Bondita got down from the local train with a duffle bag and her hoodie tied around the waist of her dark green Kurti, which she teamed with white leggings and a white dupatta. The weather at Canning seemed hotter and humid than Chandannagar, and at first glance, Bondita spotted the spring blooms of Krishnachura painting the tree at the station red. She picked up her bag and looked around the crowded station. Someone was supposed to come and get her. She dragged her bag through the crowd and finally reached the gates. The rickshaws, vans and small autos were shouting out names of different places, names that appeared like images in her memories.
“Bondita Malkin?” She turned to see a woman in a checked printed saree worn above the ankle with a Ghomta over her head and the Anchol tied to her waist. Bondita nodded as the woman in her forties surprised her by touching her feet. Bondita jolted away in shock.
“What are you doing?” She asked with raised brows as the woman took her duffel bag. “You are our Malkin, we are here to ensure your stay goes well.”
“Yes, that is your work. You are not supposed to touch my feet.” Bondita shook her head. The woman smiled faintly. Once in a while, when the Roy Chowdhury family came by, they were used to touching Boro Malik’s feet. Sometimes when Mejo Babu came, he too liked that. They would get extra tips for their behaviour.
Bondita watched her wave at a rickshaw driven by a boy in his late teens. The thin boy wore a shabby vest torn in places, around the neck with an equally shabby lungi, his hair ruffled.
“This is my son. The older one stays in the town with his wife and children, the younger one…” The woman put the duffel bag on the floor of the rickshaw, urging Bondita to get on.
The woman sat on the floor of the rickshaw, her feet dangling. “Come up on the seat,” Bondita patted. The woman looked surprised as she bit her tongue.
“Chi, Chi Malkin, me… there? On your seat?” She looked shocked, “I won’t dare. I am only the caretaker’s wife.” Bondita inhaled. She hoped to see things were different, but unfortunately, it reminded her of how things always were.
“Come up, it's your son’s rickshaw, not my seat.” She made the boy stop the rickshaw. He smiled gratefully at the Malkin, who pulled his reluctant mother up on the seat. It would take forty minutes to reach Sonakhali. The sun was up at noon, and they had to pull the rickshaw shade up to shield themselves from the heat. Bondita wiped the sweat off her forehead as the woman shook her head. “Tsk, Tsk. You must be uncomfortable in this heat.”
“No. I am used to it.” Bondita shook her head. Well, she used to be.
“The men from the Party office and NGO came by early morning, asking when you were arriving. Boro Malik had instructed us to tell them to come by tomorrow.”
“But the camp is tomorrow.” Bondita frowned, a little unsurely.
“That will not be a problem. They will come by in the morning and take you there. The camp does not start until 11 AM.” Bondita nodded. “People arrive much later.”
“Many people come by?” She inquired. The woman nodded. “Yes, last time it happened at Gosaba, for three days, people came with so many problems. They had two people volunteering. My husband was shocked to know you would come alone.”
“Next time, perhaps, I will bring someone along…” Bondita murmured. “This time, I am here to know things better.”
“Have you been here before?” The woman asked. Bondita smiled faintly.
Bondita enjoyed the spring sunshine, even when it was hot. She watched the greenery and fields on either side of the road, an occasional cottage industry that had sprung up here and there, brick factory chimneys letting out thick smoke, the sight of wetlands, water and familiar trees of spring bloom on either side of the road, painting the road in red and yellow bloom. Along the road were a few Dhabas and guest houses where people parked their cars to take the ferry from Sonakhali to Gosaba and other areas. Rows of cycles could also be spotted.
After a distance, the road became narrower, with potholes and soiled paths. The forests were denser. Hogla bushes could be spotted at a distance. “The Ferry Ghat is that way.” The woman pointed. “Launches and boats will take you anywhere…” Bondita remembered that launches were a luxury back when she was a child. Boats were the main mode of transport. There was neither a proper docking ghat nor signboards. Bondita remembered the large Banyan tree on the way to Pradhan Jethu’s house. It used to work as a landmark. It stood there, larger than she remembered it to be. She used to climb on the branches of the trees here so easily. Watching her look up, the woman smiled. “You must not have seen so much greenery in the city.” Bondita agreed with a nod. A bunch of farmhouses had sprung up around Pradhan’s house on empty plots and wetlands. Many rich people have houses there now, Bondita had heard Trilochon say. There was a street light in front of some houses, which was surprising. She was eager to see the villages.
