Lata always taught me to see the positive side of everything. She believed with all her heart that out of every bad dispute, quarrel, pain, loss or betrayal, there came a lesson, something positive to take away, learn and move on. She always said challenges made us who we were. I remember once when she was sixteen, we sat down in the library one evening and discussed books. She was reading Tagore, and we made an analysis of his female protagonists. She seemed to have a clear idea of the characters, like she understood what they felt. All the wise words came from her literary references. I praised her thoughts. She had smiled embarrassedly. And I somehow never forgot any of that every time I faced hurdles in life. And even if I did, she was always there to remind me, using quotes and lines from her favourite poets and authors.
The day I had an altercation with Dada, the house was extremely tense and quiet. Lata didn’t show up like she usually did for Ananta or Thamma. Instead, she sent over one of her cousins, with a note for Bibha, telling her what needed to be done and what medicines Thamma had before and after dinner. She had most definitely heard of the altercation by now, as Ananta was missing for about half an hour from the house, and I assume he had walked across the street to check on his Didi. I remembered Lata’s words and frowned. What positive could come out of it? Dada didn’t understand me, and neither did I understand him. I could see no end to our battle of egos. Frankly, I was a little disappointed. He reminded me a lot of Baba. When Baba was alive, he never let even Thamma speak against him, even if he was wrong. It was an implied rule that his words were the last decision of our lives.
With Dada, I thought things would perhaps be a little easier. I felt suffocated in my room as I still heard his agitated voice talking to Boudi from behind the closed doors. I walked up to the roof to smoke a cigarette. With Dada Boudi at home and Khoka running about the house, this was also the safest spot. I took a puff and looked up at the star-studded, clear night sky. I breathed out, flapping my lips in frustration. It was almost ten, and the village was fast asleep. This was also something that differed from city life. We slept early and woke up early in Punya. The city people barely slept early. They had loads of activities, lit-up streets and shops to keep them entertained. I heard footsteps on the stairs and quickly threw away the cigarette, clearing the air around me with a wave of my hand. Bibha appeared at the threshold, her silhouette visible in the tiny bulb lit on the staircase. Behind her was Lata.
“There he is,” Bibha said, pushing a reluctant Lata over to the threshold of the roof. “See what this foolish girl is saying, Dada.” Bibha shook her head and left the same way she had arrived. Lata stood fixed in her spot as I frowned a little.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, tugging a little at my Panjabi sleeves to straighten them, “What are you doing here at this hour?”
“I came to check on Thamma.” Lata looked away, still fixed in her spot. “She told me what happened.”
“What happened?” I frowned. Lata stepped forward, twirling the end of her anchol in between her fingers. She looked up at me, her eyes shining in the light of the stars. She was teary. I was immediately concerned. Did Boudi say something to her? I stepped forward, asking almost in a whisper what was wrong. She said she was not going to be the reason for the rift between us brothers. I frowned at her words.
“Let me be.” She pleaded almost in a whisper. “ Nothing has to change, has it? I can be here like I used to be.” She shook her head. “You don’t have to marry me.”
“Has nothing really changed already, Lata?” My question made a tear trickle down her cheek. It shone in the little light around the darkness. I stepped forward, narrowing the gap between us, as I gently wiped it away with the tip of my thumb.
“But… what if …”
She shook her head, looking away as she stepped back, and I did the bravest thing I could possibly do back then. In a moment of fear of losing her, I hugged her. She froze in my embrace as I put my chin gently on her head and wrapped my arms around her. I could feel her breath on my chest. My heart thumped loudly. I could feel her skin erupt into goosebumps as she sighed, giving in to my embrace in between her muffled sobs, and she slowly hugged me back, her arms tracing the back of my Panjabi as I smiled in peace.
“You are silly, you know that?” I managed before my voice was hoarse or my throat was dry. She shook her head as it rested on my chest, her eyes closed. Back in those days, when love wasn’t much about expressing it in words or actions, I wished that moment lasted a lifetime.
Narayan had walked back into my life as smoothly as he had exited it. He had sent a postcard from somewhere in Madhya Pradesh, saying that he had found a match and was to be married merely two months after he had left Asansol. I was searching for Bibha then, and attending a wedding was definitely not on my priority list. I had given the excuse of Thamma’s health and given him my best wishes for his new life through a telegram. He called me one fine day, nearly two years later, to say he had just been posted at Bolpur station and wanted to visit us. To my utter shock, he mentioned that his wife had passed during childbirth, and the child, an infant daughter, was with him. He had hired a nurse to take care of her while he was at work. His parents wanted to keep the child in Calcutta, but he didn’t want to miss out on her growing years. I immediately invited him home with the child. I also admitted to him, almost sheepishly over the phone, that Lata and I were to be married next summer. I could sense his face turned amused as he said he wouldn’t miss this wedding.
