Trauma was something least spoken of, yet the impacts of it stayed longer than perhaps even loss. I realised it when I watched Bibha before my eyes. It's been months since she was back home, yet nothing seems to be back to how it was. Perhaps she would never be the same again. Her health had improved, but she was still bruised in places we could never see or know. It is not that she never tried. She involved herself in daily chores, something she was never interested in before, giving Lata a hand with everyday things, knitting in her free time, and even reading to Thamma at her bedside. Occasionally, she would laugh at Ananta’s jokes, read books with Lata and discuss them and even hum along when Ananta took the piano and Lata led her there. But then, even while laughing at something, or remembering a childhood memory, she would go into a trance, stop smiling and stare into emptiness. Ananta tried in vain to snap her out of it. She wasn’t her old confident, outspoken self anymore. She barely wanted to be alone. At first, Lata would sleep with her for days, because she woke with nightmares in the middle of the night, and Lata had to persuade her she was safe. Then she started sleeping with Thamma with the excuse that she would keep an eye on the old woman. In the meantime, the search for their college continued. Lata had secured good marks in her school finals. When Kakima came with the news and a Bhar of Rashogollas, that was the first time Bibha had stepped out of the house in months to join Shobha and Lata at her place for the day. From my window, I could spot them up on the roof, as Lata tended to the flower pots and Shobha explained something in hand gestures while Bibha looked attentively at her. Soon, the admissions started, and I made sure they had filled up their forms and submitted them on time. I would visit the colleges of the district to check the enrollment lists.
Dada, however, telephoned from Calcutta expressing his displeasure that Bibha was doing the wrong thing. Although he hadn’t even spoken to her since she came back, he wanted to make decisions on behalf of his siblings the way Baba did for us once. He wasn’t entirely wrong on his part. We, the men of the house, perhaps learnt to show our affection through other emotions, even anger and grudge, like our fathers showed us. He wanted Bibha to study at Calcutta University, but I am sure that Boudi was somehow relieved that she didn’t have to take Bibha’s responsibility. Bibha had refused to leave home, and she wanted to study whatever Lata wanted to study. That disturbed me, for I wanted her to choose her own path. But Bibha was adamant that she would do whatever Lata did and not be alone in an institution full of strangers. Thamma agreed to it rather quickly. Lata chose Bengali Literature. That was no surprise. Bibha filled out the exact same forms she did, and as a result, both of them got enrolled at the Labpur Sambhunath College. I offered to drive them there for their first day. That was the day I also realised that my sister was not naive anymore, and neither was I the best of actors.
As Bibha sat beside me in the car and Lata checked their documents twice over in the back seat, Bibha eyed her with a warning glance.
“Stop that, you have checked them a thousand times over.”
“I was just…” Lata stopped to realise my eyes were on the rearview mirror, on her, instead of the road ahead. She cleared her throat and shifted a little in her place. I immediately concentrated back on the otherwise empty road. “Making sure…”
“Our Lata would come first if there were a competition of fidgetiness.” Bibha smiled at me. I smiled back as Lata frowned. I eyed her again in the rearview mirror.
“I talked to my old teacher for you two,” I said while the college approached. “He is the headmaster at my school now, and he would teach you both. But you have to go over to his house. He is old.”
“That is alright, we just need guidance once a week, right, Lata?” Bibha asked, glancing over her shoulder as Lata nodded.
“Wish us the best, Dada.” Bibha smiled as I nodded from the driver's seat. Lata got out of the car and helped Bibha with her bag. Bibha waved at me as I smiled and drove off.
I was there, waiting at the gates, with the car parked behind me, cigarette in hand, when I spotted them walking out of the college, smiling and talking to each other. I immediately put it out and waved away the smoke around me. It was Lata who spotted me first, as I smiled faintly at her. Bibha walked up to me first.
“The college is nice. I think we will have a good time for a few years, right, Lata?” She spoke as she took the front seat. Lata looked up at me with a reassuring nod as I walked over to the driver’s side.
“It even has a teaching programme,” Bibha spoke, waving the pamphlet with Prospectus written over it.
“We need to do our Master's and B.Ed. for that.” Lata reminded her.
“What’s the problem?” I frowned at her from the rearview mirror. “You can do both.”
“Can I?” Lata asked, unsure, as I nodded. Bibha frowned a little, tilting her head,
“Why are you asking him?” She said suddenly, making us feel aware of her presence. “I say start taking tuitions, and you can pay your own fees for the Master.” She nodded intelligently, “You have three years to save up.”
“That won’t be necessary.” I realised I had spoken out of turn as Lata eyed me with a warning glance in the rearview mirror. “I mean…” I added, “I am paying for yours, I can pay for hers.” Lata looked away as Bibha shook her head.
“I am thinking of starting to take tuitions myself.” She shrugged. “I would love that.” I didn’t protest, and neither did Lata. We let her do whatever she wanted to do to make her happy. We walked into the house as Lata dropped her bag on the couch and tied her saree to her waist, and called out to Kanai da. Bibha frowned.
