DEDICATED TO:  ushaanaya
geetha1972

"The sapphire waters of the ocean caress my feet,

as I stand along the shoreline, eyes shut, reeling in peace.

The impression of my footsteps on the sand,

transient and short-lived as the ripples of seawater,

fill the depressions with residue and salt.

The moist, saline breeze brushes against my cheeks,

the milieu solemn, despondent, and bleak.

With high tide, as the raging waves crash against the shore,

the truth, the revelation leaves me shocked, shaken to the core!

I never knew that you smiled only to mask your frown;

how did you swim against the current, what kept you afloat,

how did the waves of reality not overpower you,

leaving you to drown?

'How did you conceal an entire ocean from me, why?'

my hoarse voice screams out at the motionless sky.

There's no reply, no answer; just a strange silence...

And I am left there, alone to absorb a reality, so dense.

Your pearl-like tears may have dried with the years,

but the pain is there, buried within, concealed beneath the layers..."

-Elegiac_Damsel

______

23rd August

Third person's point of view:

The morning was dreary. The sky overcast and gloomy, befitting the characteristic description of a typical monsoon sky. At brief intervals, the sun would peep from behind the clouds, lighting up the otherwise dark horizon, with its golden light. 

It was the 8th day since the wedding. 

Ashtamangala; an awaited day for the newlyweds and the new bride. A day when brides return to their maiden home along with their husbands, for a rendezvous with family and friends. The bride's mother pampers her son-in-law, indulging him in delectable delicacies, while the bride breathes in the air of old, familiar surroundings. 

Under normal circumstances, the Acharya household would have been bustling with activity. Mrinalini would have draped a new sari around her bodice, excitement radiating off her happy self, at the prospect of meeting her mother and family again. She would have eagerly waited for Debarghya to get ready so they could leave together for Entally. Once there, she would have begged Rai to make her some payesh. She would have rushed back to her old room to check if everything was in order. She would have met her neighbors and played with the children. If only things had been normal!

But the day brought no particular excitement to the two-bedroom flat on the third floor of the old building in Shyambazar. 

Mrinalini woke up at dawn and went about her routine. 

One week in her new home had made her comfortable and familiar with the new surroundings. Mrinalini had gotten herself used to a schedule. She would wake up early to freshen up and prepare breakfast. She would soak the used clothes from the previous day, in some soapy water, so they could be easily washed later in the washing machine. She would take a second bath after the basic chores; a habit that she inherited from Rai, and then go for helping her mother-in-law with the daily worship. Debarghya usually left at 8.30 a.m., so she would rush later to serve him and Anumegha their breakfast. Once the two siblings left for the day, she would wash the clothes in the washing machine. Later during the day, she would keep the washed clothes in a bucket and carry them to the terrace. She would wring out the excess water from them and clip them to the cloth line for drying. After all this, she would begin making lunch for herself and her mother-in-law. While the rice cooked away in the vessel and the chopped vegetables simmered over a low flame, she would grab her textbooks and read to herself, memorizing and recollecting concepts.

In the lazy afternoons, her mother-in-law would take a nap while she would prefer reading something. She would call up Debarghya once during the day to speak to him, making general inquiries or reminding him to get any grocery item that they were running short of.

 Right before sunset every evening, Mrinalini would climb up the steps to retrieve the dry clothes, which would sometimes get drenched due to rain. She would often be stopped by friendly neighbors who would address her as a new bride and ask her if she remembered them from the wedding. Her red face usually gave her away, letting the others know that she had utterly forgotten who they were and what their names were. The women would smile at her kindly, reintroduce themselves, and invite her to visit them for a chat over tea one evening.

In the evenings, Anumegha would come home, sometimes with one or two of her friends who would hog over her room, chatting endlessly or poring over books. Debjani would usually spend the evenings watching Bengali daily soaps on television. Mrinalini often watched the same shows, while cooking in the kitchen. She would laugh at the dramatic edge that each story had. 