Lilabati was an adorable child. Quiet and well-behaved, even in infancy, she was an exact replica of Narayan. The day he arrived at Punya, by a government service car from Bolpur, with the child on his lap, I couldn’t help but notice how fatherhood had changed him. He was calmer, didn't boast anymore about his job and smiled occasionally. Thamma asked him about his wife. She was barely seventeen, a shy village girl from Bankura, whose father was in a lot of debt. He had heard of their situation from the Station Master, who was the girl’s maternal uncle. His humanitarian side immediately appealed to their despair. He recollected his short married life as blissful, with a faint smile on his face. She was a good wife. Bibha sat beside Thamma as he spoke, and I couldn’t help but notice her eyes sparkle a little. Did she feel hurt? Did she perhaps remember Ma or her own troubles? Her eyes met my concerned look, and she quickly wiped away her sadness with a faint smile. Thamma took the child on her lap and praised how sharp her nose was. Just like her father’s. Then, just like that, out of the blue, Thamma made him an offer.
“Why don’t you come to stay here? We have plenty of spare rooms, and Bolpur Station isn’t that far. You have a car at your service. That way, Lilabati can stay here and not be alone with a maid in your Railway Quarters.” A rather taken aback Narayan shook his head before fumbling for an excuse. I insisted. He must stay. Not because I took pity on his situation, but because I knew if I were ever in trouble, he would go out of his way to help me, too. Lata walked in with tea and snacks, and Lila seemed immediately attracted to her, perhaps because she was the only person standing in the room. Lata smiled at her, picking her up from Thamma’s lap, talking to her like she was grown up, and asking Narayan if she could give her a tour of our house. Bibha followed her out, as I led Narayan to the guest room after he gorged on the snacks.
“It is very sad.” I heard Bibha say as Lata cooed to the child in Bibha’s room. “How people’s lives turn upside down even when they plan their entire life ahead and everything seems to fall in place.” Lata eyed her as I stopped at the threshold of her room.
“Are you alright, Didi?” She sounded concerned. Bibha smiled faintly.
“I suddenly feel my problem was nothing compared to his.” She said genuinely. Lata shook her head.
“Problems are never big or small, right? They are all the same. To each person, their problem is the biggest.” Lata reassured her. “And it is absolutely okay if things don’t go as planned. I never thought Baba would…” She stopped as Bibha and I both stared at her. Lata suddenly felt conscious. She never spoke of him. We never asked her. That was how it always was. Once or twice, she would remember Prabhas, but that was it. Lila grabbed her attention by tugging at her chain.
“Oh, you want this, do you?” She smiled, diverting all her attention to the child. I watched her put Lila down on Bibha’s bed, playing with her as I cleared my throat to say, “I told Narayan to genuinely think about Thamma’s offer. At least for Lila’s sake.” Bibha nodded understandingly. She said our house was more convenient for the child. Someone or the other was always home, and she and Lata could step in whenever they could find the time. Lata agreed with a nod.
I realised how helpless Narayan was when he didn’t need much persuading. One of the spare rooms was cleaned, and he was put up there, with Lilabati, becoming a part of our family. This was what I liked about village life. Our generosity, hospitality and kindheartedness were unmatched in a city full of selfish, competitive lifestyles.
It was Lata who, casually, while going through a book, sitting on the edge of my bed, in the quiet afternoon, informed me how Lilabati’s presence made Bibha happy. I half turned on my chair as she continued telling how Bibhabati was involved in the child’s care and often played with her. I nodded at her words, adding that given how busy Narayan was throughout the week, it was a good thing. She shook her head at me like she was disappointed. I frowned. She put the book aside and walked up to my chair, holding its edge as she whispered her idea. What if I asked Narayan to consider Bibha for his wife? I smiled, amused.
“What do you think I brought him here for, the first time?” I raised my eyebrows as she looked surprised. She suddenly felt aware of how our thoughts matched. I shook my head and reminded her not to push anything.
Both Narayan and Bibha were bruised, and perhaps Bibha wanted something better than a man who already had a child. Lata nodded, her face still showing that her mind was running with ideas. She placed the novel down on the table and asked if she should talk to Bibha once. I refused. She frowned slightly and was about to leave. I held her back, telling her to stay a bit longer. Her face flushed a little as she reminded me that everyone was home. So? I frowned, amused. What were we doing? She stepped back, telling me she wouldn’t come around for the next few weeks, and that I had to take care of Thamma’s medicines. I was suddenly concerned as I asked her the reason for such an irrational action. She giggled a little, embarrassed and amused that guests would start pouring in soon and Thamma wouldn’t like to have her around, mere a few weeks before the wedding. Her face had a shy smile, and her eyes sparkled. The next time I saw her face glow in happiness was on the day of the wedding.
While I hated the attention that was poured on me from all quarters, I had many times tried in vain to peep through my window or go up on the roof to catch a glimpse of the activities in the Chattopadhyay house. They had a lot of relatives over, too, as Thamma insisted the wedding happen on our grounds instead of their humble rooftop. I saw Lata’s Kaka going out of his way to treat guests, and I was glad Thamma refused the dowry he offered.
