till he finally agreed to meet the mad old man. Then there was Baba. If he knew he would do something, like take a fateful ride to Shantiniketan alone, nobody could stop him. Among us siblings, Bibha was the most stubborn. Perhaps because she was pampered the most by all of us, even Ananta. I remember being home on a weekday, during college, when I heard the cycle bells outside, followed by Ananta running in, his shoes squeaking carelessly against the floor until he saw me and stopped, alarmed, not expecting me to be home. Bibha walked in after him, looking angry. She had her hair braided on either side, and the school uniform, a white saree with a blue border, neatly pleated, hung around her. She looked back at Lata, who, in the same uniform and ribbons, followed her, with both their bags in her hands. She struggled a little with the weight as she pleaded something to Bibha. Bibha snapped, making me frown at them.
“What happened?” I walked up to them, with my hands in my trousers pockets, as Lata suddenly looked aware. Bibha eyed me quietly.
“Lata?” I turned to the thirteen-year-old, holding the bags. “Why are you carrying Bibha’s things? I am sure she can do it herself.” Bibha stomped away, while Ananta eyed them.
“These two have been fighting. ” He said in a hurry before sitting down on the bench. Lata took the cue and dropped the bags to help him remove his shoes. I enquired further, asking Lata instead of Bibha, who had by now shut the door. She didn’t give away much, only that there had been some misunderstanding she would solve between them. I trusted her with a nod, understanding that perhaps my age and position weren’t very reliable for Lata to share her issues with me. She did manage to handle Bibha’s stubbornness better than any of us. I saw them making garlands for Thamma’s puja in the evening, giggling away at the Thakur Dalan. Bibha was the only one who continued having tiffs with Lata every now and then, even when they couldn’t do without each other for even a week. Once, Lata went to her maternal grandparents’ place somewhere in Malda when her grandfather was on his deathbed. She came back after two days, and Ananta and Bibha didn’t leave her side for a week. They were that close.
I saw Bibha after a gap of several months. She was thinner, had bags under her eyes, and bruises on her arms and neck. I noticed the faded sindoor on her hairline and a pair of sankha pola on her wrists. The moment she saw my car stop at her address, she ran out and hugged me. I instantly felt relieved. She wept a little as I reassured her, patting her head awkwardly. I don’t remember the last time I hugged my sister. It was probably while Ma was still alive. She looked alarmed.
“We have to leave before he comes back. He is dangerous.” She walked inside again and came back with a bundle of clothes. I noticed she had abandoned the Shakha pola. “Hurry.” I nodded as she sat beside me and I drove off, home. She narrated her ordeals along the way. He took all her jewellery and lied to her about getting a job. One day, when their neighbour saw him sitting at a chai stall near College Street, she informed Bibha. When Bibha questioned his whereabouts and wanted to see his work slips, she saw a side of Kalikinkar she never imagined. He was angry and terrified and hit her. He told her that he had sold off her jewellery and used up the money to gamble. Bibha threatened to call the police. He locked her up in the house and threatened to burn her alive. He said he was friends with well-known goons. With the help of her next-door neighbour, she wrote to Lata, informing her that he wouldn’t be home for a few days, and he would be off to a friend’s place to ask for some money under false pretences. He had left her with no money so that she couldn’t escape or call us. She sobbed, admitting that she thought she was dead for us, and I wouldn’t help. How could I not? She was always my little sister. I was terrified to even imagine what she went through in those months. I am sure there were more gruesome and intimate details she refrained from sharing with me. I hoped in my heart that she told Lata. I had left Lata sobbing on the porch as I reassured her that her Didi would be back, safe and sound. She had to inform Thamma and the others, and I was sure that by the time we reached home, Dada would know of it too. Bibha kept lamenting how she couldn’t face anyone. I reassured her that no matter what happened, we were her family.
As soon as our car stopped at the porch, Ananta came out to open the door for her. Thamma was helped downstairs by Kakima and Kaku, as she insisted on coming to the front door. The car honked at the porch, alerting them to our arrival. Lata dashed down the stairs to hug Bibha, who broke down as soon as Lata hugged her. I looked away, in a bid to compose myself as Lata led Bibha to Thamma, and they hugged and cried. Bibha kept apologising as Kakima gasped at her bruises and started nursing them. Ananta had called Dada, and with the information Bibha now gave us, sooner or later, the police would capture the fraudster. Dada would make sure he paid for what he did. There was no time to show mercy. He still hadn’t forgiven Bibha. When Ananta asked when he was coming by, Dada was adamant that he would focus on seeking justice first. I watched the women huddling in the living room as Kanai brought water for Bibha. Ananta looked away and wiped his tears when his eyes met mine. Embarrassed, perhaps, of letting his emotions show, the young lad looked away, and I sighed.
I left them in the hall and walked to my room. I felt disgusted at myself. I was an utter failure of a guardian, a brother and a protector. I couldn’t look out for my younger sister. How could I let her suffer? I sat down on the reclining chair, with my hand on my head. I closed my eyes, trying to compose myself. I needed to be strong. I needed to be brave. I heard Lata walk in after some time, quietly as she always did, and stand near the writing desk, in front of me. Her voice trembled like she had cried,
“Didi is in her room, and I am staying the night with her.” She managed before sniffing, “Thamma said she shouldn’t be alone.”
