The Aunt Who Wouldn't Die Read online

  “The money came from selling my own jewelry. I don’t know about anyone else’s.”

  “I’m not asking for a share. Don’t be angry. I’m begging. If there’s anything left over, please give me a little.”

  I knew greed was more powerful than fear. Greed teaches us how to overcome fear but not how to conquer it. My sister-in-law was terrified of me, but she couldn’t control her greed.

  She kept wiping her eyes. She said, “God will judge you for what you have done. But don’t forget our claim. My husband is extremely embarrassed. He cannot bring himself to ask you. He’s deep in penury. Even my treatment is about to be stopped.”

  “He’s not all that old. He can easily work for a living if he wants to.”

  “Work for a living? How?”

  “First he must feel the need to work.”

  She threw me a glance. Probably out of desperation. I saw hatred, revulsion, and fear in that fleeting look.

  Averting her face again, she said, “He isn’t highly educated. Who will give a job to someone who hasn’t gone beyond high school? We don’t have a jewelry box to start a shop with. You’re talking of need? He has no opportunity even if he feels the need. All he says is that Fuchu has established himself, look how much money they’re making, all we can do is watch. That’s why I’m begging.”

  “What is it he wants to do?”

  “Something. Anything. I don’t know what.” After a short silence, she lowered her voice. “You poisoned Pishima, took the jewelry box, but I haven’t told anyone. I’ve stored the information like a scorpion stores poison. You should be grateful to me.”

  “Who told you I poisoned her?”

  Seemingly afraid that I had asked this, she said, “Don’t be angry. I’m not going to the police. I haven’t even told your bhaashur. Isn’t my silence worth anything to you?”

  I didn’t know what to say. Most people are in the habit of saying unnecessary things even when there is nothing to be said. I don’t have that habit. I never speak when there is no need to. This time too I didn’t try to defend myself or allay her suspicion. I knew she wouldn’t believe me no matter what I said.

  Without looking in my direction she said, “Have you left?”

  “No. Are you done with me?”

  “You haven’t said anything. What should I assume?”

  I stood in silence.

  She looked at me again. Her eyes were blazing. She said, “That means you’ll give us nothing? Nothing at all?”

  I looked on in silence. An angry spark appeared in her eyes. She was aggressive by nature and had merely bottled up her hostility all this time. Now the lid had been lifted by the steam building up beneath it all this while.

  Grinding her teeth, she said, “You witch. You want to gobble it all up. You think you can keep it all for yourself? I’ve lived in fear, indulged you all this while. No longer . . .”

  Lifting her inert, diseased body off the bed simply with the fuel of her rage, she charged at me like a specter, her hair flying, her sari slipping off her shoulder.

  To my astonishment, I found myself looking at greed, covetousness, envy, and loathing in human form. I couldn’t move. She pounced on me like a tigress. “I’ll kill you today . . . kill you . . . if I have to die afterward I will . . . I’ll kill you first . . .”

  “You grab her throat too,” someone whispered in my ear.

  My jaa seemed to be possessed by a demonic power. She began to throttle me with a pincer grip.

  Pishima kept saying in my ear, “Do you want to die? Die then. Die, both of you. Why don’t you grab her throat too? Lift your arms, Maagi. Ha, look at her standing like a cripple.”

  Trying with all my force to breathe and to pry my sister-in-law’s hands off my throat, I said, “No, Pishima.”

  My jaa heard me say “No, Pishima.” Her grip loosened. Staring at me with bulging eyes, she said, panting, “You witch! You’re summoning spirits. Summoning ghosts. You can do anything. Anything. I’ll kill you before I die, I’ll kill you first . . . .”

  Pishima whispered in my ear, “What are you standing there for? She will finish you. Grab her throat. Throttle her.”

  Tears were streaming down my face. I just stood there, making no effort to do anything.

  Pishima went on: “You won’t get this chance again. There’s no one nearby. Throttle the maagi. Kill her. No one will know.”

  My sister-in-law continued her bluster, but she couldn’t go on. She came toward me to grab my throat again, but her hands shook uncontrollably.