At night, she would lay next to Debarghya and ask him about his day. The two of them would often talk about their childhood and share instances that would make them both smile. Sometimes their feet and toes would brush against one another in the warmth, under the shared quilt. At times, Mrinalini would be aware but would pretend to be oblivious and ignorant, of his fingertips touching her plait that would lie sprawling across the pillow, like a thick, dark, coiled rope. 

They had both had their first argument on the fourth night. 

It had all started with a trivial complaint from Debarghya, about Mrinalini hitting him unwittingly in her sleep. The gold plated iron bangle on her left wrist had struck him on the jaw, hard. Embarrassed, Mrinalini had countered his words by saying that she had restless sleep at night because of his snoring. The argument had elevated and escalated with the two of them going from snores, movements to height, smoking, and habits. Their tussle ended as abruptly as it had started, with the two of them falling silent and then turning away from one another, both of them lying next to one another on their respective sides, facing two opposite walls.

They kept tossing and turning in the dark, till late into the night, neither of them being able to fall asleep. Fed up by the strange tension and silence in the room, Debarghya had turned to speak to Mrinalini, so they could make up, but by then she had already fallen asleep.

The next morning, Mrinalini had apologized to him for hurting him in her sleep and things had returned to normal. Henceforth, she had become more cautious while sleeping and was more careful about her movements. 

On the fifth day, after paying the newspaperman, using the money from the savings box in their wardrobe, she had begun keeping tabs and accounts on the petty expenses. 

Slowly with time, the 21-year-old naive girl had begun taking up the responsibilities as a married woman, running the household.

...

Although her hands worked meticulously as she served everyone at the dining table, that morning, anyone could notice the subdued distant look that Mrinalini's face bore. She slipped in to take the seat next to her sister-in-law, beginning to nibble on a piece of toast, her eyes downcast.

Anumegha was reading an article in the India Today magazine that had come in the mail, while her mother-in-law was stirring her tea, hoping to dissolve the teaspoon of sugar that she had just added to the milky beverage. Debarghya was reading the newspaper, The Telegraph while sipping his black tea.

"Bouma," Debjani called out to Mrinalini who looked up at her mother-in-law, "Did your folks not invite you for dwiragaman?"

DWIRAGAMAN: On the 8th day since the wedding, the bride and groom leave for the bride's maiden home. They usually stay a day at the bride's family home before returning. This is called dwiragaman.

Mrinalini shook her head, speaking up softy, "They would have, but Dadabhai is already gone and Jethu- Jethima are finalizing the deal for the house. They have to sell the furniture, get the official documents and all that, so they couldn't invite us now."

Debjani raised an eyebrow at the justification that her daughter-in-law had provided her with while defending her family. She nodded, acknowledging Mrinalini, and stated calmly, in a blunt manner, "They were really in a hurry to marry you off."

Although spoken carelessly, Mrinalini's ears burned at the intensity of her words. The sentence was spoken by her mother-in-law sounding almost synonymous to, 'They were really in a hurry to get rid of you.'

 Unable to bear it further, she excused herself and went back to her room.

She had been genuinely upset when her mother had informed her at her wedding reception about their inability to invite her and her husband on the 8th day. She had known all along, but it hurt more now that she was facing it all. She went off to the washroom to splash water on her face. 

When Mrinalini came back to the room, Debarghya was knotting his tie. She looked away from him and attempted to walk past him to retrieve her journal that she usually kept hidden under her clothes, in the wardrobe.

"Mrinal" his voice made her stop in her tracks. She turned to face him and waited for him to speak.

"Ma didn't..." he began

Mrinalini impatiently interrupted him, "I am well aware. It is normal for every newly wedded couple to be invited to the bride's home on the 8th day after the wedding. It is natural for your mother and the others to ask, assume and comment!"