“Hmm.” I managed only that, without looking up or giving away my vulnerable, teary self to her. What would she think? Wasn’t I supposed to be a strong, practical person? Wouldn’t she lose respect, seeing how weak I was? She didn’t move from her place as she wiped away her tears with the corner of her saree. I didn’t look up, but I never needed to know what she was doing.
“What’s wrong with you?” She suddenly sounded worried, her voice more stable now than a moment ago. It took me a lot of courage to look up at her anxious face.
Lata looked a little shocked, seeing me teary-eyed. She had never seen me like that, not even when Ma was gone and everyone, including her, was moved to tears for days after the fateful day. Her brows narrowed closer, making the black kajal bindi on her forehead appear smaller. Her eyes were questioning.
“I failed, didn't I, Lata?” I asked, my voice choking in tears as I hid my face in my palms once again. “I failed to protect her. Ma would be so disappointed in me. I had promised to look after them.” I shook my head, clasping my hands together, making her shake her head in disapproval. She sat down on the floor, facing me, kneeling before my chair as I looked away.
“No. NO. Why do you think that? You didn’t fail her. We talked about this.” She reasoned. Bibha wasn't supposed to get hurt like that. Not under my watch. I shook my head, in between my sobs. “She was living with a monster, and I let her.”
“You and I both know that even if we reasoned, she wouldn’t have come home unless she saw what she saw.” Lata’s voice was calm. The motherly tone of the reason was back. “If it is anyone’s fault, it is mine. I never doubted anything she said.” She shook her head. “I am so sorry.” I looked up at her face, at her words. Her tears had run down her Kajal-smudged eyes onto her cheeks, and a teardrop hung from the tip of her chin. I never blamed her; she was younger than Bibha. What would she have done? It wasn’t her fault either. At my comforting words, she wiped away the teardrop from her cheek and chin and sighed, trying to compose herself.
“You know what they say about destiny.” She suddenly held my knees with both her hands, reassuring me. “We can’t undo what is already written for us.” I looked at her face as she spoke, looking away at the red flooring. “Maybe this was what taught us all a lesson, and Didi has her entire life ahead of her to rectify herself.” She reassured me again.
I believed in destiny once. Before tragedies took away all my beliefs. I think a sense of fate was restored in me the day I found her father’s letter. Something I didn’t even admit to myself. She was destined to be mine. I always thought that our own tragedies played their role in strengthening our story. But I had never heard her talk of destiny this way before. When did she grow up so much and understand so many things? I had no idea. My hands reached to hold hers as she looked up at my face. Her hands were cold as I held them together between my folded palms. “She is too young for all this to happen to her.” I leaned in as I spoke, almost in fear, whispering like I would be heard.
“We all were when we faced different things…” She reminded me. “It made us stronger, didn't it? And if we look at the positive side, we should be glad she knew it sooner rather than later; it saved her life, in a way.” I smiled faintly at her words. That made her look up at me, confused, her eyes lingering on mine.
“Only you seem to think of something positive in this.” I was genuinely surprised. Her eyes didn’t leave mine as she sighed heavily.
“I try to.” She murmured, “People need hope to survive.” I could feel the pain that suddenly appeared in her otherwise calm glance. “If you get weak, what will happen to Didi?” She asked me.
My hand tightened on hers.
“Ei bhabei sara jibon amar pashe thakbe toh, Lata? Kotha Dao.” I had a sudden urge to know whether she would choose to be by my side through all the turmoil life threw at us in the future. I didn’t know how, I just mouthed those words, and I did, almost in a hurry, as blood rushed through my veins and my heart beat fast enough for me to hear it over my own heavy breathing. Lata’s eyes didn’t leave mine, as I could feel her gulp. She slipped her hand from mine and stood up, suddenly conscious of the proximity in which we were, our faces inches away from each other, as I leaned into her words. She eyed the open door, the curtain pulled back in a corner, almost as if to say, such moments were meant to be between us, but the open door was a hindrance to the exchange of such emotions. She rubbed her hands together as she murmured an excuse to the effect of Thamma needing her, as she turned to leave. Almost in a reflex, I held her hand that day, her wrist fitting perfectly in between my thumb and forefinger as she stopped, a little alarmed. Did she gasp? Or did I imagine she did?
“You didn’t answer me.” I sounded hoarse; my voice was very different from my usual one, the way I perhaps sounded in my mind every time I had stopped my imagination from running in several directions inappropriately. I stood up, her wrist still in my hand, as I closed in on her back, lowering my fingers to now entwine hers in between them. She froze. It was Thamma’s voice that made me jolt away, very aware of the surroundings as Lata ran out of my room towards hers. I found my comfort that day, I knew I could be vulnerable with my worst fears to her, and yet she didn't judge me. My respect didn’t fall even once in her eyes if I was weak. I heard her scolding Ananta in the hallway as I sank back in my chair, with a faint smile. She was my home, in each and every corner of this house, and in each and every relationship that survived through their ups and downs with me, yet just for once, I needed her to speak up, tell me what she felt, and perhaps, validate my feelings.
