4

                     He leafed through the files and put his comments, suggestions and approvals in his neat hand writing. He is always brief, precise and his adroit way of sensing the basics was always admired by his peers and superiors. Looked at the wall clock, it was half past six, too early to go home. Yet he had a hope he could be with them before they left. Reaching home he saw the house wore an weird look. The mother and child had left early. Yesterday it was his daughter's birthday; he came early with choicest gifts that her daughter loved. They were going out, he wished her, and she just smiled and without a word left with her mother. He could not hold them back, nor could say another word.

      He went to his daughter's room; all his gifts  of yesterday were put in a corner, wrappers intact. He could hold his sigh unto himself. The sigh was inaudible, but he felt it had his entity torn asunder.

       It has been like this for last few months, since his brazen behaviour, as Seema put it; did not change and Rikta became a part of his existence.   Seema took up a job with a voluntary organization working on empowerment of women. And the transformation in her looks was amazing. He thought she had cultured a style statement of her own.

      She does not present those unruly hairs knotted in pig tail braids. It is stepped, straightened and coloured, burgundy, golden and off-black, the colour changed very often. She had ceded sophistry in her look, immaculate and glistening, she looked stunning and serene. On few occasions he desired her, yet could not speak. He had shifted his belongings to the guest room and tried his best not to come on her way.

            Almost never  had he his dinner at home. After the affair was open and he confessed to his wife, she just asked him to mend his ways and she never pleaded, nor she was bleary eyed and gave up her food. She behaved in a composed, matured way. It was a discovery for him; the woman who depended on him for everything and anything could be so graceful! Unconscious pride in being the man of such a woman filled him.

           He also thought of his relationship with Rikta. Their relationship had the flavor of an innate newness, as if she was his first woman and he was her first love. They wanted to linger each moment of their togetherness. She was a whole woman, stronger, sensitive and humility was her forte. Rikta exuded raucous emotions and transformed them to a sensitive, sublime empathy. Being together they deserted solitude and crowd alike. They were one in themselves. Many a times their existence presented a meeting of faith and belongingness. The only thing that had a trail of gloom was their acceptance in the society, where they belong. Rikta, at times felt responsible for his family life.

      He had the nagging prick that he was a kind of usurper. Rikta stopped responding to her husband's calls. Her only worry was her daughter, yet she reconciled to the fact that she could be safe with her doting father. She knew recently the man had become very keen about their daughter. They had learnt to overcome the stigma that their relationship evoked.

    He was graying fast  and the left over thin hairs wore a stubborn look,but  she  looked  beautiful than before. They talked about that and laughed heartily. He had decided to shift to the official accommodation. Without Seema's knowledge he transferred the ownership of the house and a sizeable savings to her.  And with much strain they had decided to seek divorce from their  respective partners. 

    He never knew what has led him so far and how could he manage his later life. His family had moved away. The fast growing up daughter ignored him. She stopped talking to him. Most of the nights and days he stayed out. Seema had carved out a life for her and their daughter behaved as if she could manage alone.

       That  day   Rikta was anxious and perturbed. Her husband had come without prior information. She had said about her plan to him a few weeks back. She also said him she did not have any qualms leaving her previous life and he is set free to call her a witch or a bitch. He did not answer and she was happy that he had reconciled. Now he has come, he looked  weak.

    Even during his presence they did not stop meeting. Now they did not  meet at her place, till  late evening they walked hand in hand and sat late beside the sea. In setting sun, roaring waves they found  meaning to their togetherness. a kind of reaffirmation.

      The whirlpool of inane existential conflict, he thought , tore him. He had no intention of making good the loss he had suffered. He knew he could never be his old self, he could never forget his past, never also regretted the present. He was not even inclined to call this an unfolding of destiny. Whatever was happening was his choice; he could not judge it. The conflict within and the antagonism he faced could well shake him, but he refused to break.  He suffered yet never shared his pain. Seema had never complained after the initial gruff, the silence was louder than the grumpy filth.

       That day Rikta asked him to visit her. He did not want to, but Rikta insisted.

