“I am mourning my husband.” She protested. “I cannot look attractive.”
“Mourning him for how long, dear?” One of the elderly ladies applying oil on her wrinkled legs spoke with an amused laugh. “I was nine when I was widowed. Never knew the man. He married me and promised to come back when I was older and a woman. He died in a few months, and my brothers threw me onto the streets. Growing my hair did not attract another man for sure. I wish it did. Life would have been easier.” Some of the others laughed as she flashed her remaining three teeth. Kalyani stared at the strands of her grey hair appearing silver in the morning sun and inhaled. There was no use arguing with these women. She had to tell Sharat to get her a blade instead. He would not ask questions for sure.
“Men! They would sleep with people from Baiji Bari every day, then take a widow and mend her life.” One of the new girls, unmarried and older than her, spoke. “That is the harsh truth of the society we intend to change.” Kalyani had not seen her around, but her words miffed her.
“Remarriage is a sin.” Kalyani could not help herself as she held the end of her drape tightly in her fist. The girl sprang up, offended. Kalyani could now see a certain demeanour in the girl, which was rough and lowly. Her saree was tied up well over her ankle, and her drape was tucked firmly, revealing more of her waist than one could intend to. Her gold bangles, earrings and gold nose ring seemed to be an oddly contrasting richness from her appearance, otherwise as if they did not belong to her.
“Who says that?” The girl asked challengingly.
“The Shastras…” Kalyani said confidently.
“Have you read them?” Kalyani looked up at the girl’s fiery tone. Nobody in her home talked to elders in that manner.
“No… I…” Kalyani stammered. “Can’t read.”
“I can. And the Rig Vedas verse 10.8 states that a woman without a duty towards the family of the husband or children, or those with consent from either of them, can remarry a person of their choice.” The girl smiled proudly as Kalyani looked pale.
“But we are told…”
“Is it a sin?” The girl shrugged. “They keep us in check like that. Men who want to rule the world and fear powerful women.”
“Who are you? How do you claim to know everything?” Kalyani was irked more because she did not know the world outside of the books to contradict her.
The girl smiled.
“I am Mohini. I come from a Kothi in Metia Bruz.” Perhaps the look on Kalyani’s face was evidently one of disgust and shock. Mohini smiled.
“What? Your father serving the white snobs is respectable, and I doing the same is not?” She raised her eyebrows as Kalyani looked away. She would not indulge further with that type of woman. Then she knitted her brows.
“How do you know my…”
“Oh, he came along now and then for the women and the wine.” Kalyani gasped inwardly as the girl spoke. But was it truly unbelievable? When did he come home, not drunk? Where did she think he was coming from now and then with a Gajra around his wrist?
“Sharat Da told me you are Mukhopadhyay’s girl.” Kalyani’s heart skipped a beat. Sharat frequented the Galis of Metia Bruz, too.
“Why are you here?” Another woman asked her in a very plain tone. “What happened to you?”
“Oh, nothing.” Mohini shook her head. “I can read and write. My father sold me off to the Kothi because he could not pay back his debtors after gambling away all we had. He needed to keep his sons.” Mohini’s voice was indifferent. “Sharat Da found me there and thought I could be of better use here.”
“Ah, he saved you.” The woman smiled. “That’s him. Always helping people.”
Kalyani turned and walked into her small room and shut the door. There was not much in the room. Just a mat to lie on, a leafy hand fan for hotter days, a bundle of clothes where she hid her Annas, a few pots and pans near the oven and a broken mirror, one of the ladies insisted she had. She sat down on the mat and ran her hand over her wet head, mindlessly. Sharat was just like the others. Why did it surprise her? Why did she feel offended?
Abhaya placed her ears to the door and listened. There were multiple footsteps and whispers in the dead of the night. Was something amiss? Were they caught? Was she saved? Abhaya could barely hear what the debate was about. She could hear the men argue, though. Four or five of them. She could make out Swadhin Da’s voice in them. Swadhin did not anticipate that the debate of what to do with Abhaya would be this short and easy. The Leader said, rubbing the stubble he had grown in the days he was away, as the men narrated to him, in bits and pieces, about the Jomidar, the potential threat of them looking for Abhaya and what to do with her.
“We have already made the mistake of hurting her family in the heat of the moment.” Abhaya could hear the man clearly than the others. “I don’t think anyone escaped the fire except her because we found her.” Abhaya gasped with her hand in her mouth. Her eyes were teary.
