Every morning Gauri
Pehi rose at dawn and rushed through
her routine work. Getting up, she would sweep the house, the
courtyard, take a hurried bath and then enter the kitchen.
She would keep mumbling to herself as she fried fritters
for breakfast. After everybody had finished breakfast,
Gauri Pehi would start her second phase of work: chopping
vegetables or cleaning fish. Sometimes she would sit for a
while and rebuke somebody. At times she would cry and
sometimes laugh. After everybody in the house had started
with their daily chores, she would sit under the margosa
tree till she got her call for lunch.
It was not always like that. When Pehi’s mother was alive
she hardly had any time to rest. Her mother was bed-ridden
for years and bedsores covered her body. Pehi’s time passed
nursing her mother. Now after her death, she had these few
hours for herself.
All the fifty years of her life, Pehi had spent shunting
between the kitchen, the courtyard and the margosa tree.
That such a day would come to her life was beyond people’s
imagination. The light and dark crevices of her mind were in
utter confusion. There Pehi was sitting on her haunches.
Today was altogether a different day for Pehi. Since
morning, she had not entered the kitchen. Her breakfast was
brought to her bedside, and they gave her warm water to
bathe in the bathroom! Her sister-in-law made her bed and
her brother came to enquire about her meals. This undue
importance seemed intolerably intriguing, and confused
Gauri Pehi.
Pehi was sitting on the bed. Lifting her mekhela, her hand
touched the tiny white spot on her thigh. For fifty long years
the spot had been in the same place – the size of a small pea.
She shuddered. Pictures started racing before her mind’s
eyes. She was then a girl with long, lustrous black tresses.
Pehi saw herself as a bride. A stout man was dragging her
from the room to the courtyard, the bride pulling her
sador
to cover her head, her teeth gritted to regulate her sobs.
The man left her sprawling on the courtyard. He roared like
a lion. “They have cheated me into marrying this diseased
woman.” A few neighbourhood women came to watch the
scene. The man tried to raise the woman’s mekhela to show
the cause of his anger, but the bride pulled it down with all
her might. A middle-aged man strode to her and grasping her
long hair shook it vigorously. “This witch – she has come to
ruin my son’s life!” She slowly lifted her mekhela and now
the pea-like spot was clearly visible in the sun. Everybody
shouted in unison, “Come on, send her away!” “Go and leave
her at her father’s place.” “Don’t let her take anything!”
“Keep all the ornaments we gave her for her
joron!” She
cried helplessly and the man now dragged her outside the
gate.
“Ma...... has she taken her bath?” Outside Pehi heard the
manly voice. Her brother’s wife came in. “Gauri, what are
you doing? Gautam has already taken out the car, and you
are still not ready!” Her younger brother’s wife gave her a
new pat mekhela and a sador with a border. “You need not
wear that dress. Wear this.” Her elder sister-in-law handed
her an ivory box. “Ma had left your ornaments. You can take
them with you.” “Pehi, wear your light gold chain. You will be
going with your son, in his red Maruti. You should at least
wear something on your neck.” Her niece said. She had come
from her in-laws to bid farewell to Pehi.
Pehi stepped out of her room towards the well, but her
sister-in-law stopped her. “I have put warm water in the
bathroom. You will also find the soap.” Pehi lifted her head to
say something. Before marriage she bathed in the bathroom
but after her return they had stopped her from doing so and
had written her off as a mad person. “Mad woman! God only
knows what she would do in the bathroom.”
Pehi poured a mug of water. Then taking the fragrant,
white-cake of bathing soap, she hesitated. As if the touch of
water inflamed the pea-sized white mark!
Pehi again emerged as the new bride – the beautiful girl with
the bright, golden-yellow complexion. Five times they had
chased her away, and five times she had been sent back.
The fifth time she took with her a fair, chubby baby boy.
Again they sent her back, keeping the baby. She did not
want to leave behind her baby. The man had a difficult time
in sending her away. Locking up the baby in a room, her
mother-in-law spattered filthy words at her. They tied her
with a rope and put her on the back of a bullock cart. The
nineteen-year-old nursing mother implored, begged and
cried out her heart, but to no avail. Her plight made even the
cart-driver shed tears. She made a vain effort to loosen the
rope, she bled. Milk dripping from her breasts mixed with
blood, showed on her sador.
Pehi came out of the bathroom. The whole neighbourhood
was there, especially the womenfolk. Someone combed her
partly grey hair and made her wear the new dress. Pehi sat
among them like a stone statue.
They did not see her retreating to her past. Fate had indeed
dealt a heavy blow on her. She yearned for her little one.
When people from her husband’s place came, she sent word
through them. “If he marries again will he give me back my
son?”
Throughout she saw her sister-in-law bearing and rearing
children. She waited and waited for years. And she became
a mad woman. She started mumbling to herself, sometimes
laughing, sometimes crying, sometimes shouting at others. Yet
nobody came with the news of her son.
Her sisters-in-law and her niece were packing for her. Her
niece was saying. “How can she go in one dress? What will a
mad woman....” Pehi’s elder sister-in-law stopped short when
she saw the handsome man watching them. “Ma, are you
ready? Let’s go then. We have a long way to go!” Pehi stared
at the young man. The sight of the chubby baby flashed
before her mind’s eye. Who would say that the handsome,
bespectacled man was her son?
Pehi sat still. Someone was tying her hair into a neat bun.
Pehi felt as if some unknown hand was rubbing away the
vermilion from the parting of her hair, taking out her
bangles and dressing her in a white garb. How many years
had passed by?
Pehi’s luggage was loaded in her son’s car. The womenfolk
sat surrounding her. Romola Jethai remarked, “It’s Gauri’s
sheer luck that she can die at her husband’s place!” Now,
they were talking about her son. “How handsome Gauri’s son
is! Like a prince. Not only that – he is also a famous doctor.
Poor thing, had to grow up tortured by a step-mother.”
Somebody wanted to force Pehi into the car. “No no no”, she
forced her way out of the car. “Mama, I wonder whether I
am doing the right thing taking her away. All these years she
had stayed with you, the last days of her life...?”
Pehi’s sister-in-law came forward. “No....., no, its alright.
She is fortunate. At least, she would die, staying with you.
All these years we have kept her.”
Pehi’s two younger brothers were standing next to each
other. A stench touched their nostrils – the smell of their
mother’s bed sores. The mad Gauri had nursed her. Suddenly
everybody grew excited to put Pehi inside the car. Pehi
wailed, she sobbed. No ..... no, she did not want to go. The
picture of a bullock cart floated before her eyes. The cart-driver
standing with a pair of white and black bullocks, the
shrill cry of the baby, the nineteen-year-old girl tied with a
rope and left in the cart. A strong hand held her pinioned to
the cart, Pehi making a vain effort to set herself free. The
soothing security of the margosa beckoned her. It stood like
a beam of light in her otherwise dark world. She cried out
shrilly, “No........ no...... no!”
The handsome young man looked at the old woman on the
rear seat. He frowned. Was it a mistake? Pehi’s father had
bought a plot of land in her name right in the middle of
Guwahati. The thought brought some sort of solace to his
mind. Everything was ready. Only a thumb impression and
then a house, a chamber and a nursing home in future.
The car started moving.
Pehi was wailing now. In her subconscious, she heard the
cry of a baby. “No no no!” The young man looked again. How
would Namita put up with her! Even if she did, what will
people say? It is alright, something should be done. He had
already told his uncle that his mother needed treatment. He
would send her to a mental asylum. Who would blame him?
Yes, she should be treated!
The waiting women near the gate let out an
uruli.