She was seething, visibly disturbed. Bitterness dripped off her tone as she continued speaking, "The least they could do was to wait for this last ritual! It is so bad! I feel like I had been a thorn, an obstruction in Dadabhai's path! Now that I am gone, they are free. I..." 

Debarghya held up his hand, indicating her to stop to take a breath.

"Relax. Breathe. I think you are overthinking things now." he began, leading his distraught bride to take a seat on the bed

"You'll never understand." she countered, tears making their way down her cheeks

He handed her his handkerchief and walked away to their wardrobe, rummaging about his drawer. Mrinalini followed his movements through her glossy eyes.

Debarghya came back, his hand clutching a white envelope. He handed it to Mrinalini, letting her know, "Your mother asked me to give this to you today. Don't cry. I am getting late, Mrinal. I need to leave. Take care of yourself."

...

Mrinalini had been elated and excited about her mother's letter.

 She went about her daily household chores, her initially hollow eyes now looking alive. She did not get the time or the privacy to read Rai's letter in the morning. She decided to wait till afternoon when her mother-in-law would be asleep.

After lunch, once she finished scrubbing and rinsing off the used vessels in the sink, she wiped her hands with the kitchen towel and ran to her room. With an excitement radiating off her happy demeanor, she opened the envelope which enclosed her mother's letter. Her lips stretching into a peaceful smile at the sight of the familiar spidery Bengali script, characteristic of her mother's handwriting.

Leaning against the headrest of the bed, she lifted her feet off the ground, stretching them comfortably, she began reading the letter. 

'Dear Mini,

                     I hope this letter finds you in good health. I hope you are happy there. I know that the happiness that you may attain from the marriage is a poor compensation to the satisfaction and pride that you would have felt at obtaining the chance to pursue your post-graduation, but trust me when I say this sweetheart, you may achieve every luxury in the world, but they would never give you as much satisfaction as mental peace and familial love can. 

                     It's the 8th day of your married life, a day so auspicious and happy. I know that my daughter resents spending the day there and that she hates not coming home to me, but I would also like to believe that my little girl is mature enough to accept the situation and to smile instead of sulking all day. 

                      I write this letter to you to tell you that I am always there by your side and that you aren't alone. I have so much to tell you, child. 

                    I want to begin today with your father. I was married off to him as an eighteen-year-old. He had just begun practicing at the District Court then. There were no conversations with him. I used to share a room with your grandmother then because they thought that I was too young to 'become his wife'. It took me 2 years to grow up and you were eventually born to me 5 years after my marriage. Your father rejoiced more than anyone else did, the day you were born. He had wanted a daughter, a girl he could shower his love upon. Meghraj; I know you have always teased me for not uttering his name, but I do know his name and he gave me a lot in life, the greatest gift being you. Your grandmother wanted to name you after Goddess Lakshmi and your father had a strange obsession with the lotus. Mrinalini; the stalk of the lotus flower, a flower held and loved by Lord Narayan, beloved of the Lord, just as the Goddess is. Thus you were christened so. 

Just as the petals of the lotus open at dawn, your birth came as a new dawn to our lives, opening the doors to a new chapter called parenthood. 

I would like to take you on a small journey down memory lane, back to when you were a baby. You obviously don't remember any of it and sadly, you have no memory of your father. Sweetheart, your first word was 'Baba'. You never liked staying in my lap for too long, you always preferred staying in your father's arms. It was like you came to me only when you felt hungry. I remember being green with envy. I would complain to your father and tell him that you were partial towards him and that you did not love me enough. I remember him telling me once that I would get his share of love the day he wouldn't be there. I had scoffed at his words and had retorted by saying that there was no way he wouldn't be there and that I would always have to be the second most loved person in your life. I wish I could take those words back, but I couldn't! His words were like a prophecy and his sudden demise in the accident, a fulfillment of the prophecy...

