THE PYRE

 
On a rainy afternoon Anjali, a housewife, boards the train to Calcutta from Bhubaneswar. Her only companion in the compartment is a dignified, quiet man on the opposite seat who chooses to hide behind a newspaper. Weighed down by the grief of an invalid husband and worries of depleting resources, Anjali welcomes the silence. But her peace is shattered at the next station when Bina, a former college-mate enters the compartment and promptly recognizes her. She is obviously rich - opulence and insensitivity oozing out of her in a loud and obscene manner. Anjali has to suffer her endless questioning and feels emotionally battered. She looks forward to the end of the journey…………..
 
After two days of incessant rains, the sky cleared on the July afternoon in Bhubaneswar. But the air was still damp and a light drizzle kept people indoors. With a heavy heart, which matched the melancholic weather, I entered my compartment in the Calcutta-bound Dhauli Express. The train was to leave in twenty minutes. The wet weather must have discouraged people from travelling. The compartment was empty. I felt scared. Is it safe to travel alone all the way to Calcutta? I looked out. Rats were scampering on the adjoining track looking for bits of food. From nowhere a cat jumped in and caught hold of a rat and shred it to pieces. I shuddered. The macabre scene added to my depression.
            A shadow fell on me. I looked up. A man walked in to occupy the opposite seat. With his back to me, he took out a couple of magazines and newspapers, and lifted his stroller to put it on the overhead rack. Then he turned and sat down. A tall man of middle age, he must have been four, five years older than me. Decently dressed with nice glasses, and a soft, handsome face, the gentleman was a picture of quiet dignity. Without a glance at me, he took out a newspaper and his face disappeared behind it. 
            I felt relieved to find that he didn’t want to start a conversation. Feeling low by the burden of sadness, I was in no mood to talk. But I was happy that there was company and I wouldn’t have to travel all alone. Suddenly my mobile phone rang. It was my daughter.
            “Mummy, Papa is asking if you have reached the station?”
“Yes Mamuni, I am already in the train. It will leave in five minutes. Please remind Papa, I am not like him. I always reach for trains and buses in time.”
            Mamuni must have spoken to Anang, my husband. I knew it will take time to convey his answer. He will have to write it on a piece of paper in his shaking hand.
            “Mummy, Papa says you are always the best, No one can be like you”
            “And what do you say? Will Papa say everything? Not a word from you?”
            “Mummy, what can I say? You are my best Mummy, now and forever!”
            I felt happy. Mamuni continued.
            “Mummy, you know, Chinu cried yesterday, after returning from school”
My hart sank.
            “Why, what happened?”
            “Leave it, Mummy, I will tell you when you reach here”
            “No no, please tell me now. Otherwise I will keep worrying”
“One of his friends told him that Papa’s illness is hereditary. So he will also become paralytic when he grows up”
For a moment I was speechless. Oh my God! Who is this insensitive friend? How can he say something like this?
“Don’t worry Mummy. I told him his friend was wrong. Papa also drew pictures on a piece of paper and explained to him how he had a stroke because of high blood pressure.”
“Please Mamuni, tell him not to believe the words of such worthless friends. Give the phone to him. I will explain to him”
I could hear her talking to Chinu.
“Mummy, he doesn’t want to talk to you now, he is busy drawing pictures. He is asking what have you got for him?”
“Tell him I am bringing a beautiful painting box for him. And what about you? Don’t you want to know what I am getting for you?”
“I don’t want anything. I only want my Mummy near me, always. Please come early. I have already missed school for two days. Of course I got the school notes from Madhu and finished the home work. But I am lagging behind. From tomorrow I will go to school”
A brief pause.
“Mummy, you know, I had prepared noodles last night. Papa liked it. Chinu relished it so much, he polished off everything!”
“Thank you Mamuni. You are the best daughter in the world!”
She felt embarrassed by the praise.
“Mummy, no one can cook better than you. In two days we are missing you and your cooking as if you have been away for ages! Please come soon. Ok Mummy, love you, bye!” 
 “Love you too.”
My depression grew. How can Chinu’s friend be so heartless? And the friend doesn’t even know the full facts! I felt as if someone is hammering a nail into my heart and I am becoming totally helpless. I can never see tears in my children’s eyes. I have become even more sensitive after Anang’s illness. Both the kids have adjusted so well with the adverse situation. Now there is no vacation, outing, eating out at restaurants or new dresses for them, but they don’t complain. Earlier, Chinu, the eight year old son was a bit naughty and unreasonable, but he has become very understanding of late. Mamuni, my twelve year old daughter, is incredibly sweet and loving. Anang says her nature is exactly like that of mine!   