“So, you stay on the premises?” She enquired. The woman smiled. “Yes, we take care of the house. My husband takes care of the repairs if needed. I have a younger son in school, and he lives with us too. This one has moved to the village with his grandmother. She is getting old, but she still goes to the field every day with the goats.” The woman lamented. “You don’t worry, Malkin, I will cook you the best meals four times a day. If you are scared to stay alone, my younger one will sleep in the courtyard guarding you.” Bondita smiled faintly. “What’s your name?”
“ Padma.” The woman smiled.
“I will call you Paddo Di.”
The house could be spotted at a distance, and Bondita remembered it differently. The tiled roofs were now replaced by a Pakka one, with a proper rooftop room in sight; the balconies were also renovated, and each window had a net to prevent snakes and mosquitoes. The house she remembered was red; this one was yellow. The doors and windows, however, remained the same shades of green, the floor red. The bamboo gates were replaced with iron ones with the name Roy Chowdhury engraved on the gate. The rickshaw entered the premises, and she saw a new Kaccha house to the left of the door that was not there before. From the saree and Gamcha that hung there, Bondita assumed that was where Padma stayed. A man walked out of the main house, with a broom in one hand, a Gamcha over his head, in a lungi and vest. He dropped the broom abruptly and folded his hands at Bondita, who returned the same.
“I am Bishu, Mem Saheb.” He said, removing the Gamcha from over his head, revealing the slight hint of white in his hair. “Your rooms are prepared. Ei Sidhu, come get her luggage.” A boy of about ten ran out of the hut in half-pants, picked up her duffel bag from the rickshaw and took it inside. Bondita opened her purse as Bishu protested. “No. No. You don’t need to pay him, Harun. Go!” Bondita protested in vain as Harun turned his rickshaw and exited the premises. Padma took Bondita inside the house. The moment she stepped into the courtyard, Bondita remembered Dadu. She had not said goodbye to Dadu. He must have been upset with her. She sighed as she followed Padma up the relatively dark stairs to the second storey.
“I have opened the room on the right side. It has a bed, a mirror and Alna. I hope that is fine?” Bondita nodded at Padma’s words.
“Is this your first time in the Roy Chowdhury farmhouse?” Bondita looked up at her words. “I… have been here before.” She tried hard so that her voice would not tremble. Bondita walked through the corridor she once ran through, looked down on the courtyard where Dadu used to sit all day with his chessboard. The rooms upstairs were once forbidden to enter. The kitchen downstairs, where Jethaima after rebuking her, would give her Naru and Batasha.
“I may need a desk to work on.” Padma looked worried at her words.
“A desk? That is in the office room downstairs. Do you want to shift it here?”
“I can work there,” Bondita reassured her.
“I will tell him to clean it up for you.” Padma looked excited as she peeked out of the first-floor balcony and shouted at Bishu.
“Clean the office. She needs a desk.”
“Should I bring the desk upstairs?” He enquired.
“No, do as you are told.” Padma snapped. “Men! Always have a mind of their own.” She grunted under her teeth. “Never following instructions.” Bondita smiled faintly at the glimpse of a bickering wife that oddly reminded her of Kakima. Padma opened the door of the room ajar, and Bondita stepped in. If she remembered correctly, Dadu stayed in the room. Her eyes were moist. It was as though her redemptions started there with his blessing. In one corner of the room was an empty rack for keeping idols.
“If you have brought some Gods with you…” Padma pointed at it. Bondita shook her head; she did not. She suddenly remembered her Thamma’s Ma Durga, which they took to Chandannagar. Kalindi had held on to the idol through her journey and placed it first in the new home. It was still there, a little brassware idol of Ma Durga. With time, more gods were added to what now consists of Thamma’s prayer corner.