  Pishima said, “Don’t you understand, she will be a threat to you if she lives. She will kill you in your sleep one night. Finish the enemy now.”

  My jaa couldn’t come up to me, falling on her face on the floor, all the strength in her sickly body exhausted. She sobbed loudly.

  I went downstairs slowly.

  At night I told my husband, “I want to start another shop.”

  He looked at me in surprise. “Another shop! I can barely manage this one. Ten to fifteen thousand in sales every day, I hardly even have time to sleep. Who’s going to look after another shop?”

  “We don’t have a good shop hereabouts for radios and tape recorders,” I pleaded. “I’ve heard Jagu Saha is selling his shop. Please find out.”

  My husband was staring at me. Suddenly he said, “What’s that mark on your throat? Those angry red patches? You’ve cut yourself.”

  With a bowed head I told him, “If you care for me at all, do not ask more questions. Men don’t have to know everything.”

  He looked grim. Then he said, “You want to conceal something? Very well.”

  It took me some time to restrain my tears. Then I said, “There’s something I want to say.”

  “What is it?”

  “We can be entirely happy only when we don’t hear anyone else sighing sadly into our ears.”

  “That sounds philosophical,” said my husband in surprise.

  “But still true. Don’t you agree?”

  “Tell me what you want. I never turn you down, do I?”

  “You are the best among men to me.”

  “You’re going to ruin me one day with all these words,” he said, smiling gently. “I might even start believing it of myself.”

  “You’ll never understand where I get my strength from, how the forces of good take my hand even amid evil.”

  “Does the bruise on your throat tell such a story? Of good amid evil?”

  I wept a little more. “I cannot be happy while others are not,” I told him. “Why don’t you ever think of your elder brother? He’s in trouble.”

  “Dada! Why should Dada be in trouble? His household is running smoothly.”

  “What are you saying? What about male pride? Why should he be beholden to you? Give him a chance to earn for himself.”

  “So the new shop is for Dada? But can he run it?”

  “You ran yours, didn’t you?”

  Embarrassing me thoroughly, he said, “That was thanks to you. I have you, Dada doesn’t.”

  “He has you. Don’t let anyone else in the family ever have to sigh again.”

  He examined my throat carefully. Then he said, “You’ve learned the art of keeping things from me these days.”

  Tearfully, I said, “No, I won’t conceal anything. But everything has its time and place. Else even well-meant things cause harm. Information must be given at the appointed hour, on the appointed day. Not now. I’ll tell you when the time is right.”

  Sighing, he said, “Very well. I will wait.”

  When the preparations for buying the shop began, my shaashuri sent for me and said, “I believe you’re setting up a shop for your bhaashur.”

  I smiled but said nothing.

  Putting her hand on my head, she said, “You have a kind heart. But there’s something I have to tell you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Your bhaashur is as vain as all the other men in this family. He might take your help because
he is in trouble, but it will pinch him all his life. And besides, it’s your hard-earned money. You’ll lose everything if the business fails.”

  “Everything will be all right, Ma.”

  “That’s what you keep saying. I know the ways of this family very well. I still have some jewelry and gold coins I had kept hidden from everyone. My last resources. But they’re of no use to me now. I have protected them from the wastrels of the family all this time. Sell these to pay for the shop. Your bhaashur will have no misgivings if you do this.”

  “But why, Ma? They’re your last resources. Let them be.”

  “There’s no point hoarding them either. Let them come to some use instead; let them spread some light. So long as they’re not misused. You can give the shop to him, but you must keep an eye on it. I’m giving up my jewelry only because you’re there.”

  I didn’t object anymore.

  Even my bhaashur seemed relieved when he was told. I saw a generous smile on his face.

  He began running the shop. Every day I offered him some advice, very quietly and deferentially. He followed my suggestions without demurring. He was enjoying his time at the shop too. There was always music on the gramophone or the tape recorder or the radio, ensuring that there was no boredom.

  Slowly, the shop began running.