            Anang always has so much praise for me! After suffering a paralytic stroke he is confined to bed for the past two years. His job in a private company was terminated within six months of his illness. We survive solely on the salary from my teachership in a private school. Mamuni shares the burden of household work, Chinu sometimes helps in cleaning. It is no more like the old days for them, they have no friends and no games, yet they never complain.
            Tears welled up in my eyes. Before Anang became immobile, he was very active and believed in good living. He enjoyed our eating out, watching movies every week, roaming around in the mall, buying things recklessly, wandering around in the park – life was on a roll. And one day our blissful world crashed like a palace of glass when Anang had the stroke. I always used to tell him to be careful, not to be crazy for oily and spicy food, but he never listened to me. 
            These days Anang looks at me regretfully, and tears fill up his eyes. His left side is paralysed, and the movement is slow on the right side. He is not able to speak, only I can understand his grunts and whimpers. Sometimes he holds my hand with his trembling right hand and tells me through his imploring eyes, “Pray for me. Ask God to give me just one more chance. I will never stray again from a simple, healthy life.”
I pat his head, “Don’t worry. All of us are praying for you. God will listen to our prayers. You will be alright. We will go on vacation again - may be on a pilgrimage, to Badrinath and Kedarnath, and bow our head before the Gods and Goddesses.”
            The phone rang. It was Mamuni again.
            “Mummy, Papa is asking if you have wrapped yourself with a shawl. You had told him it is raining and he is worried you might catch cold”
            “Mamuni, tell him I am ok. Can you give the phone to him?”
            Mamuni must have put the phone next to his ears. I heard a grunt. I knew what he was asking. I had not spoken to him since last evening.
             “No, Bhai did not agree”
            Another faint grunt.
“He is not in favour of dividing the land now. He says he has his constraints. I folded my hands and implored him. I told him we need at least fifty thousand rupees for your surgery. But he was unmoved”
            Anang’s grunt bore a clear mark of anguish. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that his elder brother also told me, “Bahu, why do you want to waste money on him? His problem is beyond cure. Just leave him to his fate.”
            Mamuni came on the line. 
“Mummy, what did you tell Papa? Tears are coming out of his right eye. Please speak to him.”
            Unknown to me, I started crying slowly. I tried to hide my face from my co-passenger, but could not succeed. I found he was discreetly looking at me from beyond the newspaper, his eyes curious and sad. I was embarrassed but helpless. 
I wanted to reassure Anang, to give him some hope. 
“Please don’t cry. We will find some way. Trust in God. It is only a matter of fifty thousand rupees. I will take a loan from the bank. Dr. Sen has assured us the surgery will be a success. Once you become all right, you will take up a job and we will pay back the loan. Please don’t lose hope. Now stop crying and take some rest. I have to stop now. We have just reached Cuttack station and there is too much noise. People are getting in. Wait for me. I will make your favorite rice pudding when I come home in the evening. Bye.”
            Suddenly I found a lady trying to stash her baggage at every available space near us. Hers must be the seat next to the gentleman sitting opposite me. She had two suitcases, two huge fruit baskets, a big steel carrier stuffed with food and two big bags with a dozen packets of sweets from the Ganguram’s.
            The lady must be my age, but quite fat. Every inch of her body, the swarthy face, the huge necklace, the earrings, the costly saree and her general bearing bore the unmistakable sign of opulence. Sweating heavily, she had stood up to switch on the fan. The gentleman opposite me wanted to dissuade her and raised his hand, but stopped midway. Because the lady had blurted out at me, like a loud cracker bursting,
            “Anjali! You are Anjali Acharya, right?”
            I was struck by her massive presence, and by the avalanche of loud noise she had made. I nodded.
“Anjali! Don’t you remember me? I am Bina! Your classmate! Remember, that idiot History lecturer used to call me ‘the Bina with the runaway mind!’ Because I was always absent-minded in the class! How the class used to laugh every time he said it!” 
            I peered at her closely. Yes, she was Bina, my classmate in the college for the first two years of B.A. Those days also she was quite plump, but not as fat as now. She used to be a playful, garrulous girl, known for the heavy make-up on her face. She was the daughter of Sudhakar Mahanty, the stinkingly-rich hardware dealer of Cuttack. 