          He had to go, and reached there earlier than appointed. The entrance door  was open, he knew  Rikta was always  negligent while doing household chores. The living room was bolted from inside. He was about to knock when he heard a male voice pleading forgiveness and he knew the man was in tears. His was pleading, humble; as if seeking benediction. Rikta snapped and said she could not come back. She was decisive; she had found her soul mate. The man she had sought was noble and caring. He had made a bigger sacrifice than any one on earth could. Her husband did not give up. He begged forgiveness,  as if asking for alms; his wife was unrelenting. The man sobbed, and Rikta was softer than before in her address but brushed aside his  plea.

                     He had no mood to invade further their privacy. He left the place as stealthily as he had arrived. He reached the sea. Called Rikta and said he had a bad head ache and would not meet her now. She asked him if she could  come to him. He said he would manage.

    A group of boys and girls were frolicking around. Among them a boy was short and limping; his right leg was polio stricken. He was afraid to go the sea. His friends carried him there and left him in water. A small wave touched his feet, he cried. Another; then the bigger one came up to his knee, instead of crying aloud he was excited and a sound of joy came through. Till he was feeling unsecured his friends had made a protective circle around him. The girl who had feebly protested her friends and asked them not to take him to the sea walked unto the boy and laughed with him to bolster his new found courage.

    Another dusk, another look at the setting sun; he  thought changing colours had a pattern,found a metaphor of steps- ahead  in the limping boy's gathering courage.  He walked back to the car and went home. None of them was there. Rikta was insistent. She had made several calls after he left their apartment. She begged to join her. He simply said he would not. He was afraid a little harsh he was in his response. 

     It was  a few months after and he was lying on the bed now. He had a feeling ,real life could have elements of  melodrama and it had more charm and chance than in a play. His attachment with Rikta, the infatuation, love or lust whatever it was, a part of his life. It could not have been otherwise. At times, during the period when their relationship was at a high he was worried and thought whether he was taking a kind of salacious advantage of her single life. Once he was sure for himself  that it was not, he allowed flowering of the intimacy.

      He switched off the light; felt hungry, took a glass of water. Searched the corners of the kitchen, found nothing; then had a cup of tea for him. It was so sugary that he could not take more than a mouthful. Seema discontinued the services of the domestic help.She thought their failed marriage would be public.

  He did not remember when he slept. He woke up when the bell rang. It was half past nine, Seema came with the daughter. He opened the door.  The child smiled, it was a joy he had long lost. Then without a word they left leaving  him in the guest room. After a while the daughter asked him in his mobile whether he would have his dinner at home. He said yes and wondered when such a night was there.

     A few minutes after Seema put a plate of fried chips and silently left. After a while the daughter came with a glass of water and a cup of tea. She smiled and left. He was feeling lonely and ignored But  had no choice; he was hungry and thirsty.

  They joined at the dinner  table,silence pervaded the dinner. He came to his room. After switching off the light he put his hand on his chin and looked through the dark. Nothing appeared, only he could feel his breath.

    And a small thud and the lights were on. His daughter was asking him to come. She held his middle finger and led him to the living room. He could feel nothing; followed her. They reached their bed room. She was smiling and said; Papa, please sleep with me. These days you do not love me, I am your sweet 'doll, tiny tinkering trouble' he used to tease her in the name.

     They slept together. Seema smiled and he had not seen her smiling, he thought ,for ages. He could not smile, nor could sigh. The daughter slept between them, one leg over him, the other on Seema. Clasped her mother's right hand and father's left hand. He drew her closer and rubbed his beard over her face. She giggled, said ‘I am a lady; the texture of my face will be lost. No Papa, No’; his wife laughed aloud, pinched her nose.  "Mama, my nose would be blunt'. Her voice trembled in a mock whimper.   

     When he woke up, he found his hand still in his daughter's hand and Seema had put her other hand on his chest.  He looked at her, she appeared more beautiful, benign and sublime, a serene iconic freshness  radiated from her face. He had a shame  and indignity and could not erase the blot that engulfed him. Never could he  be able reconcile to  his blasphemy that denuded the sanctity. Rikta was a dream and a fathomless craving.How could he deserve benediction, when he denuded   even the suggestion of commitment. He had to curse himself, a blighted pervert, who was selfish and a self seeker, never in life bothered to align with truth. He came to  Seema  for he knew Rikta could never belong to her, nor he could raise himself to dignity that his wife exuded. She could have denied him pity and forgiveness, then where could he be? A creeper has no place, yet she allowed him the space that he never deserved. He felt like die but could death erase blasphemy!  No atonement was enough to erase the past,nor could he be able to face the women with honour , whom he claimed having loved. He wished he could cry, but could not . Tear drops  could even desert him, washing away the stain was never possible for desperates. Her right hand still in their daughter's hand. She had not moved and her legs were on them. They did not leave till she was there.