“Do you want tea?” She removed her Ghomta and tied the anchol tighter around her waist. “Otherwise, I will start with lunch.”
“You can do that.” Bondita nodded, “I will take a bath.”
“The bathroom is down the hall, but the running water is scarce. Use the bucket and mug. We have kept water in the Choubaccha.” Bondita nodded, remembering how building reservoirs at homes used to be considered a sign of wealth in her village. “Oh, and it's Indian style. City people…” Bondita interrupted. She could adjust. She grew up without proper sanitation around their hut. Thamma used to take her cousins and her to the pond every day at dawn. Back when she could remember, there was only one bathroom in that house, downstairs on the left. A small unit with a Choubaccha to hold water stood outside it. There were no other amenities. Pradhan Jethu had installed an Indian-style extension when Aniruddha arrived. She had inspected a bathroom for the first time in her life. Bondita smiled at how simple her life was. She sat down on the edge of the bed and opened the bag.
Bondita came out of the washroom to find Padma waiting for her with lunch. It was Dal, Bhat, Alu Seddho and Begun Bhaja. Something, Bondita remembered, Thamma cooked often when they were in the village. They would borrow a brinjal from the neighbour, Thamma would slice it thin so that everyone could share, and often her cousins would argue whose piece was bigger, but those were the good days. On bad days, she would get leftovers of whatever her cousins failed to eat. It was not a lot, and some of the villagers who took pity on her would secretly supply her with Muri Batasha. Bondita enquired whether Padma had some Batasha to have with Muri in the evening. Padma did not expect that. She was too glad to share her jar of Batasha, telling Bondita stories of how it was a staple snack for the villagers and how her mother-in-law made it.
“I grew up in a village, too.” Bondita did not know why, but she felt like sharing it. Padma had just finished cleaning the kitchen after lunch, and the two of them sat in the courtyard, Padma with her feet up on the porch, her saree lifted slightly to her knees, the faded petticoat visible under her checked saree, Bondita, on a chair she took out of the office room, in her Kurti and Jeans, feet dangling.
“Really?” Padma looked astonished. “You don’t look like a villager at all, Malkin.” Bondita eyed Padma at her words. Somehow, the words that formed on her mouth did not seem like a compliment, like they used to back in the city. Bondita sighed. “I left when I was ten.” Padma nodded, picking up the leafed fan to wave a little around Bondita and herself, to do away with the sudden gloominess as well as the houseflies gathering around them.
“Everyone wants to escape the villages for better lives in the city…” Padma wondered aloud. “If we had that money, we would too.” She eyed Bondita curiously. “Where was your village?” Bondita’s eyes fell on the Tulsi Plant in the courtyard, and she remembered her mother, in her wet clothes after a dip in the pond, with a lamp in her hand, praying every morning. An image that Bondita did not know she remembered at all. She was staring at the Tulsi plant rather absentmindedly, so Padma had to repeat herself.
“I… umm… don’t remember.” She lied. “Like I said, I was small, it's all in bits and pieces.” Bondita did not want anyone to know till she met her family. “I remember it was in Sunderban, on one of the islands, maybe… with Baba and Ma. Then closer to the mainland… with my Kaka Kakima.”
“Oh, you must not be feeling awkward here then.” Padma heaved a sigh of relief. “When new people come from the city, our primary concern becomes their comfort. Sometimes, snakes and mosquitoes scare them. And they look down upon our beliefs and traditions as a lack of knowledge.” Bondita smiled faintly, agreeing with Padma. She had encountered such humanitarian citizens as well, back when she was a child. People who want to help uplift the villagers' standard of living without being aware of their lives at all. People came by with cameras from news channels after a devastating cyclone and gave away relief to the people they hired.
“What is it that you do, Malkin, if you don’t mind me asking?” Padma enquired as she undid her hair, brought out a comb from her hut (with a few teeth missing from it) and started braiding her oiled hair.