You were barely two then and I had been shocked when his mortal remains had been brought back. Your grandmother had lost her younger son, but she sought solace in you, caring for you while I was still coming to terms with it all. I did not feel poor when they took away my bangles, my colored saris or even when my parting was washed clean, but I felt hopeless, helpless and plainly poor when I took you in my arms, two days later and the first question that you asked me was, "Ma, Baba koi (Where is Baba)?"

Something snapped in me at your words, and since then I have tried my level best to bring you up in a way that would have made your father proud. You may have grown up without your father, but you ought to know this, baby, you were blessed with a father who would have given up everything if it meant holding on to you. He loved you more than anyone else and even now, after all these years, irrespective of where he may be now, I am positive that his love for his daughter has only increased. 

That day when your Uncle and Aunt spoke about you getting married, you had asked me in a flurry of emotions if your father would have let go of you to educate his son. I couldn't answer then, but I'll tell you now. Your father wouldn't have done that. He would have never done that to you, in fact, he must be disappointed in me for being such a poor excuse of a mother. I cast you off when you needed me the most. I couldn't speak up for you, I couldn't provide you with the support that you yearned for.

You remember me telling you that day, Mini, that I do not wish to live in debt all my life? I know you were apprehensive and utterly unprepared for marriage when these words coaxed you into agreeing, but my child, I never did it for you to be unhappy. 

You told me then that you are willing to take up a job that would keep you, me, and your grandmother alive. I knew you were capable of earning and standing up on your own feet. I was well aware that we could exit your Uncle's home and that there could have been a future where you would have financial independence and prowess. I pushed all these thoughts to the back of my head when I wanted to convince you for marriage.

The debt that I referred to that day, was beyond financial or monetary loans. It wasn't just the payment that we owed to your Uncle and aunt for providing us with shelter, food, and clothing; I was referring to every single taunt, insult, and crime that I had to face there. 

I was raped, raped by your Uncle, a few months after your father's demise. There was nothing that I could do. I struggled against the physical assault, I tried my best to refrain him from violating me, but I couldn't restrain him, baby. I couldn't. 

I know that you are wondering why I did not go to the police or lodge a legal complaint against him. You must be wondering why I continued living under the same roof as my rapist, more precisely, under the shelter that he provided me with, but in my defense, I would just say that those were different times. No one would have regarded me as a victim. No one would have accepted me had I spoken up about the crime. For a widow to be raped was a matter of disgrace and shame. The crime may have been done against me, but everyone would have regarded me as the delinquent. I would have been labeled as a characterless woman and you would have been called the daughter of a whore.

I felt broken that day. Used, abused, and violated. I was sobbing all the while and my body was in terrible pain. It was evening and I had not even bothered to switch on the lights. That is how your grandmother found me, sitting in a corner, all alone. She came to know about it, but then she couldn't say against her own son. After all, even her hands were tied, after all even she was dependent on him for survival.

I am neither the first nor the last woman to have suffered such an ordeal. Thousands of women have continued to keep mum, even after experiencing a living hell. There was little that I could do then. I was a coward for not running away with you, but what else could an unqualified widow with a toddler in hand do? I had to stay back, sweetheart because I had nowhere to go. I had to stay back because I was helpless and weak. I had to stay back because I wanted you to grow up well, with an education that I wouldn't have been able to afford for you. 

I had never imagined confessing or sharing this with my daughter. I had always intended to bury the secret with my ashes when I would be cremated, but somehow I couldn't.

 I remember the day you bunked school in 2012, to go and protest in the streets after the rape case in Delhi. I remember how you stayed up at night to write anti-rape slogans. I remember seeing you on television, speaking to a journalist about how heinous rape is. Your eyes were blazing with hatred and disgust directed at the criminals. Concealing such a massive secret from you would have been a betrayal on my part. 