“But there was a missing person,” Swadhin said, almost in a whisper.
“Someone can very well be untraced in such a fire.” Someone else spoke. Abhaya felt weak on her knees as she sat down on the floor and sobbed. She felt angry and devastated. What was she going to live for? What was to happen to her? She remembered all the times her mother used to say that without a man, a woman’s life is nothing. She had seen Didi live that life. Abhaya was suddenly mourning her life ahead, instead of the family, her curse of being alive, instead of those who died.
“But how can we be sure she won’t snitch on us and her husband won’t listen?” Another concerned voice said. The silence after that was broken by the leader.
“Wait till we shift our hideout and shred of evidence to the other location, then let's take her back. That way, even if she says something, people will attribute it to her trauma.” The others agreed.
“But…” Swadhin cleared his throat. Everyone looked up at him. He could not come up with something concrete, but the idea bothered him. The Leader smiled. “It is your task to take her there. And let them know she was safe at our house.” Swadhin nodded obediently at his father. “Make preparations for your journey.”
Kalyani had just finished laying down the achar in the courtyard where the sunlight would dry them. The achar was mouth-watering and forbidden. Kalyani held back a strong urge to taste what she had made. She looked around the empty courtyard and then at her fingertips, oiled with the flavours of the spread. Kalyani gulped. She now understood that isolation was needed to control human urges. Kalyani suddenly wondered what harm a lick of achar does. How would it hurt her religion or her dead husband? She inhaled. Don’t become one of them, Kalyani. Resist. It was then that she realised she was not alone. Mohini walked out of her room almost at noon, yawning and stretching like she was sleep-deprived. She had a pair of anklets on her, which made a tinkling sound. New Jewellery? Kalyani wondered what she was up to. Mohini eyed her and the empty courtyard.
“It is okay to taste what you cooked, Didi.” She said, sitting down, and leaning on one of the pillars. “Nobody is looking.” She stopped at Kalyani’s glare.
“I am younger than you,” Kalyani said politely. “Why are you calling me Didi?”
“Oh, you are a respected woman from society, dare I say your name?” Mohini shook her head. “I may have read a few books, but that did not make me ignorant of your worldly ways.” Kalyani was about to say something or perhaps ask when Mohini rose from her place, almost jumping up and said, “Sharat Da, it's not a Saturday, what are you doing here?” Kalyani followed her glance to the main entrance, where Sharat was parking his cycle with a smile and nod at Mohini. Kalyani’s jaws tightened as she took the jar she had just washed and decided it needed more washing. Sharat had walked inside by then, and his eyes fell on the achar. He immediately sat down on his knees, not caring for his loose pantaloons getting dirty and picked up a bite.
“It is not dry yet.” Kalyani’s voice across the spread was cold. He looked up at her, shrugged and tasted it.
“Wow, heavenly. Reminds me of my Thakuma’s achars.” He licked his finger as Kalyani smiled faintly. She remembered the achars too.
“Sharat da, did you bring something for me?” Mohini’s voice made Kalyani rise from her position as she took the jars inside. She noticed them from the corner of her eyes when Sharat smilingly walked up towards Mohini and handed her a small gift wrapped in a red piece of cloth, which Mohini immediately took inside and invited him in. Kalyani froze in her spot as the door shut behind them. Her eyes were teary.
Swadhin opened the door of the room, making Abhaya look up with her red, swollen eyes. She had cried till she had no tears left. The moment he walked in and placed the bowl of rice down, Abhaya jumped, startling him into disbalance as he fell on the floor.
“You liar. You … inhuman pig.” She was suddenly close to him, screaming, her face red and her fists hitting his arms and chest. Swadhin had his arms up to defend his face and protect his glasses from getting hit.
“Wha… what happened?” Swadhin asked as he tried to get up, and Abhaya kept hitting him. His Panjabi was soiled and so was his Dhuti, and he sat up looking confused as Abhaya was down on her knees before him, suddenly bursting with fresh tears of agony. “You are more than a murderer.”
“I… don’t understand,” Swadhin spoke, gulping as his throat was dry. He wanted to pat her, hoping to calm her down, but then his touch could also trigger her, so his hand stopped a few inches away from holding her upper arms. “Tell me what happened.”