“I…” Bondita cleared her throat. “I listen to people’s problems, mostly things that involve the police and help them, especially if their issues reach a court and a judge.”
“Have you met Judge Saheb?” Padma looked a little astonished. Bondita gathered that in her imagination, it was one person. She nodded with a smile, “Yes, I have.”
“Last time there was a camp, two people came by. One was a doctor, another was a …” She appeared to be thinking, “Someone who heard how you are feeling. She came by and asked us questions from a page.” Bondita nodded. “Before that, once a retired policeman came, but the police here were not very pleased with his advice to the people. They told us not to listen to him. And once…”
Bondita looked up at the sky, the southwestern horizon slowly filling with dark grey clouds. It soon covered the setting sun, finally grabbing Padma’s attention as she gasped. “Oh, it looks like a Kalbaisakhi. I'd better get the clothes from the line.” She stood up and hurried to the other side of the courtyard, to the bamboo, holding a pair of lines where she had put the clothes on a tenter to dry. Bondita stood up and dragged the chair into the office. By the time she had managed to close the door and make her way up the stairs, a gust of wind was blowing. It had been dry for weeks now, and the dust picked up a storm, making her skin feel sandy. She stood at the balcony outside her room, staring at the horizon where the tall trees swayed and plastic, discarded clothes and even a few small things were whirling around in the wind.
“Malkin, go inside. I will get a Kerosene Lamp. Looks like the light will go out soon.” Padma was right. Bondita came to her room to close the window and switch on the light to find that the electricity was cut off. She remembered how, after storms, her village went days without basic amenities. It was normal for them. Electricity was a luxury, and clean water followed. She wondered if it was the same now and would hamper her work. She checked the battery sign on her phone display and called Trilochon on the landline. The connection was a little disrupted, but she managed to tell Thamma not to worry if her phone was switched off. Trilochon reassured her that if the house was without electricity for a day, he would pull some strings and send someone there to fix it as soon as possible. Bondita sat indoors as she could hear the storm knocking on the doors and windows of her room. It stopped after about ten minutes, and she could now hear the rain as the petrichor hit her nostrils with nostalgia. Bondita opened the door of her room and tiptoed out onto the open balcony, where the corridor was wet from the downpour. She held out her hand to let the droplets fall on her palm and felt a sense of rejuvenation. Perhaps this was a much-needed new beginning for her. She looked down at the courtyard to find Sidhu sitting there, getting wet as he pushed the fallen bamboo structure up. Unlike people in the city who ran helter-skelter at a drop of rain, Sidhu did not care if the rain drenched him. Bondita abandoned her wish to get wet in the rain as soon as Padma walked up the stairs with tea and reminded her that with rain came diseases of all kinds, and the nearest doctor was a good one hour away. She also informed Bondita that the Kalbaisakhi meant that the rivers had swelled, the roads were blocked, and it would perhaps take one more day for the men from the organisers to come meet her. Bondita sighed. There was no option for her but to wait. Honestly, she did not mind overstaying her due time here. Fortunately for her, the electricity was restored by midnight, after she had shared some ghost stories from the village life under the kerosene lamp with Sidhu, who seemed entertained. She put her mobile phone to charge, stared briefly at the slow whirling fan above her head, making a screeching sound and decided to call it a day, getting inside the mosquito net.
The next morning was hot, humid and clear. The sun shone brightly in the blue sky, and there was no sign of clouds. Except for a few fallen or twisted trees and a few trash here and there, and some accumulated waterlogging and mud, there was no sign of the storm that had shaken the land the previous evening. She was sure the story in the farther islands was oddly different. Houses had their roofs blown off, waterlogged everywhere for days, and drinking water became scarce. Her doubts were proved right when Bishu informed her that the waterlogging would disrupt her work. She might need to stay a day more, as the men from the NGO would take time to rearrange the camp. Bondita understood. She made a mental note to let Jyatha Moshai know when her phone was charged. He could tell Aniruddha she needed a few more days off.