She was one of the three girls in our class who used to come to college in their cars. Those three had their schooling in the English medium convent, and formed a gang of their own, something like the rich men’s daughters club. The rest of us were from lower middle-class families and were not very comfortable moving with them. We used to keep our distance from them. 
“Hey, Anjali, where are you lost? Are you not able to place me? I can never forget you. If you had not lent your notes to me, I could have never cleared my exams. I was not interested in studies. I didn’t have to, you know. Only middle class girls like you needed to study hard, so that you can get a job. But thanks to your diligence, girls like me could pass in the exams. Gosh, how jealous I was of you, and how angry, when my daddy used to see your notes and tell me to be half as bright as you!”
            After so many years I again felt uncomfortable in the company of Bina. Her comments on my middle class background unnerved me. I suddenly looked at the gentleman sitting opposite me. He was looking curiously at Bina’s excited face. Bina’s words were flowing like runaway water from a tap whose valve has come unstuck.
“Your group was so attentive in the class, trying to latch onto every word of the lecturers. Ragini, Himani and I used to giggle all the time, pinching each other, making fun of the strange English accent of those rustic lecturers. Those idiots were fit only for village primary schools. God knows who made them lecturers in college!”
            We were aware of the contempt these three girls had for our lecturers. They were usually joined by a gang of upstarts among the boys who also had their schooling in the English medium Stewart school. These boys used to behave like bohemians and liberally sprinkled their talk with words like ‘yaar’, ‘shit’, ‘so what’, ‘bloody’, ‘bastard’. They used to be louder in our presence, just to impress us.
            Bina was so carried away by her words that she didn’t sense my discomfort.
            “What a coincidence Anjali, meeting you after so many years! You know, I never travel by train. But what to do? The national highway has breached near Chandikhol due to heavy rains and there is no way one can travel by car. So! Where are you these days? And where are you going? ”
            “I live in Calcutta, with my family.”
“Calcutta, the metropolis? Wow, what a big jump for you! But you haven’t changed a bit. In the college days you used to put on ordinary dresses, now also you wear the same kind of cheap sarees! And why are you looking so weak, almost anemic? Don’t you eat properly?”
“No, no, it’s not like that. Nothing is wrong with me. May be my constitution is like that.”
“Possible. In fact if you don’t have proper nutrition in childhood you can never pick up later. I remember in your group almost every one was like this - weak, painfully thin.”
            I felt distinctly restless. Bina and I were meeting after almost twenty years. But Bina was not leaving any chance to remind me of my middle class background. My father was a teacher in a village school on the outskirts of Cuttack. Most of his income was spent on the medical expenses of my ailing mother. Both of them passed away five years back in quick succession, but Bina’s cruel words on my childhood brought back sad memories of my loving parents.
            The gentleman opposite me was now constantly staring at my sad face and Bina’s garrulous mouth which was spewing unpleasant nuggets from the memory lane. His expression was grave, but tinged with a hint of sadness. When he saw me looking at him, he felt slightly embarrassed at this intrusion into our personal talk. His gaze returned to the magazine.       
            “So Anjali, what are you doing? Are you a big officer in Calcutta? After all, you were so good in studies!”
            There was a hint of sarcasm in Bina’s words. I felt annoyed at this kind of questioning.
“I work as a Geography teacher in a private school near our home”
“Geography teacher? That’s interesting. And your husband? What does he do?”
“He was working in a private firm.”
“Was? What do you mean ‘was’? Is he jobless now?”
 “Yes. Something like that.”
“Was he thrown out by the owner of the firm?”
I hesitated. Given Bina’s insensitivity, I was not sure how much I could disclose to her. This meeting with Bina was not exactly a pleasant experience for me. Bina had not changed – she remained the same snobbish, rich girl that she was twenty years back. Bina could sense my hesitation
“Don’t tell me if you don’t want to. Sometimes, if an employee embezzles money, the owner throws him out of the job. We had an accountant like that. My husband Ranjit kicked him out. He threatened he will tell the whole world what wrong-doings are going on in the firm. Ranjit gave some money to a gang of ruffians. They beat him up so badly that the fellow became invalid and after three months vanished from the town. What happened? Why did you start? Has your husband also vanished?”
“No, no. Nothing like that, my husband is with us.” 
“Then why did you start, like you have seen a ghost? What is the matter?”
I was in two minds, whether to tell the insensitive Bina about Anang’s problem.
She continued.
“You middle class people have this perennial problem. You give long lectures on honesty and integrity, but when it comes to your own failings, you want to hide from the world.”
Bina’s words hurt me badly.
