Srikumar descended the stairs and walked across the courtyard, and the air filled with the scent of expensive cologne. Wearing a panjabi of glossy addhi cotton frilled by hand, the pleats of his dhuti — of the finest quality, and also hand-frilled — skimming the ground, expensive leather Grecians on his feet, silver-cased walking-stick in his hand, walking rapidly, Srikumar went out.
He goes out every day. He’s been going for 18 years. Even if the world turns upside down, Srikumar’s routine won’t change. Rules are not broken, there’s no change in his dress or style. Maybe he’s never even considered it. Ever since he was 25, he’s been putting in his attendance at the same place, exactly at the same time, dressed exactly the same way.
Of course the clock can tell the time of his return too. Eight to 10 in the evenings — these two hours. Where he goes — that is not unknown, certainly, but unspoken. Everyone knows it, but no one says it clearly, out loud. They don’t say it — perhaps to preserve the honour of the master of the house, or perhaps the mistress’s!
But does Oporna live in the world of such traditional honour-dishonourIJ Can one stand on the ground here and stretch out a hand and touch herIJ And Abha’s tried, too — to treat her with disrespect! Abha, wife of Srikumar’s younger brother Shukumar, sat at one end of the courtyard preparing her paan. As soon as her bhashur went out, she raised her eyebrows and smirked at her husband’s cousin, Nonda, sitting in front of her. Her manner suggested, ‘You saw that, didn’t youIJ I am right in what I say, aren’t IIJ’
Nonda put a hand to her cheek and feigned a wordless astonishment that could have been put into words thus, “O Ma, really, so it’s true! Even now — at this age — ah!’ Nonda has come to this house after a long time.
While her mama and mami were alive, she used to come and go frequently; as a niece widowed young, she was treated affectionately. But now her cousins had no great desire to bring her over or treat her with affection: ‘Come, dear lokkhi — and now go, you pest!’ was the general feeling. So, Nonda, too, no longer felt the same urge to visit.
Still, this time she had decided to come. Of course, not even for an hour after she arrives does she let herself be considered newly arrived; it doesn’t take long for a woman as restless and garrulous as Nonda to make a place for herself. Right away she delivers a caustic comment to her cousins’ wives: ‘Don’t they say, ‘Brother’s rice is in the pot, but sister-in-law serves it out”IJ That’s certainly true. You’ve kept both my brothers completely tied to your anchols, haven’t youIJ Not once, not even by mistake.’
Her brothers have sat down to eat, and she swoops down on them. She laughs softly, sharply. ‘So, gentlemen, you couldn’t ask after your poor cousin, not even to find out if she’s alive or deadIJ How can anyone turn their relatives into strangers this wayIJ Chhi chhi. If I come to visit your house for a couple of days, how much of your food will I eat upIJ’ Srikumar says, laughing, ‘That — that atop thing, that’s what’s hard to get nowadays. We’ll ask you here with great affection, and then should we starve you to deathIJ’
‘Oh, sir, if you really want to treat someone with affection, you can feed them rutis made of grass and still do it, understandIJ’ ‘Is that soIJ’ Srikumar, easily amused, laughs out loud, ha, ha. ‘Then should I go and see if I can gather some grass or straw for youIJ’ Nonda takes out a small silver snuff-box from its hiding place in her chemise and places a pinch of perfumed jorda in her mouth, then turns to the younger Shukumar for arbitration: ‘Did you see, Shuku-da, did you see thatIJ Isn’t that a classic insultIJ He says he’ll feed me grass!’
Shukumar’s nature is the exact opposite of his elder brother’s. His manner is solemn, his mode of speech that of a wise man, his dress and style that of the master of a household. This sort of unwarranted liveliness, such laughter and taunting! Besides, having recently been initiated by his guru and given a mantra to recite, he’s become even graver, more reserved. He does sit down to eat with his dada in the same courtyard, but not next to him. The fact is, he’s a pure vegetarian, whereas Srikumar cannot lift a handful of rice to his mouth unless there’s some fish involved.
Once Shukumar washes his hands — after casting a glance of utter aversion and contempt at his dada’s plate, arranged with abundant helpings of flesh — and sits down to eat, he doesn’t take any part in the conversation until he rises to wash his hands again. So he doesn’t answer his cousin’s question. ‘Ah! I see that his wife isn’t happy with just tying the man to her anchol, she’s made him deaf and mute as well!’ Nonda leaves, laughing. Over there, sitting in the kitchen, Abha is sputtering inside, an eggplant in hot oil. For one thing, she can’t stand this garrulousness in women, and on top of that, to mock Shukumar’s manner, rituals, and devotion this way!
She looks at her older sister-in-law, Oporna, and says with some annoyance, ‘Really, didi, she’ll never grow up, will sheIJ Still craving that same indulgence! It burns me up to see it. Always the same old habits!’ The cast of Oporna’s lips is so strange, it always seems as though a thin smile might break out at the corners of her mouth, and that smile is one of irony.
let the cast of her lips be what it may, but it seems to Abha that when Oporna answers, that smile appears distinctly on her lips. But no, she speaks in an easy manner. ‘Whose habits ever change, Chhoto BouIJ If they did, the Shastros would be proved false.’ Abha says to herself, ‘Well, you can certainly say that, what other choice do you have!’
Excerpted with permission from Hachette India