Bondita came out of the washroom with wet hair that she rubbed dry with a towel she had brought, in a pair of black Palazzo pants and a long A-line grey Kurti, when she spotted the sunshine on the balcony. She stepped out, drying her hair with the towel, before putting it on the balcony when she heard a rickshaw honk at the gates. She frowned as she peeped into the courtyard to spot a rickshaw. The organisers would not come on another day. Did Jyatha Moshai send people from his political party despite her warnings not to? Bishu seemed to be expecting someone as he walked up to the rickshaw and fell at someone’s feet. Bondita narrowed her brows. The flap over the rickshaw was blocking her view.
Aniruddha stopped the man from falling at his feet as he stepped down from the rickshaw, adjusting his glasses and straightening his grey shirt over a pair of blue jeans. As his eyes travelled from the courtyard to the balcony, Bondita froze in her spot. Aniruddha’s eyes met hers as she looked at him disappointedly through her Kajol-smudged eyes, and a faint smile appeared on his face.
Aniruddha paced his bedroom in his robe, rubbing his hands together. He had overheard Thamma and Jethu talk of Bondita while having tea in the living room in the evening. At first, they were talking about her decision to serve at Alamethi and stay at Sonakhali. Thamma was rightfully concerned about her security. Jethu insisted she would be safe. “She will be alone.” Thamma had snapped. Jethu had asked her if she wanted someone to accompany her. Thamma seemed more irked for some reason, and Jethu was amused. “I don’t want anything to happen that will ruin her marriage prospects. I have started looking too, since you are not bothered.” Aniruddha had stopped at the stairs, hearing Thamma speak, “A good man with a rich family background and stability will be nice for my Bondita. She deserves it.”
“What about one who supports her dreams and ambitions?” Jethu had added. He could not hear Thamma’s reply. Aniruddha suddenly felt lightheaded as he walked back to his room. He wondered if Bondita would prefer a stranger for a partner or if she would prefer someone who knows her at least. Someone like… Debarghya?
Bondita seemed quite clear about her stance on Debarghya and love. It surprised Aniruddha that she knew and observed so much. It shocked him when he found himself inquiring about her expectations of love. His eyes fell on the picture of her younger, innocent self smiling in the frame. Things were simpler. He never thought twice before he commanded her, demanded things and ordered her around back then. When she left, Aniruddha realised he, perhaps, ran her life a little more than he should have. He let her run his life even more than he should have. When she came back, he often had to remind himself not to indulge, yet things seemed so easy with her. She never complained about his expectations. Aniruddha realised how bothered he was about everything when it came to her. How restless he felt at her presence and more in her absence. He tried to push her away, but every time she did not leave, it overwhelmed him more. He sat down at the desk and closed his eyes. He remembered every word she uttered about love and how each word reminded him of her. He shook his head to strengthen his denial. How could he be in love with Bondita? It was unacceptable. She was Bondita. Their Bondita.
Aniruddha scratched his head, messing up his hair as the clock struck two. By then, he had played a thousand possible scenarios in his head, none of which seemed feasible. He took out a piece of paper and a pencil.
39 - 25… He scribbled on it. Scratched it out. 50-36 … He sighed, shaking his head. Soon, a few scrambled of paper accumulated by the bin. That was not what she wanted. Not what Thamma would like for her. It would be insane to think anyone in their right mind would accept his feelings. Even he had a hard time with it. Aniruddha’s chest felt heavy as he breathed in and closed his eyes. He remembered how his mother always secretly cried after fights with his father, lamenting that she was scared of him, and he misunderstood her. She was in an endless cycle of misery. Aniruddha inhaled. They had a ten-year age difference. He always thought it was a generational barrier between people of the previous generation, which led to unhappy marriages and women like his mother suffering in silence. Aniruddha threw away the paper and shook his head. He closed his eyes, and he could picture Bondita dragging Debarghya by his hand to the auto. Suddenly, Aniruddha was irked by the situation.