“Go get some rest at least.” She snapped as Lata murmured something like Ananta would be back from his football practice and needed to eat. “This girl doesn’t sit.” Bibha shook her head and went to her room. I eyed her and Kanai, then cleared my throat to speak. I told her Bibha was right and that she should go home. She just glared at me, making me stop as she walked into the kitchen, informing me that tea would be served soon. I walked up to my room, defeated and sat down at my desk.
She came in soon after, with the tea and placed it down without interrupting my scribbling.
“You should write books.” Her words made me stop and half turn in my chair as she put the clothes back in the wardrobe.
“What?” I narrowed my brows a little, amused. “Where did that come from?”
“You write all the time, and you never share them.” She shrugged. I smiled faintly.
“I can share them with you,” I said with a lingering smile. She didn’t look up at my teasing tone as she seriously continued, “You should let the world read your writings.”
“So you think anyone who writes can be a writer?” I asked again, teasingly. She stopped to turn and face me.
“No, I never said that. I am not a fool.” She shook her head with a frown. “But you can. All you need is the right inspiration.” At that, her eyes sparkled, and I closed the cap of my fountain pen, still amused.
“An inspiration?” I asked, rubbing my hand over my stubble as she nodded.
“Yes, like nature-inspired poetry and the freedom movement inspired so many authors and…” She stopped as I smiled, my gaze on her.
“I will tell you what.” I smiled as she stopped. “Someday I will write about you.” She looked a little flushed at my smile as she shook her head.
“What’s there to tell about me?” She shrugged and proceeded to rearrange the books on my table, still ignoring my glances. “I am just a normal village girl.” I stood up from my chair at that, and she stepped back a little, unsure, staring at me.
“But you are the protagonist of my story.” Lata’s cheeks looked red as she blushed profusely.
“Thaak. Hoeche.” She stepped back and walked away from the room at a rather hurried pace.
“Aree, kothay jaccho? Shono.” I called after her in vain.
It was Bibha who walked into my room, dragging Lata by her hand, some odd fifteen minutes later. I looked up from the book I had just started to read, and Lata looked a little pale, as I frowned, looking up at Bibha’s face.
“What is going on?” I asked as she eyed Lata.
“You tell me, why is she smiling like a fool alone in the kitchen?” I was a little taken aback as Lata looked at Bibha a little wide-eyed. She perhaps felt embarrassed and exposed to me.
“Didi!” She whispered in vain to stop Bibha.
“What?” She scolded Lata. “Both of you think I am some fool? I can’t see what is happening here? Am I blind?” My heart skipped a beat as Lata looked at me, scared. I cleared my throat, trying to find my authoritative voice as I put the bookmark inside the book and stood up.
“Bibhabati.” I tried to look like she disturbed my work for something I was clueless about. “What is this?”
“You tell me. I knew something was wrong.” Bibha shook her head, letting go of Lata’s hand as she moved to face us both, and we stood beside each other. “At first, I thought you must have had one of your silly fights because of me, hence you weren’t talking. I felt so bad. Then I observed you two for some days. Then I realised…” She stopped as I still wore a frown on my face, and Lata looked down at the floor.
“Must be this silly girl’s idea to keep me in the loop.” She eyed Lata. “She thinks her Didi can’t take good news well anymore?” Lata shook her head in soft protest and approached Bibha as she stepped back.
“Don’t you dare talk to me, I am very angry with you, Lata!”
“Listen. Bibha.” I tried to reason in vain.
“No! I will go to complain to Thamma.” Bibha made me stop as she looked intimidatingly at Lata, “Chol tui! ” She once again held Lata’s hand and dragged her away without paying any heed to me. Lata stared back at me helplessly as Bibha led her into Thamma’s room. I walked back to my room and sank back in my chair, and was suddenly amused at whatever transpired. I hadn’t expected Bibha to suddenly show a glimpse of her old self at this. Perhaps Kaku Kakima and Thamma were right about what was needed to bring her back to normalcy. I wondered. I was happy that I saw a glimpse of the long-lost stubborn Bibhabati in my sister once more.
Ananta was in a state of shock. He threw a tantrum when Bibha told him that Thamma had called on our family priest for auspicious dates. She had persuaded Thamma and Lata to make sure there were no delays because of her. Lata tried to protest in vain and got scolded by Bibha for lying to her in the first place.
But Ananta? He wasn’t pretending to be disappointed like Bibha. He actually was. First, he complained to Thamma that he was always clueless and ignored for his age, and then he blamed Bibha for not sharing her thoughts. Ananta kept a certain distance from me, as I did with Dada. So he didn’t come up to me with such accusations, but poor Lata faced twice his wrath.
“But you are Didi, how can you be Boudi?” I heard him say as she tried to feed him dinner in his room. “No. You can’t be.”
