Kalindi waited outside the hut, on the torn mat they usually slept on, using the hand fan to drive away mosquitoes as she stared at the empty path leading out of the house, the path Bondita had taken some time back. It was almost an hour. Did the foolish girl escape or land in trouble? To her relief, she could hear her nephew snoring away indoors, reassuring her that they were at least not caught by the villagers till now. She was sure Bondita would return empty-handed and hurt, and that she would have no other way than to accept the proposal from the Pradhan. That morning, her Kaka would accompany Sarkar Moshai to the adjacent village to talk to a family friend of the Sarkars. They were looking for a bride for their sixteen-year-old eldest son, who worked as a labourer in Sealdah. Kalindi had tears in her eyes. Not much had changed in these years; not much of women’s fate was different, wasn't it?
Kalindi was about ten years old when her father took her to the Roy Chowdhury house for the first time. The Roy Chowdhury House at Gosaba was a sight to behold with its orchards and gardens, fountains and marble statues imported from London. The long balcony ran across the red house, and the green doors and windows used to stay open through the day. If one could manage a peep through the well-maintained flower beds below the windows, one could spot Victorian-style curtains and modern-day furniture inside. They were landlords around the area, in a few villages, including Alamethi and Sonakhali, before they moved, sold their properties in bits and pieces, transformed some of them to schools and NGOs and later party offices, before the old house was demolished because nobody stayed there anymore, and the cost of maintenance was too much. They had one of the largest homes she had ever seen, and she was told to wait on the porch while he finished some urgent work. With her mother gone and her brothers busy with studies and later work, Kalindi was a liability to her father. She understood that.
Kalindi was sitting alone on the porch, collecting shiny white pebbles, when someone walked up behind her. It was a boy, a few years younger than her, with a snobbish look on his face as he placed his hands in his pocket and asked, “Why are you stealing our pebbles?”
“What…” Kalindi stood up in disbelief that pebbles could also belong to people. “I was just…”
“Did you know my grandfather spent a fortune to bring those from Calcutta?” The boy snatched some from her grip as Kalindi jolted. She was suddenly aware of her shabby, faded saree, her poor status and the fact that she might have committed a crime. The Kalindi who used to bully the boys twice her age while playing in the village seemed to vanish in front of the polished snob who stood counting the pebbles.
“Binoy, you are scaring her.” Someone said as she turned, and Kalindi could see another boy, almost her age, perhaps a little older. He looked sternly at Binoy, who looked a little rattled.
“Is that how you talk to villagers? Hasn’t Baba taught you better?” He scolded.
“Dada…”
“I apologise on his behalf.” He turned to Kalindi, who was at a loss for words. “He was just scaring you; you did nothing wrong.” Kalindi nodded. He smiled.
“I am Trilochon Roy Chowdhury.” He folded his hands, and Kalindi did the same with a little bow.
“Of course, I know, Choto Malik.” She seemed to regain her composure. “I am Kalindi. I came with my father. He told me to wait and…”
“Let’s play with these marbles instead.” He took out a bunch of marbles from his pocket. Kalindi had never seen such wonderful pieces in her life. They slowly became friends. Soon, she caught the eye of his grandfather, who appreciated her intelligence. He offered her father to fund her schooling. Her father was relieved, and Kalindi was overwhelmed and grateful. Soon, she and Trilochon started studying together when he used to teach her everything the private tutor taught him. She would help out Trilochon’s mother and her maids around the house often while she waited for her father. It was better and safer than staying alone in the hut all day. Kalindi was around twelve when she had her first menstrual period, and Trilochon’s mother, Ginni Ma, told her it was time to embrace the boundaries womanhood set on them and stay away from playing with boys or even being alone with them anywhere. Adolescence changed their friendship almost overnight. She was now more aware of her womanhood, and he was confused as to why she stayed away from playing or studying together like before. Worse, she kept being aware of their social status despite his attempt to be friends without mentioning it. Soon, their distance made Trilochon impatient. He wanted answers as to what he had done to upset her enough to ignore him. After they had argued, he asked her to meet him by the pond one afternoon. She made the biggest mistake of her life by going there for the sake of their friendship. Someone from the village saw them there and cooked up all kinds of stories. How dare a poor orphan from a lower caste dare to lay her eyes on the Brahmin son of the landlords? How dare she cross a line? Thirteen-year-old Kalindi did not understand her fault. It was he who called her there. They wanted her father to marry her off before the audacity of his daughter reached the ears of Trilochon’s family, and the Zamindar took out his wrath on them. Her father was scared of what they might do if they found out. He could not be thrown out of the village; he had a job and family to feed. Soon, she was paraded around two or three groom’s families, and one selected her. Her tears, laments, and screams did very little to melt her father’s heart. A desperate Kalindi found herself under Trilochon’s window in the middle of the night. They were just fourteen, but Trilochon could not wait to save her. He promised her that before her groom’s family came for her, he would convince his father to help her. He would come to save her himself if that was needed. There was no way his mistake would cost her her life. Kalindi made the grave mistake of trusting him.