How could Thamma judge a man based on his job and family background and think they deserves a woman like Bondita? What if he felt intimidated by her success? What if he wanted her to be a wife and mother over everything she had worked hard for? What if he discredited her journey? He did not see Bondita’s struggles. He would not… Aniruddha got up from the chair and paced the room again. Maybe he was concerned because he cared; maybe he was attributing tags and names to a feeling that was just that… an attachment, a caring friendship. He eyed his organised room. He had not let her intervene for two weeks, and his life was a mess. She walked in uninvited one day and organised it. Something stung at his heart. What would he do once she was gone? He suddenly could not remember a time she was not around. Aniruddha felt shallow about his selfish intentions. What if she thought all his moves were calculated attempts at keeping her close? What if she hated him for it? She could never know. He hurt her when she expected him to be her friend and stand by her, like he always did. He needed to make amends for it, as a friend.
He had been to the Sunderbans for work while she was not around. Although he had never been near Sonakhali or Alamethi, he was scared that she wanted to go. What if Bondita were in danger? Could he just sit around and forgive himself if something happened to her? What if she were hurt and he was not around? He took out a trolley and started packing. What was important was his promise to keep her safe. Everything else came after that. Aniruddha dismissed his thoughts. Nothing else came after that.
Bondita reminded herself to breathe as he turned to address Bishu. His hair was neatly brushed, and he had shaved after ages, making him look fresh and younger. Bondita suddenly remembered a young, confused youth who had landed in Sunderbans without a clue. She left her towel on the balcony and turned to the stairs. She needed to know why he was here despite her pleading with him not to help her. What was this stubbornness like, A Royal Bengal Tiger was hovering around the corner to eat her up? What could happen to her after Jyatha Moshai reassured them all? Bondita was alarmed. What if nobody at home knew he was here? Or worse, they did. Thamma would not like it. Something in her demeanour lately made Bondita aware that she did not like Bondita’s proximity to him. Was it because she saw through her grandchild? She overheard Aniruddha speak about the car parked some distance away. Bishu reassured him that he would arrange for the parking and the driver to stay.
Aniruddha walked up the stairs with Sidhu, struggling to bring up his suitcase but refusing to give it back when he turned the corner and almost bumped into a barging Bondita walking downstairs.
“You!” Bondita narrowed her eyes, shaking her head. “I had told you…”
“It’s good to see you too,” Aniruddha smirked as she opened her mouth to speak, but he held her by her shoulders, pushed her aside and walked upstairs. Bondita stood clueless for a moment before following him upstairs.
“I did not say…” Bondita shook her head. “What are you doing here?”
“Me?” Aniruddha shrugged as Sidhu walked past him towards the room adjacent to Bondita’s to keep his suitcase. “I just came for a holiday.” Bondita shot him a glance as he smiled faintly. “My uncle owns the place.”
“And you had nowhere in the world to take a holiday?” Bondita inhaled. Aniruddha shrugged, “Just like you had nowhere in the world but here to serve.” Bondita watched him whistle as he walked to his room. She did not even remember knowing he could whistle.
“Paddo Di, I am hungry.” Bondita entered the kitchen, where Padma was cooking a curry while chopping some leafy vegetables. “It will be ready soon; Choto Malik will also freshen up by then.”
“I don’t want to wait. I want to eat whatever you made.” Bondita shook her head. “But… Malkin…”
Bondita strode into the kitchen and found a steel plate to serve herself Rice and Dal.
“Wait for the Torkari at least.” Padma looked startled at her hurry as Bondita shook her head and sat in the adjacent room, which had a dining table, to eat.
Padma followed her with a bowl of steaming curry as she sat down and poured the Dal on the rice, and started blowing at it.
“It's good that you are tasting the food, Malkin. I am fasting. You can tell me how your brother will like it.”
“Brother?” Bondita looked up at Padma, who looked confused. “Choto Malik?” Bondita’s brows arched as she was about to open her mouth, but stopped as Aniruddha appeared at the threshold in a green Panjabi.
“Sidhur Maa,” Bishu called out to his wife from behind Aniruddha and gestured at her to put the Ghomta over her head as she rushed inside to serve him. Bondita concentrated back on her plate as Sidhu brought two glasses of water and chillis on a plate.
