Paromita

She came huffing and puffing up the street, pushing the door open and dived over the threshold, right at the feet of her grandfather. “Pronam Dadu!” As she tried to get up, her signature explosive laughter, which was a fountain of infectious joy, rubbing off onto all who were in the vicinity, filled the room.

The old man, gurgled jovially as he bent to bless her lovingly, his favourite granddaughter Paromita! “What are you up to? Always bustling like a whirlwind. Where do you get the energy, after school?”

“Ha! Ha! Dadu it was a race… whoever touches your feet first wins! Now Shushanto Da has lost. He will have to buy me 5 roshogollas!” Smiling from ear to ear she moved towards the kitchen, yelling “Ma! Where are you? What’s for lunch… Khete dao!”

She flung her school bag and kicked off her dusty shoes as she proceeded for a quick, customary wash of hands and feet, lest she be banished from the kitchen.

Plodding along rather rambunctiously, the gargantuan 15-year-old heaved himself at the octogenarian’s feet… prostrating on the ground in sublime respect. As the grandfather bent to bless him, he discerned the soft sobbing undertones, masked by the heavy rasping breath of an overweight lad. “ May you be ever blissful! What happened my Naru? Are you upset?”

“That Paro… that horrible girl… before I could refuse the race, she ran off like the wind… leaving me behind, shouting in the trail of dust… no, no, NO!”

“So why are you troubling yourself? Why run at all?”

“… because all the others were tittering!” said the red faced, belligerent roundish boy.

“Hmmmm… She is a kid you know! Soon she will be married, and all this running around will disappear in the kitchen and the hearth. Running after kids and running a home is all the running, she will do… let her run now, who knows what the future beholds!”

“That will serve her right! Troubling her elder brother, mocking him.”

“Shhh! Do not say that… women and girls have only half a life… From where I can see, their energies are squandered on many pointless things, life is curtailed, an invisible chain fetters their feet and what is worse, binds their minds. Promise me, as a man you wont let that happen to the women in your life!”

The sudden change in tone, ran like a tingling current through Shushanto. He would remember these words forever and try to abide by them.

The day soon arrived when the thirteen-year-old vivacious girl was decked up in a red silken Benarasi saree, embellished with pure gold motifs of the auspicious paan leaves. She was decked up in golden bangles, necklaces, and earrings as big as chandeliers. The red pala nestled proudly adjacent to the ivory shakha on the slim wrists, announcing to one and all her marital status.

Her angelic face was powdered and rouged, and little designs made of Sandalwood paste, decorated her forehead, running down her temples and on to her filled out cheeks. The red lipstick generously applied to her virgin lips belied her age. The black kohl rimmed eyes added an extra sparkle to her doe eyes. She loved the sound of her tinkling anklets. The confidence of an adolescent consumed by her own charming beauty, which had won approval from all her doddering old kin was tremendous, even if ephemeral.

As she was brought out on a wooden plank, a peedha, carried by her brothers and uncle, a humble green paan leaf barely hiding the breathtaking beauty, tears rolled down her mother’s eyes. The middle-aged groom was literally licking his lips to be offered such divine prasad. The hunger in his eyes wasn’t missed by grandfather, and he wondered if they had not made a hasty decision… going by family name… zamindars from Burdwan.

The ceremony over, the innocent bride was bid farewell to live happily in her new home. To abide by the rules and ways of her new family, to cherish and honour them under all circumstances.

Months passed.                                                                                                                                                                             It was the rainy season. Dark clouds had taken over the blue sky. Every now and then one could hear their disgruntlement as they thundered and crackled. Nothing was left dry. From the outside to the inside… a pall of wetness hung over everything. That week it rained continuously for 72 hours, when they got the news. Mother had been feeling a heaviness in her heart, father thought it was the rich fish curry she made painstakingly every afternoon. The man from Burdwan, came in dripping from the downpour, even though he carried the ubiquitous black umbrella. His dhoti and shoes caked in mud, cloying to him. Shushanto rushed to help him wash, dry, and change into some clean clothes. Mother fussed with roshogollas, sandesh and some hot tea. Anticipation rode high as he was the harbinger from their daughter’s sasurbari.

‘How is she?’

 ‘How is Paro?’

 ‘What is the news?’

 ‘Why have you set forth in such inclement weather?’

 The questions were teeming in the minds of all.

After a hearty meal of Luchi, cholar daal with cocunt, Maccher kalia, aloo bhaja, and payesh, the emissary burped satisfactorily, sitting next to grandfather. “Actually, our son, your jamai (son-in-law) is not well. In fact, since the last two months his health has been deteriorating. Your daughter has been exemplary in her devotion, but that does not pay the doctor babu’s fees, no? I have come to collect something, anything that you can send for the fees of the doctor and the nourishing food our Bhola babu needs to have.” Saying this he started weeping, profusely.