  After a month or so he had a message waiting unread. Rikta wrote, “accidentally I found your car number in visitor's parking register the day you left me, I am proud of you, My Charm, from you I learnt mellowing and  groomed to be a full woman. Didi and Gudiya saw us off at the station. The  daughter is now with us. Please never smoke again. Didi deserves better life than me, please convey my wishes to her. ”

   He had not smoked after he quit on Rikta's persistence.  He remembered the date when his daughter said they had gone to the station to see off Seema's friend,  and that was the day Rikta  left for good. On that  night he was led to the bed room by his daughter.

     The sea and sky merged and the ensemble, the commotion and cacophony of emotions enlivened. The encore had a symphony part felt, part melt into the air. The bird above pierced the dark and sang  in an unknown voice, long unheard.

3

The night was lingering, from Rikta's window the sea appeared black, a huge monotonous dark expanse, intermittent twittering yellow pale light from above the fishing boats distributed the dark. Huge dark waves raged somewhere near; and he held her hand while she was speaking in a low crusty voice. Her husband took upon himself the initiative. She was never allowed near his bed, yet he had the company of different women at his will. She cried, she was determined; took up odd jobs like courier agent, homemaker till she landed here. He was not interested but could not say that.

The morning was guilt-ridden and the night earlier appeared short. He woke up early and it was pitch dark outside. Dawn was approaching and the black was turning green, Seema was sleeping peacefully, and from the dim light filtering through the window, he saw a contented smile was on her face, yet livid and not diminished. He felt a bad headache, and woke her up, before day break he wanted to leave the place. Seema looked at him with an impish glance. Before he left she put her hands around his neck and said whisperingly, love you dear.

He went out, it was still not light, and there was a faint glimmer of crimson beyond the sea, without any thought he went to the sea. Parked the car and saw a few tourists were rollicking on the beach; some had even gone to the sea. He was tired, saw the old lady blowing the fire and calling aloud his grandson to help her. A dozen customers were around to have their morning tea. He went ahead, sat on the make shift bench put for waiting customers. Looked at the old lady, she was dark, had put on a deep blue cheap hand-woven sari, a deep green dirty blouse and a plastic slipper. Teardrops were rolling down over her emaciated cheeks for the smoke from the coal oven had clouded her eyes. She had a dark mole over her nose, the grandson while fanning the oven pinched the mole playfully and smiled. The lady cried out in feigns anger. He enjoyed the morning. An unfolding he tried to realize. He sipped a cup of tea and walked towards the sea. He found an isolated sand mound and spread his tired body on the sand bed. Closing the eyes he thought the consequences of his intrigues.His wife is a simple, docile woman of essence, he felt. She is never demanding, ever credulous and now her gullibility is tested, he rued.

The light rays from the eastern sky were fading from crimson to colourless and radiant white. The sun looked up and he walked back to the parking. He reached home, Seema greeted him with a look of questioning and emitted a fade smile. The smile was wan, he thought. He had a fear if she asked details, he would tell many lies. Lies are never his forte. Without even washing he went to the bed room, saw their daughter sleeping peacefully. A decipherable contentment illumined her face. Her soft hair had touched her cheeks. He went to her, caressed her hair, and softly touched her head. He sat there on the bed looking at the small child and saw Seema having a confident smile; she had followed him with a glass of water and a cup of tea. He replied the smile and both sat on the bed and together they saw their love's growth. Seema covered the child for it was a little chill and switched off the air conditioner. They both sat motionless without uttering a word. After few minutes of silence he went for the bath and Seema went to the kitchen.

He took bath, dried himself and came to their daughter. Still she was in deep sleep. He did not like to wake her up as he used to on other days. He wanted to up bring her a responsible lady and make her an abiding ,disciplined person. Her vacation is still not over.

Still two hours to go. He had no mood today to go back to the routine of the office.