I know that you were married at very short notice and that you would have preferred pursuing your post-graduation first, but I had to step in and obstruct your path then because I was worried for you. Even though your Uncle and Aunt loved you enough, I felt an urge to protect you. I didn't want you to suffer the way I did. I know that you would have not remained tight-lipped about any crime and I know that the law has enhanced and improved for women now, but baby, I didn't want you to suffer in the first place. I didn't want to take any chances with you. I never wanted you to become a victim.

You are married now and you have no further obligation to your Uncle and Aunt. Neither do I and that comes as a relief to me. There is freedom finally after 19 years of enslavement at their home. I am sorry for being selfish, for taking a decision that may have jeopardized the plans that you had made for yourself, but my blessings remain with you forever and I hope you get to fulfill your dreams. 

Your grandmother and I have decided to move to Shantiniketan. It is a choice that we gave ourselves, a decision we took for our benefit. The two of us have spent the majority of our lives tending to the hearth, now also we'll do the same, just in exchange for some money. We took up the job of cooking at the University mess here. The pay is sufficient and there are arrangements for lodging. I know that the decision is hasty and quite impulsive, but you can say that the two of us were inclined to do something on our own. We are neither educated well nor are we experienced in the real field of life, but we are keen to do something. I want to cook for the students so I don't miss feeding my own baby Mini. Every minute that I spend on the university campus, would simply be a reminder, an image, and a representation of you.

With all that I revealed to you today, I would also like you to know that you are the best thing that ever happened to me. You are my beautiful blessing, a gem, and my sweetheart. You never will remind me of any pain that I had to go through, but you will always be a steady reminder of every moment of joy that I got during my lifetime. 

Your grandmother asks me to convey to you and your husband, her blessings. Whenever you come to Shantiniketan, make it a point to meet us. Take care of yourself Mini. Be happy and keep smiling. Achieve your goals, fulfill your dreams, and lastly, always love your family. 

Life is short, sweetheart, live each moment well.

Love you Mini,

Ma'

Several moments passed after Mrinalini finished reading her mother's letter. Her body went numb. 

The stream of tears that had formed its course from her eyes and down her cheeks, had dried by the time she had read the last line. A stagnant drop of saline water nonchalantly fell on the edge of the paper that had conveyed Rai's words to her daughter.

There was silence in the room, an eerie silence that scared Mrinalini. She felt a terrific urge to scream aloud, but when she parted her lips to vent out her anguish, her larynx failed to produce any sound. She tried to move, but her limbs seemed to have frozen.

Finally, after several moments, when her grip around the letter loosened, fresh tears made their way down her cheeks and loud sobs testified the intensity of the truth that had been revealed to her.

Her shoulders were shaking and her eyes were bloodshot red when she entered the bathroom to make herself look presentable. She gazed at her reflection in the mirror, fighting the urge to hurl abuses at herself and her life. Her conscience tried fighting against the strong waves of the ocean of truth and reality.

Her breath releasing in the form of heavy gasps, almost like she was drowning in the astringent waters of unvarnished facts. The bile started rising her esophagus and her temples throbbed as she bent over the commode, retching her guts out.

And in the privacy and silence of the bathroom, Mrinalini sat on the cool tiles, leaning against the walls, and cried her heart out.

An hour later, after her tears had dried up, she went and stood under the shower, fully clothed, allowing the stream of water to wash away the traces of her agony. 

Walking back into her room, she changed her drenched sari for a fresh one and used her new smartphone to contact the only person that she could think of at that moment, in search of peace and solace.

Her shaky hands held the mobile phone to her left ear as her hoarse voice croaked out, "Arghya? Kothay tumi? ( Where are you?)"

...

To be continued...

PUBLISHED ON: 27th June 2020

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Hello everyone.

I hope you are well and healthy. 

Take care of yourselves and your families and please do pray for those suffering, those bereaved, for the brave hearts of our nation, for the front line warriors, and also for students who are anticipating their board results (including me!).

Stay well and stay safe.

With love,

Shubhadittya