The night of her marriage, as everyone slept and the unknown man beside her snored, she stared at her Sindoor-worn face in the mirror and cried in silence. Her friend informed her the next morning that Trilochon’s father had got a job in Chandannagar, and they took the night train. It sounded like he escaped the dilemma of his promise to her. Kalindi could not believe her ears.
Years later, she saw him once. She was part of the crowd of eager villagers, in her fifties, wearing a white saree, while he was on the top of an open jeep, in a white Panjabi, garlanded with marigolds, waving his political party flag, folded hands, smiling. He did not see her. She was sure he would not recognise her if he did. Her white saree, her tired face devoid of any colours, all she could get from him was perhaps pity. A pity she never wanted. Something felt empty inside her; the feeling of betrayal crept in again, and she decided she would never see him again. The Trilochon she knew was dead. This man was a politician she had never known.
Bondita hurried back to the hut, startling her from her thoughts.
“He agreed. Thamma, I told you, didn’t I?” She seemed happy. “He is a man of his word.”
“What if he doesn’t keep his word after we wait near the tree?” Kalindi sounded scared, like history was repeating all over again. Bondita was too naive to realise that the world they lived in was very different from that of the city-bred, upper caste privileged Aniruddha, who probably did not even understand the urgency and graveness of the situation.
“If he doesn’t come to get us, we will come back and do as Kaka says, I promise.” Bondita looked sure, and Kalindi was scared that she would be heartbroken when faced with reality. But Kalindi knew this was their only hope.
The next day, Kakima was happy as an unusually quiet Bondita heard Kaka inform her grandmother of how big a hut the groom’s family had and how they had agreed to come and see the bride next week. Bondita sat teary-eyed in a corner as her cousin-sisters watched her in silence. She was not sure what they understood of her situation. She was suddenly overwhelmed with the thought of not seeing them again if she managed to get out of the village that night. Although Kaka Kakima treated her as a burden, Tapur and Tupur, who were eight and five, were her companions through her good and bad days. She felt like she was deceiving them.
As they had planned, Kalindi waited with Bondita, who was staring down the path leading out of the village in the darkest hour of the night. They had packed just a bundle, mostly with Bondita’s clothes, Kalindi’s jewellery and some money she had saved. Kalindi held on to the bundle as she prayed. Prayed that somehow, like a miracle, her grandchild would have a fate different from hers. Almost like an answer to her prayers, a silhouette called out from the shadows, whispering Bondita’s name unsurely, and Bondita rushed to meet him. In her relief, Bondita hugged Aniruddha briefly, thanking him. He patted her head with a gentle smile as Kalindi watched the man approach her. She was a little taken aback as he touched her feet.
“Thamma, I am Aniruddha.” His features were quite similar to someone Kalindi once knew. She shuddered. “Thaak Baba, we are grateful to you…” She blessed him reluctantly. Aniruddha eyed the bundle in her hand and took it from her, even when she resisted. “Come along, I told the driver to bring the car someplace away from the house so that people would not be alarmed. We have to walk a bit.” He sounded like it was almost inconvenient for the women, and Kalindi smiled. Bondita was chattering away as she followed them to the car.
“Are you leaving too?”
“I suppose so.”
“What about the unfinished work?”
“I am not sure.”
“Where are you taking us?” Kalindi could now see the car as she stopped at Aniruddha’s words. “Home.”
“What? Aniruddha Babu, we can’t go to your home.” Kalindi protested.
“It is only until we find something more permanent for you, I promise.” He reassured her. Bondita hopped onto the seat behind Aniruddha, and the driver waited for Kalindi to step in.
“Hurry, Thamma.” Bondita urged.
“We can’t go to your place.” She reasserted herself. “Your family…”
“Don’t worry, I have talked to them, they are expecting you…” Aniruddha made her frown. Who was expecting her? Binoy, who never liked her? His wife and children, who never knew her? Trilochon? His wife, perhaps? But what other option did Kalindi have? If she did not get into the car, Bondita would suffer her fate. She could not allow that. Kalindi swallowed her pride for the sake of her granddaughter, and the car rushed towards the highway in the darkness of the night.