“They are dead, aren’t they?” She was teary. “I heard you. All of you. You did not tell me…”
“I said…”
“No. NO. What will you do with me?” She pushed herself back, making him inhale. “Will you kill me, too? Then why are you feeding me and keeping me alive? Is it giving you some sadistic pleasure?”
“Abhaya. Shut UP.” Swadhin had never raised his voice in his life. Abhaya sat looking at him, a little dumbfounded if she had never known him. “I did not lie to you.” He inhaled and brushed his soiled clothes. “It is true that one of your family members could be alive. We don’t know who, but the police said it's a woman.” Abhaya glared at him suspiciously.
“If we find her, you will know. I promise you. I am neither a murderer nor…” He glanced at her as “an inhuman pig.” Abhaya suddenly flushed. She had never used such harsh words on anyone. She was losing control. She placed her hands firmly on her knees and cried again, this time swaying herself a little to pacify her emotions. Swadhin stood up and brushed his clothes.
“I am going to take you back to your … husband.” He frowned at his choice of words. “You will marry him and stay there as intended and have the life you chose.” Abhaya looked up at his words. “In return for your silence, I will look for your missing family member and bring them to you as soon as…” Abhaya suddenly gasped with realisation. Swadhin stopped at her glare.
“What is it?”
“I know who it is.” Her eyes sparkled as a faint smile appeared on her face. “I know who was missing.” Alarmed at her words, Swadhin gestured at her, putting a finger on his lip to be quiet. He walked to the threshold, checked the surroundings and closed the door behind him. Abhaya suddenly grew aware of how small the room was for two people. He sat down on the mattress and inhaled. “Now tell me, who do you think it is?” Abhaya stared at him suspiciously. He could read her mind. “They think everyone is dead. I do not. So it is okay, I am not going to argue their theory, but if you tell me who it is, I might start looking in the right places and find them for you.” Abhaya looked up at his words and sighed. She did not have much choice. He was her only way. “It's Didi.” She said softly. “She was supposed to be at the Kirtan.” Swadhin looked at her, narrowing his eyebrows. The creature called “Didi” never came to his mind because he barely saw her.
“Where can she go?” he asked. Abhaya shook her head. “She is a widow. I have no idea…”
“I will let my friend know in Kashi.” Swadhin got up as Abhaya stared at him. “Maybe she…” Abhaya inhaled. “Just like me, she also doesn’t know I am alive…”
It was a mere few minutes before Sharat opened the door of Mohini’s room himself and stepped out. His eyes immediately fell across the courtyard to another pair looking at him judgmentally. Sharat smiled to himself. He knew what Kalyani was thinking. That Mohini was his lover. That he was giving her things for her service.
Little did she know the gift contained opium, to add to the drinks of British officers she served. Taking them to bed was her way of extracting information. She was Sharat’s most treasured informant. It was when one of the officers the anarchists had been targeting for a long time, William Nithercot, an elite officer of the British Imperialists posted at Jessore, was growing close to Mohini, one of her rivals, a previous favourite of the Englishman at his old haunt at Metia Bruz, was jealous and attacked her. Sharat could not let her stay there any longer. He could not afford to lose his only valuable connection to Nithercot. So he brought her here. She would sneak out, in a carriage waiting for her, to be taken to the Officer’s private parties to dance, entertain and end up in bed with him. Behind closed doors, Mohini told Sharat all that she had heard the previous night. They spoke in English, and she could catch the keywords.
“He was telling Adham Saheb something about a dispatch of weapons to travel from Dhaka to Calcutta soon.”
“Who is Adham Saheb?” Sharat furrowed his brows as he lit a cigarette and offered her one.
“Jones Saheb. Who is always with him, like a servant tending to his orders. He even bought me these on his master’s order.” She jingled the anklets, raising her saree above her knee. Sharat eyed her once and looked away at the ceiling, letting out a smoke.
“Adam Jones.” He murmured. “This could be useful. When are you visiting again?”
“Sunday. He has guests over.” Mohini spoke, twisting the end of her untied hair. “He wants me to bring more girls, so you have to go to Metia Bruz and let them know.” He nodded at her. “Listen carefully, Mohi.” He sat down close to her and talked in a whisper. Mohini watched him as the smell of the perfume he wore hit her nostrils. “You are our key here. You need to find out the route of this dispatch, how much we are talking about, how many vehicles, guards, and even where they stop for the night. Something tells me they will neither take the rail nor the usual road.” Mohini nodded. “Should I go looking in his house?”