“Choto Malik, I have to go to the main market to get supplies. Would you like to have fish or chicken tomorrow?” Bishu enquired as Aniruddha eyed Bondita.
“Anything would do.” He shrugged.
“I will not be having lunch, I have to go to camp early in the morning.” Bondita addressed the man. “Then you should pack lunch.” Aniruddha interrupted. Bondita did not respond. The man left without another word as Padma entered, placing Aniruddha’s food before him. “I will go bring some lemons from the tree outside. Sidhu, stand here and see if they need anything.” She made the boy nod.
“Would you prefer having Beguni with tea in the evening?” the boy enquired. “I found some fresh brinjals at the next-door neighbour’s farm.”
“That’s…”
“No, we won’t have tea, Sidhu.” Bondita interrupted before Aniruddha could finish his sentence. “Thank you.”
Aniruddha shook his head. “For some Beguni, we can.” Bondita shook her head.
“Sidhu, why don’t you join us for tea and Beguni?” Aniruddha smiled.
“I don’t have tea. I am a child.” He shook his head.
“Yes, neither does he.” Bondita smiled at the child, ignoring Aniruddha’s glances.
“I do now.” He made her look up at him briefly. “I tell you what, Sidhu, every evening for as long as we are here, we will have tea together.” He looked up at her as she glanced at him briefly. Bondita looked away and did not respond. Aniruddha eyed her, gobbling down her food as he unmindfully poured the hot Dal into his hand and stood up in a reflex, shaking it. “Shit.”
“Oh no, what happened, Choto Malik?” Padma sounded alarmed from the threshold as she instructed Sidhu to find some water. Bondita calmly stood up, taking his shaking hand in hers as he stopped jerking it and poured the water Sidhu had brought in glasses over it, over an empty bowl. His finger was visibly red as he groaned, and Bondita murmured: “One should pay attention…”
“One was paying attention…” He eyed her as she blew at the redness on his skin.
She ignored his glances and looked up at Padma’s panicked face. “It's just some hot Dal, I have an ointment; he will be fine.” Bondita let go of his hand and walked away as Aniruddha sat down to eat, and Padma served him.
When he walked to his room, he found her door shut, the sound of the fan whirling in her room reaching his ears. He stepped into his room to find the ointment on the bed. He sat down, applied some to his finger and blew at it. He could say she was disappointed, perhaps angry at him. The anger he missed when he pushed her away. There was something in her reaction, a sense of belonging, a sense of ownership over him that she showed even in her concern, which she tried to hide when he poured the Dal. Aniruddha smiled to himself. It was a glimpse of the Bondita he knew. Although she said otherwise, she was glad to see him, as he was reassured to see her.
Bondita paced her room as she checked her watch. It was 4 pm, and she could hear Sidhu and Aniruddha in the courtyard. Aniruddha was instructing the boy to bring some chairs out for them to sit on. Bishu protested that the floor was good enough for him, but he did not pay heed.
“Call Malkin, Sidhu.” She heard Padma call out, “The tea will get cold.”
Before Sidhu could go up, Bondita arrived at the staircase, watching the plates of Beguni being kept with steaming hot masala tea. She smiled at Sidhu, thanking him for the arrangement. Bishu sat down on a couple of the stairs leading up to the house from the courtyard with a steel glass of tea he blew at while Padma served them. Aniruddha took a chair, placing an empty one beside him suggestively as Padma went inside to find some salt to sprinkle on the Beguni. Sidhu sat in the courtyard, munching on a Beguni Aniruddha had handed to him, as Bondita eyed the chair, the people around, and Aniruddha sipping at his tea as if not to acknowledge her as she sat down beside him and picked up the cup of tea kept for her. The tea smelled heavenly. Aniruddha made a face as he gulped the sip he took, and Bondita eyed him.
“Bishu Da, when you go to the market tomorrow, try to see if they have coffee satchels.” Bondita made Aniruddha stop before taking another sip as he eyed her amused smile as she enjoyed the tea. Bishu finished his tea and stood up. “I should go; I will inform the NGO to come by in the morning to take you there. Hopefully, the water has receded.” He made Bondita nod. “Will you come along, Choto Malik?”