Once I was on the roof, in the afternoon, while the children, Khoka and his cousins, played with marbles on the roof. I had volunteered to supervise as everyone else was busy. My eyes fell on the grounds below where Bibha stood, her hands over her eyes, to shield the summer sun, looking up at the men tying the bamboo of the marquee. Narayan came over, with Lilabati in his arms, as Bibha smiled at them and Lilabati jumped into her open arms. I watched Narayan observe Bibha and Lila smiling and chattering. I suddenly remembered Lata’s words. Maybe Bibha wanted this. But what could I do?
Bibhabati had taken quite a liking to the six-month-old Lila, who chose to find her in a crowd and call out in her babble at her. Narayan was always proud of the fact that his daughter never left his arms to go to anyone else. To his utter shock, that changed every time Bibhabati called for her. He was grateful to Prasanna Debi for offering him shelter. He was also grateful that he had a friend like Debojyoti. While he worked hard and came back at odd hours, Lata and Bibha would always be around Lila and make sure she never lost the feeling of home. Narayan was not naive. He had observed how Bibha’s relatives, especially her married cousins and her Boudi, weren't particularly fond of her attention to his child. Perhaps they thought he had some ulterior motives in making his infant bond with Bibha. He was uncomfortable with their stares.
Bibhabati was around twenty, and she was doing well in college. She had often told him, in between playing with Lila, her dream of getting a teaching job and teaching underprivileged children. He had supported the idea. Often, she would ask him about home, his parents and siblings. Something he never talked of with anyone. He felt at ease sharing with her how uncomfortable he got when they suggested he marry again. He was admittedly scared of starting over, especially for Lila, who needed a mother but could end up being cornered by a stepmother. The last thing he wanted was his wife’s memories to be insulted for the sake of his happiness. He also admitted to her, almost easily, that he felt guilty about his wife’s death. Like he had caused it. Bibha had protested strongly when he said that. She told him a story he already knew, but in detail, about how she lost her mother the same way. But Narayan noticed that since the last time he visited, Bibhabati had changed. She was quieter, more mature in her words, and more composed. Something had changed her. He didn’t know what, but he assumed she must have because she grew up.
Debojyoti and his work time didn’t really match, so the only time he sat at leisure, sharing a word or two with his friend, was on Sundays. The wedding made him offer to help in any way he possibly could. After all, the Bhattacharya had done so much for him. But as guests poured in, some with sympathy at his condition, others eyeing him in doubt, he saw the ladies and the children being doted on by their mothers, and he realised that no matter what he did for Lila, it would never be enough. The hollow feeling of helplessness first disturbed him as he paced at night, watching his child sleep peacefully on the bed. He kissed her forehead with a smile as she held on to his index finger in her sleep. He decided that perhaps his siblings were right. Lila needed a mother more than he needed a partner. With that thought, he decided to approach Bibhabati.
Bibha’s face was pale the moment Narayan managed to say what he thought, fumbling and stuttering through his monologue in bits and pieces. She was suddenly very scared, aware and angry. Did she give him any hope with her actions? She didn’t intend to. It was true that she had found solace in the innocence of Lila. She had finally decided she needed to stop being hurt and move on. She loved Lila and liked having her around. She was aware that her cousins and Boudi, who had come for the wedding, didn’t really take her affection for the orphan the right way. Boudi had even told her that she deserved better than mothering someone else’s child. She had dismissed them because they didn’t know why she connected more to the child. They weren’t there when she heard her mother moan in pain and slip away slowly. That day was the longest day of her life. But she had no idea Narayan thought of it any differently. Worse, he didn’t know anything about her. About her past and what made her this way. She told him, finding a voice in her shock, that he didn’t know her truth. He shook his head, saying it didn’t matter as long as she accepted him with his, for Lila’s sake. Bibha had been too startled and overwhelmed to say anything anymore. She walked away, making Narayan feel rejected.
The next morning, as per routine, when she went to his room, knocking to pick Lila up for the day, Narayan opened the door and stepped back silently. Bibha walked in, stared at the child, and stopped. She proceeded to tell Narayan her story. Something she hadn't relived in the past year. Bibhabati felt that he needed to know her past, and then perhaps he would realise his mistake. She told him things she didn’t care to share with her siblings. How the man she once loved exploited her, mentally and physically, scarring her for life in relationships and proximity with any man again. He had been quiet, as she wiped away her tears, murmured her apologies and left the room with Lila in her arms. Narayan had abruptly walked into Thamma’s room, a few days after, avoiding her presence yet letting Bibha take care of Lila, to say that he was being posted at Cuttack soon and had to leave with Lila. That night, Bibha shed tears in secret. Was she sad about Narayan leaving? Or perhaps because she would miss Lila, she reassured herself. Did she expect him to stay after what had transpired? Would any man? Probably not. Yet hope was the worst enemy of humans.
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