The darkening clouds tried to drown the melodrama, not believing the need to coerce, the emotional blackmail, but the advancing age of the jamai was no secret. The rumours of his poor lifestyle, drinking, gambling and what not, had reached them.

Quietly, mother rose and went to her room, taking off her bunch of jingling keys from the end of her saree pallu, she took out her Jewellery box and picked out a pair of thick golden bangles. Her eyes fell on a wad of crisp currency notes as she was locking up. Without pausing she took out most of it and went back to the man from her daughter’s sashurbari.

As everyone watched, she handed over the booty to the man who excelled in melodrama. His face quickly turned into that of a cat which had licked the cream. Belching profusely the man, a distant uncle of the jamai took his leave to retire for the night, before commencing the return journey.

The sky had cleared a few months thence.                                                                                                                                    The song of the Earth whispered in the branches and beguiled the leaves. Some went berserk in the energetic company and ran to chase the fleeting song as it flitted from branch-to-branch swirling to the bosom of the brown and arid earth. The overflowing deluge had long gone. The sun in all its glory rose each day to warm the backs of creatures big and small as well as energize all life. After all it was the source of all nourishment.

The song whispered of happenings far and near. People found it exhilarating to wrap the sun’s beams around themselves. The breeze tugged at their clothes and at their belongings. The blue sky over the green and brown fields was peppered with kites. More and more kites found their way into the zenith, swaying with the breeze, reaching for the sun.

A song lingered in every heart and every lip. News was awaited from Burdwan. It had been quite some time now. No news is good news, or so all would like to believe. Grandfather missed his bundle of warmth and energy.

One day he summoned Shushroto and bade him go and find out about the well being of his dear Paromita!

The once rolly polly naru had now transformed into a strapping young lad who helped all the workers on the fields and at home. Browned and muscled he was the cynosure of all damsels. Whistling and singing his feet took him along the paddy fields and narrow trails. At dusk when he reached the imposing house, his heart missed a beat. Ah, his sister was the mistress of this impressive beauty. God bless her. He missed her so much. Nobody to pull his leg, nobody to share a joke, nobody to laugh aloud like her and nobody to fight with.

As he was shown in, by one of the scores of servants in that house, he silently thanked God for blessing his sister. He made himself comfortable as he could perceive a flurry of activity in the inner courtyard. Quickening of feet, the tinkling of anklets on many a hidden ankle, swishing of curtains, sarees and pallus over heads. The commands shouted somewhere in the belly of the rambling precincts, bring the maach, bring the mishti, chop the vegetables…

His weary feet dissolved its weariness in the song on his lips and he wondered what he would say first.

The probing look of soulful eyes on his back sprung him into action. As he turned, he ran to hug his sister. His beautiful, vivacious sister, … but who was this? She had the same smile, the same twinkling eyes and yet completely different. Bones jutting out… the thin body barely wrapped around its skeleton. Her saree diaphanous and flowing barely hiding the neglect. His strong arms went around the frail body trying to infuse strength and conviction and comfort and support in moments which were required over the years.

The tears that rolled down her cheeks silently bathed his chest, and the sobs arose silently from the core of her being. As the slight body was wracked with pain, he could not stop his tears brimming over. Was he not supposed to see her running around? Where had her infectious laughter and infinite energy gone? How long they stood, comforting each other drawing solace, neither knew.

The clearing of his throat, brought them back to reality. As he turned to see who it was… he was shocked to see his Jamaibabu! No doubt he suffered some malaise. His eyes had sunk in, his body was shriveled, and a cruel grimace adorned his visage.

Dawn suffused the sky with its warm promise. The golden rays chased the early morning mists. The cockerels arousing from their slumber, chased each other to sound the first alarm of the day. Hundreds of sparrows twittered, deciding who was the early bird and who would get the worm. The cows mooed, the donkeys brayed, the goats bleated, and humans chattered. Nobody had the time to see what the other was doing.

In the morning mist, two figures quickly disappeared along the paths leading away from the big imposing house and from Burdwan itself. The two men seemed quite inconspicuous.

It was the season of the sun. There was no respite for anyone. Grandfather and father would retire into their cavernous rooms as early as possible. Mother would command the menials about the various fish curries, dal and vegetables being prepared. Which chutney to serve and which mishti to order didn’t seem so much of a burden now. There was a quickness in her step too. The gurgling laughter had returned to their home once more. Feet running all over the house was audible once again and “Ma…Khete dao!” rang around the courtyard.

Their sun had returned and so had everyone’s vibrant energy!

Glossary

Pronam– I bow to you

Khete dao– give me food to eat

Naru– coconut sweetmeat

Jamaibabu – groom

Maach– fish

Roshogolla, Sandesh, mishti – sweets

Sashurbari – house of in-laws

Luchi, cholar daal with cocunt, Maccher kalia, aloo bhaja, and payesh – Bengali cuisine

Shakha and pala – red and white bangles of a married Bengali woman