“He will not; he is on holiday,” Bondita answered. Aniruddha eyed her as Bishu nodded. “Ei Sidhu, go fetch Thakuma’s goats before sunset.” Sidhu quickly finished the Beguni and rubbed the oily hand in his half-pant before finding a pair of plastic slippers and a Gamcha to go out in, as his mother shouted at him to wear a vest in vain.
Padma shook her head. “If you don’t mind, I have to go to the temple to break the fast. I will be back in an hour and make dinner.” She made Bondita nod as she enquired about the fast. “There is a Fakir Baba who has come to Dakshin Rai Temple. He saw my face, read my palm and told me I must fast every Friday and then offer some flowers and honey at the temple to fulfil my Manat before the Bon Bibi festivals.” Bondita nodded and watched Padma go. The sun was red on the horizon, visible in the gap between the two sides of the house, as the cool breeze hit her face, and Bondita exhaled.
“When is the Bon Bibi festival?” Aniruddha straightened his glasses and cleared his throat. He eyed her as the red hue of the setting sun made her eyes sparkle.
“End of Baisakh. Dakshin Rai is worshipped before that.” She said without turning to him.
“Who is he?” Aniruddha asked.
“He saves us from tigers.” Bondita said unmindfully, “Especially those who go to the forest for wood, honey and other…”
“I have always been intrigued by the culture here,” he said, making her nod. “The deities are worshipped by Hindus and Muslims alike …”
“Yes, the rituals of the forest involve a bit of all the faiths that live here because they are united against the stronger forces of nature to survive in the forest life every day.” Bondita was staring at the open sky as birds flocked home.
“Fear is the greatest faith.” Aniruddha nodded.
“We used to go to the festivals. My sisters and I…” Bondita spoke unmindfully, recollecting her memories as Aniruddha straightened himself as he abandoned the half-drunk cup of tea.
“Will you… Visit them?” Bondita smiled faintly at his query and did not answer.
“Should I… come along?” She eyed him as he looked concerned.
“If I need someone to come along, I will take Sidhu.” Aniruddha did not respond. He expected Bondita to be angry after how he had behaved with her lately. She was perhaps confused by his inconsistency. He could not blame her for shutting him out.
They sat silently as he munched on some Beguni while she sipped tea. At that moment, Aniruddha felt peace in the silence they shared. He was not overthinking, and he was not bothered about the past or future, but just there at that moment. He enjoyed the sudden long sighs he heard from his side and the sips of her tea she took, making a sound of enjoyment of her drink. He suddenly wondered if that was what Jethu felt when he began to have tea with Thamma. It was the small moments of the day that they looked forward to, spending time with each other. He smiled to himself. A sense of longing hit him as he brushed it off. Who knew how many such evenings he had left with her before Thamma found what she called “a deserving man” for Bondita?
Bondita tried hard not to feel flustered by his gaze on her. She shifted in her seat and sighed, hoping he would look away from whatever he was lost in thoughts of. But he did not. Bondita realised that they had never been this silent with each other since the car ride back home. But something was reassuring for her in the silence. Something had changed for the better. He was trying to mend the bridges he had burnt. It was good enough for Bondita. She placed the empty cup beside his half-drunk one and suddenly had a deja vu of all the times Thamma and Jyatha Moshai sat in silence. Sometimes, silences were beautiful. A part of her wanted the sun to never set. Who knew what tomorrow had in store?
The sun went further down to the west, out of sight as dusk set in, and mosquitoes hovered around them, forcing Aniruddha to get up.
“I will go find the Odomos.” He scratched his hand as Bondita eyed the Tulsi Mancha in a corner and walked up to it. She found the matchbox in a corner and lit the lamp under the Tulsi as Aniruddha eyed her in the light of the flickering lamp.
“Find the light switches so that we don’t attract snakes indoors.” Her words made him look away as he found the switches, and Bondita walked inside.