“This child!” Thamma shook her head, sitting in her bed in the adjacent room, as Bibha giggled. “When will he grow up?”
“Tell him to find another bride!” Ananta’s voice seemed agitated as Thamma and Bibha suddenly laughed, amused. Lata couldn’t be heard. “Why does he have to steal you from us?”
“The day Lata stops treating him like a five-year-old.” Bibha smiled. I partially agreed.
He threw tantrums, knowing that his Didi would attend to them. Lata had reassured Ananta that nothing had changed between them. She was still his Didi, and she would still keep his secrets from me like she used to. Ananta, who had lost his mother when he was barely six, perhaps didn’t want to share his Didi’s affection or attention with me. Lata, being the kind of person she was, spent the next week cooking his favourite meals and giving him extra nurturing to reassure him of her priorities. Bibha found it rather silly. She shook her head, scolded the fourteen-year-old she called a “man child”, and reminded him to behave. Ananta kept sulking till the day Thamma made him realise that Lata would be staying in his house forever. That was the moment Ananta was convinced. He had, throughout his life, even while in college and while working, come back home to wherever Lata was. More than visiting any of his siblings or writing to us, he had made sure his Didi always knew what he was up to. And he had decided never to call her Boudi. It reminded him of someone who was never his own.
Dramas are easy to write. Look around you, and you will inevitably find inspiration everywhere. From the extended families attending festivities to everyday households, everything involved a lot of drama in our daily lives. You just need to have an eye for it. Any kind of celebration in Indian families is never complete without someone getting upset, someone feeling insulted and a lot of people getting involved; mistakes are inevitable. Weddings top that list, most definitely. Ananta, when he used his inheritance to study away from home later, witnessed a white wedding of one of his college friends with a French girl in Madras once. He came back home to speak of how beautiful and simple Christian weddings are in comparison to ours. Lata had eyed him with warning glances as he tilted his head back and laughed. He reassured her he had no plans for a wedding, Bengali or otherwise. That worried Lata even more. When Dada got married, Thamma wanted to keep the celebrations very simple. After all, only a year had passed since Ma’s demise. Her simplicity involved a horse-drawn carriage bringing the bride and groom home from the station and three days of guests pouring into the house day and night. When Dada complained about the frenzy, she dismissed him with a very simple theory: the marriage is yours, the wedding, however, involved the Bhattacharya family’s reputation. He didn’t argue, and all of us found it a good excuse to pretend to be happy for once in over a year. Thamma had even bigger plans for Bibha’s wedding since she was born. She used to tell Baba often how she kept away her family heirloom for Bibha. They should stay with their daughter rather than the daughters-in-law coming from other households. She never spoke of it since the day Bibha went missing. She knew she wouldn’t probably live to see Ananta married, so the responsibility to fulfil her dreams fell on my shoulders.
Thamma was sometimes old school. She preferred sending Dada a telegram about the wedding rather than ringing him up. Ananta did as she asked him to, and within a day, Dada arrived, with Boudi and Khoka. He walked straight up to Thamma’s room, dismissing me at the porch, surprised by their sudden arrival as Ananta greeted Boudi.
“Where is Thakurjhi?” Boudi asked, eyeing the ground floor. “Oh, sorry, should I start calling her something else now?” She eyed me as I looked away nonchalantly before she walked into Thamma’s room after Dada. Ananta took the cue to take Khoka out to the lawn as Bibha came down the stairs.
“What are they doing here?” She scorned rather disapprovingly as we could hear Dada’s voice rise. She walked out of the door and across the street, perhaps to tell Lata.
I stood fixed to my spot till I heard Dada say, “And who knows what her father is up to! We have a reputation. We can’t let Debu’s life be ruined by your emotional decision.” At that, I walked up the stairs and into Thamma’s room. I had walked in hearing Thamma say that he had willingly made his choice, and she was allowed to make her choice for me. Dada opened his mouth to protest when Boudi stopped him. She took Thamma’s side, perhaps intimidated by the fact that the old lady had no filter for her truths when she started speaking about her Boro Bouma. She tried to calm Dada, who now eyed me at the threshold.
“I suppose you are absolutely fine with this?” He asked as I stood my ground. For the first time in my life, I didn’t look away from his agitated face. “And you have no problem saving a dowerless girl in your humanitarian bid?” My jaws tightened.
“I am nobody to save her, Dada. In fact, it is she who saved us. She saved Bibha; she saved this house. She saved me.” I had never seen Thamma prouder when she looked at me that day. But it was too much for Dada to take. We ended up having a heated argument where he reminded me how grateful I should be to him, for being a father figure, paying for my college and guiding me. I kept quiet because I didn’t want him to feel insulted. But I failed to understand the need to tell someone what you did for them if you voluntarily took up the responsibility. That day, in my mind, I decided I would never repeat the same with Ananta. No matter what.
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