Ruminating over the past he went back to the old days with Seema. They had a winter wedding and never went out then for honeymoon. She is a simple, average looking woman having no appetite for voyeuristic escapades. Her looks apart, she was never demanding. She could not even succeed in making him quit cigarette. He is independent and introvert, she is garrulous and loved visiting family relatives. She wanted to model her child in her ideals, which for him were not worldly. In spite of all this he had never betrayed her faith. And now he does not even know what has led him there.

He assured himself he would mend his misadventure and typed a long e-mail to Rikta. He said it would not be proper and not in the interest of propriety that they meet. He repeatedly revised the mail and put that off for another time.

Before noon Rikta called him in his landline. Her voice was full and sonorous. Asked him to meet her at lunch for she was on leave. He did not send the mail and telephoned his wife that he would not join her at lunch.

Their waning relationship revealed a new resolve in Seema. She did not say anything to him; but knew of his infatuation. The ever smiling woman took refuge in stoic solitude. She became more possessive about the child. The divide between the husband and wife seemed unbridgeable. He did not tell lies anymore, he thought it was the run of destiny that Rikta was his love.

                                            2

   It was a satisfying afternoon and he was in a mood to whistle away the time looking beyond the setting sun and gathering clouds. He had his lunch, specially cooked by his wife for a Friday mood to reinforce the togetherness of long eighteen years for ensuing week end and Sunday. It is her  way of reconnaissance. She has a spotless face, a smile put on; not to sway but to reassure, a little fat around the waist, never paint the face in garish imbroglio. She was Seema, his daughter's mother, his companion for almost two decades. He thought about her docility, her meanness to share him and a submission to his obsessive attachments to all passive indulging. He could not rise in his profession, she never complained. He rarely took her out; she bore it as a stoic . He had many selfish friends, she never disappointed them and like a good friend's wife took care. Now their only daughter is growing fast to become a young woman . She is emotional yet sincere, like her mother respectful to elders, never strayed  to be inclined to teen age exaggerations.

  He whistled aloud, chewed a candy after many years, pulled out the shirt from the pant and allowed it to hang above the suit. A dangling disposition he thought, he bore all these years. Creases and wrinkles have invaded his face; he raised his palms and felt his baldness. Once it was dense, curly and covered his ear lobes, eyes have lost their ex-pression for the surrounding dark circles. He was getting old, heaved a sigh of indignity.

 And then the mobile rang. An unknown number, indignant rising to ears and the voice was poised and mellow. A woman's voice, profuse and submissive, Rikta, the woman whom he met in  the train, was asking whether he found an accommodation for her. She was feeling suffocated putting on in a colleague’s place. She asked him to meet in the evening and he did not have any desire to whistle.

       It was around eight when he met her. She was in the club house. He had asked her to wait there. He offered her a cup of tea. Rikta dragged her feet. She was walking ahead and in a brisk pace. A woman in her mid-thirties, supple, profound from the back and least profane from any angle, he was a little distracted. They both sat in a corner and after a while she looked up and the bright retina, blunt nose and twisted neck line did not leave his eyes. He felt a kind of unsure longing and for a while  was ashamed. It took them almost two hours to find a room on rent. It was decided she would shift there on Sunday. He would accompany her with his wife.

   The night was disturbing. He could not attend to his daughter's nagging, nor even took dinner and asked his wife that he would spend the night in the Study. Seema, his doting wife was hesitant and touched his forehead to assure herself that he had no fever.

     They went with Rikta to her new home. It was a one-room apartment beside the beaches and on the third floor. It was also cheap, and for the rent he had used one of his friend's official clouts.

   She sat beside Seema, and wearing a yellow kurta , a faded white flower-print  pajama  and putting on a yellow bindi  she reduced her to late twenties and her figure looked more plumpish than earlier. He had a yawning in his throat and seeing a flower kiosk on the corner he screeched to a sudden stop and brought two sluggish bouquets of rose and jasmine artfully arranged with curly leaves. His wife was fond of jasmine and he gave her both, could not say one for her and the other one for the woman. Seema looked at him with her customary gratitude. Silently she gave the other one to her. The woman looked pink, at least he thought.