“No Bina, my husband doesn’t lack integrity. Actually, two years back he had a paralytic stroke and has become partially invalid.”
“Oh my God, oh my God! I am so sorry! Anjali, how unlucky you are. God has never been kind to you. I feel really sad for you. So if your husband is jobless, how do you manage? Your salary may not be enough to run the family?”
“It’s ok. We somehow manage.”
“How many children do you have? Where do they study? Hope you have put them in some good English medium school. Or, are they studying in some third rate Bengali medium school?”
“We have a daughter and a son, daughter is the elder one. They study in Central School, near our place.”
Bina wrinkled her nose in disgust.
“Central School? I am told that is where the children of poor government servants, like clerks, drivers and peons study! What kind of culture will they learn there?”
I wanted to tell Bina, that Central Schools are meant for the children of all 
government officials, including high-ranking officers. And there is a quota for brilliant students from the private sector also. And our children are studying under that quota. But before I could speak again, the train reached Bhadrak station. The hawkers entered the compartment, selling tea, biscuits and peanuts. Bina bought two cups of tea and handed over one to me. 
“Take a cup of tea. At least some milk should go into your system. You are looking really anemic. Look at me. If you poke my cheek with your finger, blood will spill out. Ranjit has engaged two maidservants only to give massage to me twice a day. Do you remember, just after I passed my second year B.A., how my father gave me away in marriage to the Shah family of Balasore, the famous owners of Shah Transport? They have a fleet of buses and trucks and half a dozen petrol bunks. See my good fortune, I was raised like a princess and now I live like a queen. That’s why when you girls were studying hard to get a job and a middle-class husband, we were waiting for a prince to come and sweep us off our feet. Everything is pre-destined Anjali. Otherwise, what sins have you committed? Why should you suffer so much, that too right from your childhood?”
I cursed my fate. Why did I get this particular seat in this compartment? If I had 
got it elsewhere, I would have been spared the unpleasantness of this unfortunate meeting with Bina. 
            Bina was not done yet.
            “So, how old is your daughter? What have you named her?”
            “She is twelve years old. We call her Mamuni. Her school name is Pratyasha.”
“Pratyasha? What does it mean? You know, I had my schooling in the St. Joseph’s Convent at Cuttack. So I don’t know much of Oriya. We have only one child, a daughter. Her name is Daisy. We had put her in a boarding school in Ooty. But she went out of control there. With five classmates, three of them boys, she went away to Goa without permission from the school. The principal rusticated all of them. We brought her to Balasore and married her off to a boy in the Tej family of Rairangpur. We had to give ten million rupees in cash, a Honda City car and one thousand grams of gold as dowry. We had no choice. You know how it is these days, if you don’t give enough dowry. Sometimes they set fire to the poor girl!”
The gentleman opposite to me suddenly exploded angrily.
“Madam, will you please stop talking? You have been talking non-stop ever since you entered the compartment. I have got a headache. Now please be quiet and allow me to take a nap.”     
Bina got the shock of her life at this unexpected attack. Her mouth fell open and for a full minute she remained frozen in her seat. But she chose not to pick up a fight, because her destination, Balasore station, was only ten minutes away. Her eyes spewed fire and she kept on looking at the gentleman, as if like the sages of ancient Indian epics, with her gaze she will reduce him to ashes. He had closed his eyes and was trying to take a nap. 
I was also surprised. How could this sober, quiet, dignified gentleman become so explosively angry? Looking at him, nobody could imagine him to be capable of such anger. But I was relieved, to be spared of Bina’s continuous harangue, and thanked the gentleman in my mind.
Balasore station was approaching. I helped Bina to gather her suitcases, the fruit baskets and the bags containing the packets of sweets. Bina shook hands with me.
“Next time when we come to Calcutta I will let you know. Ranjit always prefers to stay at the Park Hotel. Anything less won’t do for him. You must bring your kids. I want to see them. They will also get a chance to have Chinese and Continental food in a five-star hotel. With your small income, you will never be able to afford it. Ok, here we are at Balasore station. My two servants are already at the platform. See you at Calcutta.”
With that Bina dragged her fat body and gradually disappeared from my gaze and perhaps from my life. I realized she has no intention of meeting us at Calcutta. Otherwise she could have at least taken down my telephone number!
After Bina left, I was filled with a terrible sadness. I also felt angry at my cruel fate. Within the four walls of my life, I had learnt to live with my own joys and sorrow, fulfillment and anguish. Despite our difficulties, Mamuni’s selfless goodness, Chinu’s demanding affection, and Anang’s unstinted trust had given a new meaning to my life. In my small world I had learnt to face the harsh struggles in my own way. What right did Bina have to come and inflict such deep wounds and shatter my world of peace? 