“The Garden house has nothing,” He shook his head. “It is a pleasure house across the river for his sins. The real information must be at his home.”
“But how can I go there?” Mohini looked impatient.
“You can’t. You can just get him talking. After the recent incidents, I don’t think he would keep such confidential papers anywhere for us to find anyway.” Mohini nodded at his words. “I may need more opium.”
“Don’t kill them.” He warned as she laughed.
Sharat walked across the courtyard, ignoring the laid-out spread of Achar as Kalyani stood stiff in her spot at the threshold of her room.
“I see that you have abandoned the Thaan.” He said with a sheepish smile as she looked away.
“The supply here…”
“You could ask me…” His words made her look up at him and then across to Mohini, who once again sat down on the porch and yawned.
“I would not want to burden you…” Kalyani suddenly remembered asking for the blade and decided against it.
“Very well. I am glad you changed your mind.” Sharat put his hand in his pocket to take out a few Annas. Kalyani eyed them and pressed her lips.
“I don’t need any.” Her words surprised him.
“But you buy rice and vegetables for yourself,” he looked surprised.
“I don’t want your dirty money.” Kalyani’s voice trembled as she looked away. She expected him to protest or explain. Instead, Sharat smiled, putting the Annas back in his pocket and sighed.
“Very well, I will send you some rice and vegetables from the village.” He turned to leave as Kalyani was about to walk into her room.
“Kalyani?” She stopped and glanced over her shoulder at him. “Do you think I am a bad person?” Kalyani smiled dryly at the choice of his words.
“You saved my life. I would not dare think that and commit a sin.”
“You keep talking of sins and sinners, yet you know nothing about the world.” Was Sharat complaining? She could not tell. He shook his head and walked away as Mohini waved him goodbye with a smile. Kalyani looked up at the girl. There she was in her colourful saree, educated, earning her living, wearing the jewellery men gifted her, flaunting who she is proudly and getting Sharat’s attention and respect. Here she was, composed, uneducated, widowed, in a pale saree with a pale face, no beauty or adornments, no suitors or attendees. Kalyani had never felt poorer.
Sharat was surprised when he parked his cycle and found Swadhin outside the door. Swadhin, too, seemed startled to see his elder brother there.
“Where are you coming from?” Swadhin asked almost in a whisper. Sharat shrugged.
“Kashipur.”
“It's not a Saturday, Naw da.”
“I know. It needed some attention.” They walked into the house together and up the stairs silently.
“You have been visiting the mission quite often recently.” Swadhin narrowed his eyes observantly. “You even missed the meeting today.”
“Oh.” Sharat looked a little lost. “The meeting was today? What happened?”
“He said we should take Abhaya back to her husband.” Sharat nodded at Swadhin’s words. “Do you think the police were right?”
“About what?” Sharat asked as they stopped outside his room.
“That's one of the missing bodies…” Swadhin stopped at Sharat’s shake of a head.
“Nobody can survive that fire.”
“But Abhaya said Didi was not home.” Swadhin protested.
“You seem to interact more with her than intended to.” Sharat scrutinised him. “Just take her where she belongs and forget about it.”
“I promised her I would look for Didi.” Swadhin sought his brother’s approval.
“Don’t be naive, Swadhin.” Sharat shook his head. “What do you think will happen if they find each other?” Swadhin raised his eyebrows as Sharat continued. “They can turn on us, turn on Baba. Two alibis are better than one.”
“So you do think she is alive?” Swadhin’s eyes shone as Sharat looked a little startled by his younger brother.
“Don’t try to be smarter than you are,” he patted his brother’s head and smiled. “You can be a doctor or Kabiraj, but you will always be three years younger than me.” Sharat shook his head and walked away to his room. Swadhin wondered about what he had just said. It was true that the hope of finding Didi gave him leverage over Abhaya, but would she tell them if he found her? Only time will tell. Swadhin, in his inherent need to know everything, was curious now. What happened to Didi? If she were alive, where did she disappear to?
Kirtan: A song to Lord Krishna made popular by Vaishnavs in Bengal. People hosted Vaishnavs at their homes, and widows especially attended these events while they were banned from most gatherings.
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