  One night someone woke me up from deep sleep. “Thief! Thief! Thieves breaking in! Wake up, wake up quickly. They’ll take all I have, you wretch. I don’t care what you lose, but if they take mine I’ll bury you alive . . . .”

  I shot up in bed. There were indeed two shadowy figures at the window near my head. They were sawing through the bars. As soon as I switched the torch on they vanished. I woke my husband up. There was an uproar, but the thieves weren’t caught.

  My husband went back to sleep, but I couldn’t. I could see a hint of Pishima’s white sari in the darkness.

  “Why do you sleep like a bear, Maagi? Can’t you guard the jewelry? Lying in your husband’s arms! Die, die, die . . . Don’t you have any shame? Always having fun! You dress like a whore in the evenings to seduce your husband. Why can’t you get dropsy, why can’t you get arthritis, why can’t you get TB? You’ve turned a man from this family into a sheep . . . thoo thoo thoo . . . I spit on such love . . . thoo thoo thoo . . .”

  Pishima prowled the room all night, constantly going “thoo thoo thoo.” She was agitated, furious. Thieves had almost made off with her prized possessions.

  I felt guilty. We lived on the ground floor of an old house, with over a hundred bhoris of gold in the room. A new servant and cook had been appointed. I ought to have been more careful.

  I had a safe brought in the very next day. Pishima’s jewelry went into it. The keys were in my safekeeping. We were making money. Sales at the shop exceeded twenty thousand on some days. The safe offered security from that point of view too.

  Four years after getting married, I was finally touched by a trace of sin. It shook me to my foundations. A storm blew in to ravage my room with its open doors and windows.

  My husband had to go to Calcutta frequently, Delhi and Bombay too, even Benaras and Kanchipuram. Our shop had grown. There were five employees. I didn’t like procuring vast amounts of anything. I would tell my husband that products must be bought from the source, else we would appear old-fashioned and dull to customers. It would be more expensive too. Wholesalers were cheats.

  My husband was no longer slothful like earlier. He was perpetually alert and active. Our products came from different parts of India. We dealt directly with weavers and mills. So my husband had to travel a lot these days. Long distances. During those periods, my father-in-law took over the shop in the morning and I in the afternoon.

  On that occasion my husband was in South India. I was alone on a stormy night when I heard a melting voice.

  “Can you hear me?”

  “I can.”

  “A young man follows you every day. Have you noticed?”

  “No!” I said, startled. “When does he follow me?”

  “Don’t pretend. Who’s that man who follows you when you return from the shop every night? You think I don’t know?”

  “I haven’t noticed anyone.”

  “Such a lovely boy. Eat him up. Gobble him up. To your heart’s content. There’s no such thing as sin in this world. Chastity is nonsense. Get rid of the idea. Eat him up.”

  My heart was thumping, my throat was dry.

  “You’re so pretty, why do you dress like a ragpicker? You don’t comb your hair, you don’t wear nice clothes, you’re like a bad omen come home. Why, you stupid girl, are there no men in the world besides your husband?”

  “Be quiet, Pishima. Even listening to all this is sinful.”

  “Aha, such a paragon of virtue. Sati and Savitri rolled into one. Why don’t you dress up? A little lipstick, some kohl on your eyes, do up your hair, wear a bright sari—then you’ll see. There’ll be waves when you walk down the street.”

  “For shame, Pishima.”

  “Forget the shame. He stares at you so hungrily. Why do you want to deprive him, you husband eater? Do you think there’s any such thing as sin? It’s depriving your body that’s a sin.”

  “Don’t tell me any more. I don’t want to hear.”

  Pishima filled the room with her icy chortling. My heart froze in fear.

  The streets were desolate when I made my way back from the shop the next day. People in small towns did not venture out at this hour. I was looking straight ahead, but my mind was on what was behind me. Was there someone there? Was I really being followed?

  Suddenly I looked behind me. That was when I saw him. A tall young man, dressed in pajamas and a panjabi. A head of unkempt hair, a light beard. His face was clearly visible in the bright pool of light from a shop. My husband was handsome, of course, but not so enchanting. A feudal nobility was evident in my husband’s appearance, but this man was like a poem. Oval, doe-like eyes. Such a sweet pair of lips. He was walking slowly, his eyes on me.