The failure of my mission yesterday to get money from Anang’s brother, and Bina’s merciless battering today, left me desolate. I lost control over my emotions. I knew my lean, weather-beaten body of a thousand storms was going to melt into a nerve-wracking ocean of tears. To avoid embarrassment to my co-passenger, I covered my face and body with a sheet and in no time, tears flowed from my eyes like a flood breaking a dam.  
I don’t know how long I must have cried and when my tired eyes had drifted off to sleep. When I got up, Calcutta station was only fifteen minutes away. I realized I could not go to my small apartment with a face looking like a flood-ravaged ravine. I desperately needed to go to the bathroom and wash my face. But the station was approaching and it wasn’t safe to leave my bag unattended. I looked at my co-passenger.
“Please keep an eye on my bag. I need to go to the bathroom.”
The gentleman gave a shocked start, looking at my pale face and the dried up tears. He nodded his head.
            When I returned from the bathroom, the train had reached Calcutta station. 
The gentleman was standing at the edge of the seat, his stroller in hand, ready to leave.
When I came near, he pointed at my bag and said, “Your bag”. I thanked him and he left.
I too got ready to leave and gathered my shoulder bag. Suddenly, I felt the chain of the bag was slightly open. I felt a little shock. Who opened my bag? I clearly remember I had closed the bag! Is anything missing?
            With trembling hands I opened the bag. A thick white envelope tumbled out from top of the bag. What is this? I had not kept it in the bag! How did it come here? I hurriedly opened it. Inside, there was a thick bundle of currency notes and a hurriedly written letter.
            
Dear Anjali,
Every year, the last week of July is a period of intense burning for me. I feel as if a raging pyre is trying to consume me by entering every pore of my body. Twenty four years back, on twenty sixth of July, my young, vivacious, beautiful sister met her end, set on fire by her in-laws for not bringing enough dowry. Night after night I wake up, suffocating on the thought of how her delicate body would have cried in anguish; how, in her dying moments, she would have silently called my parents and me to come and take her away, pour cold water on her and douse the fire that was trying to consume her. 
I was in my final year of Engineering when she left us. If, like today, I were a Manager of a Tea Estate in Assam at that time, I would have put all the riches of the world in her little palms and saved her soft, innocent body from a senseless pyre. 
Every year in the last week of July I go to my village, sit under the banyan tree at the burial ground and search for her lost soul. If only I could bring her back, to hear her giggle again, to get my ears pulled by her soft hands, or to be teased by her thousand childish pranks! The solitude at the burial ground only makes me more frustrated and desolate! And I return with a heavy heart.
Please forgive me for shouting at your insensitive classmate. When she spoke of girls being burnt for dowry, I could not restrain myself. Looking at her, I kept on wondering why God has not cared to fit a small heart into that huge body! Then she wouldn’t have been able to hurt you with her cruel words.
Anjali, please think of me as your elder brother and accept this small gift of fifty thousand rupees for the surgery of your husband. I pray to God, in the name of my dead sister’s soul, that your husband becomes all right, and happiness and bliss return to your family.
                                                       Your unknown brother
Tears started flowing from my eyes, tears for my unknown brother and his cute little sister. I rushed out of the compartment and tried to locate him. It was no use, he had left a long while back. But under the dim, twinkling light of Calcutta station, every retreating figure looked like my unknown elder brother, a messenger of love, compassion and kindness.
            I looked up at the heaven, at the infinitely merciful Supreme Power who is beyond all joys and all sorrows, unlimited by the boundaries of life, death, bliss and anguish, whose glowing touch brightens the darkest corners of every living soul and fills it with fathomless serenity. Overwhelmed, I lifted my bag and started my journey home. Tomorrow there will be a new dawn – promising a day of fresh hopes and dreams.
 
                                                            ------------------------
 
 
Note: 
 
Bhubaneswar: The capital town of Orissa. A beautiful place famous for its rich heritage and culture.
Calcutta: The capital city of West Bengal in Eastern India. It’s the third largest metropolis of the country.
Bhai: Elder brother
Bahu: A form of addressing brother’s or son’s wife 
Yaar: A form of addressing a friend
Dowry: The gift that a bride traditionally brings with her. However, it gets ugly when such gifts are demanded by the bridegroom’s family and become a cause of bickering at the wedding and afterwards.