     A few weeks and their relationship transformed. Almost alternate days they met, he told lies to his wife, never intentional but truth could not come , he skipped his dinner, Seema took him to a doctor. No diagnosis despite full body check-up. He tried to cheer up the mother and the child. Seema never knew he had his dinner with Rikta.

    The day Rikta wiped his face after a tender hug; he had his forehead itching with perspiration. They were beside a sand art remains on the beach; the sculpture of sands were made by the interns of the sand art school , and it was being washed away part by part by raging waves. He asked her to sing and she looked at him with a wry smile. And a voice touched him, it was melodious and vibrating, he felt. 

  Sitol hawa boiche alo melo

  Falgun pakhi chute palalo

  Keno ajo darie ache chetali

  Hridoyer kotha bolte

.

A  jibon andhokar

Charo  dike  chhaya  neme gechi..

A  jibon  andhokar

 She was trembling with unease and he wanted to translate the song;

Cool breeze and  wavering springs. The heart renders innocent to speak out, the dark is life and shadows lingering across a mutinous  journey of life.

                His translation was bad, he knew. 

    They drew closer and he raised her arms to lead her to the parking. Resting her head on his shoulder she sat beside him and he drove slowly, he heard the temple cymbals clang and conch shells blowing, inside him an eruption of conscientious shattering, he bore.

  They reached her apartment and both went inside. She was in tears when she told that her  only daughter was born with a hole in her heart. From that  day her husband thought the woman brought a deformed child to  earth. She must be a witch, or at least she would bring him bad luck. He slept in another room, became friendly with other women. She was leading a lonely life all through. He tortured her, hit her and the child was sent to a residential school. And her hole was repaired. When the child  came home she was not allowed to sleep with the mother.

   He did not leave for home that night, told Seema he was going out of town; would come tomorrow.       

    ( ..it is true that human goodness is invincible. For me a story is not always about conveying a message;it could be a mood, an image , a metaphor for the conflict within the protagonist.) 

                                    1

                                                         His was a soft placating voice and her response was never near the wild.   LAJJA LAGE….SUNTE BHALO LAGE.  He said, her eyes were deep and lips soft, small and exuberant, cheeks full, hands warm. And in response she maintained unusual calm in her words. Looking below she drew lines on the sand under her feet.  Her toe was finishing an abstract figure when he saw tear drops shining on her cheeks, a couple of drops had since left the lower lids, none of them were aware. He wished he had the courage to wipe them in his palms, no trace to be seen by any one, or to be shed any further.

   Evening was spreading out, darkness was yet to descend upon and they were away from the main beach for almost half an hour . Leaving the shoes on the sand mound and bare foot they had a desire to walk and walk on the sand till the feet ache. After fifteen minutes or so he walked without looking at his company and when he looked around he could not find her, and then she appeared a reddish silhouette; like a  dwarf image of a human  figure she was trotting along the sand, a little wet and less shiny. He waited till she came beside. Both looked at each other, a dark, inconspicuous elderly gait and beside him the woman, still exuding the exuberance of youthful vigour, whitish, skinny, a little blunt nose, wide eye lashes and supple form. They exchanged dull smiles. She held his hand and they were a little impatient in their walk.

           Then he said those words, the tone was not pampering but a little sonorous. And she said in Bengali that she felt shy yet loved to hear the words. No woman ever could deny that she is not happy listening to praise. And she was no exception. Their relationship was not very old. He was with his wife and the kids coming back home after  a long tour on LTC .She was alone, they shared neighbouring berths in the train, and it was a long journey. During the journey they became familiar,exchanged pleasantries.  She was alone in the place. Her family was in their hometown and she had come to the place on transfer. It was a two tier AC compartment. When the day light touched the earth and green and brown were green and brown and not dark, he saw her closely. A sensuous form, he thought and the thought crept into his mind stealthily. His daughter had become very friendly with her. She had a fascination for Nazrul, and  knew a little of music.  His wife asked her to sing an old number from an old Bengali movie. He nodded and reassured; she sang. Her voice was passionate, at least he thought, if none else took her singing seriously. They exchanged their cell numbers. She asked him to find a one-room accommodation on rent. He assured her.

       They reached the town, she requested his wife to remind him about her need. He looked at her, the eyes were in a mood to rove and unwillingly he looked at the sky, then the brown earth, fallen leaves were making a sound, as if unheard before.