  I practically ran the rest of the way home, my heart hammering.

  “Did you see him?” Pishima asked in the dead of night.

  “Chhih, Pishima.”

  “Listen to me, the man at home is easy pickings. Like regular clothing. Piss in it, shit in it, wash and wear. But these men are like saris of fine silk. You must try them sometimes.”

  “For shame!”

  “You’re so beautiful, and yet you want to be on only one man’s plate every time? What kind of woman are you? Even the gods and goddesses were up to so much more. Read the Mahabharata, you’ll find out for yourself. Desire is like a river; it can sweep everything away. Just a matter of not getting caught. It will never lodge a complaint.”

  Tears sprang to my eyes.

  I got one of the employees at the shop to accompany me home the next day. I didn’t look backward even once. The next three days passed this way. On the fourth day I was alone again on my way home. It seemed silly to have a bodyguard. He wasn’t going to attack me, after all. Let him follow me if he wanted to.

  Barely had I taken a few steps than I knew that someone was behind me. Was it him?

  I looked backward at an opportune moment. It was him. Today too his face was in the light. Why did my heart begin to thump?

  No, I didn’t run tonight. I walked home at a normal pace, with a trembling heart.

  Late at night, Pishima’s throbbing voice said, “Isn’t he beautiful? Didn’t I tell you? What’s all this shyness for? There’s no hurry. You have to entice him. Roll your hips. Smile saucily. Let your eyes speak. You haven’t learned any tricks, you fool. Do you really like this dull man of yours? He’s like a boiled egg. What has god given you so much for? You’re pretty, you’re accomplished, you have such flirtatious eyes. Go on, get your toes wet and see what it’s like.”

  “Are you never going to let me alone, Pishima? What have I done to you?”

  “Don’t give me all this pious talk, you whore. I’ve seen many like y
ou.”

  On the seventh day I couldn’t contain myself any longer. I was on my way back from the shop. When I became aware that he was following me, my head pounded with fury. I wheeled around. Taken aback, he had to stop too. Marching up to him, I stood face-to-face and shouted at him. “What do you want? Why do you follow me every day?”

  He was so flustered that he could only stare at me in bewilderment. Then, saying something unintelligible, he lowered his head and practically ran away.

  I was just twenty-two. In full bloom. But my anxieties about the family and all my responsibilities had made me forget how young I was. I felt like the oldest of old women. I didn’t care about my appearance or about dressing up. My entire being seemed to be centered around one individual. But today my age seemed to call out to me; my forgotten youth seemed to send me reminders. I felt beautiful, and I heard my beauty asking me, “Should we go back empty-handed?”

  Returning in the dead of night, Pishima asked, “So you talked to him?”

  “No. I scolded him.”

  Going off into peals of laughter, Pishima said, “Well done! It’s good to be distant at first. It’ll make him hungrier. Men are such gluttons. Make him thrash about in the water before you reel him in. Then shut the door and eat him up. Turn him into pulp.”

  I covered my ears with my hands.

  “I’ve seen plenty of chaste women. All starving in silence. Put on the green silk sari tomorrow. You look pretty in it. Don’t use so much red sindoor in your hair part. Look a little unmarried.”

  “Go away, Pishima.”

  “Why should I? Do I live on your father’s charity? Radha was no less pious than you. Does that mean she didn’t do anything with Krishna? Would she have done it if it was a sin?”

  My heart was on fire. I stared into space all night. What did he want? Why did he follow me?

  He shadowed me the next day too. But from a distance. I spotted him. I wanted to weep. Why was he going to so much trouble? Why did he show up every day despite this humiliation? What did he have to gain?

  Two days later it rained. The first showers at the end of summer. The roads became wet. The air cooled.

  The clouds dissipated to reveal an exquisite moon in the sky. Not an everyday moon. It seemed to have floated in from a fairy-tale realm. A thousand fragments appeared on the leaves, on the glistening streets, in small puddles.