Saroj

As tears silently rolled down her fair, rotund, pretty face, I hugged Saroj. And as I did, I felt her sobbing softly on my shoulder, drenching my shawl...


Arun had scolded her last night. Had called her names. Said she was inauspicious, a useless barren woman who had even failed to pass the ultimate test of womanhood- that of being a mother. She was a burden-he had shouted-an unnecessary extra mouth to feed; a liability, moreover, which needed to be guarded and protected from lecherous gazes of ravenous men on the prowl...He wished she had been left back at their village, like the wives of his other brothers who came to the city to work.

But Arun was too much in love with his young wife to leave her behind, alone, in alien surroundings. Of course, he had received much flak from his kin for this act of defiance. But he hadn’t cared.
For close to a year thereafter, he and Saroj had built their own little nest in the appallingly small servant's quarter that our landlord had allotted to them. Utensils arranged in tidy heaps, clothes hanging neatly from nylon ropes strung across the room, the unkempt, disshelved quarter was transformed overnight into a home, fragrant with the smell of incense and jasmine hair-oil...the touch of a woman's hand being more than evident! No longer having to bother about what and when to cook, how and where to eat, Arun too suddenly seemed a happier, far livelier young man! He sang out louder, while he bathed in the wee hours of the morning, hummed tunes we knew not and had a perpetual smile of contentment pasted on his rather ugly countenance.

Yes, Arun, by no stretch of imagination, was a good-looking man. He was short, slightly built, had a blunt nose, thick lips that made him lisp, and the tiniest pair of eyes. He had a very pleasing manner, though, one which made his smile reach his eyes and make of him a very likeable young man. Extremely well-mannered and courteous, he could never even look us in the eye while talking!
Saroj, on the other hand, was everything he was not. Petite, pretty, with large doleful eyes and cherry pink lips on a peaches and cream complexion, she was every man's dream. While she was initially shy and scared of talking to us, when gradually she did start opening up, we discovered how much of a child she still was. In intimate moments of unguarded mirth, she was at her uninhibited best; unbridled laughter bubbling over jokes she related in her tongue, which, though we understood not a word of, participated anyway, drawn as we were, in her world of faraway fabled realities.
Sometimes when Arun was away on duty, she would come and stay at our apartment, watch TV, help mashi with the chores, or just fall asleep, like a child! On one of such days, I noticed how her sari had ridden up to reveal just her ankles and thick silver anklets around her beautifully shaped fair small feet! Even as a woman, I couldn't help but stare! How I wished at that moment, to be a painter; for I felt, that only the languorous stroke of a paint-brush and not the cheat-quick effect of a camera could have done justice to such beauty...
Arun went out of his way to pamper and indulge his child-woman. Since anyhting but the sari was forbidden in his family, Arun, knowing Saaroj's longing for the salwar-kameez, would buy them secretly and allow her to wear them when just the two of them were alone in their little home. When Baba would give him a tip for an odd-job, however paltry the sum, he would not spend it on himself, but buy puchka for Saroj knowing her intense craving for them!
Often, when they would have tiffs over non-issues, Arun would get hold of my boyfriend and give him sage advices, drop pearls of wisdom regarding "women and their idiosyncratic ways", ensuring Saroj was within earshot, playfully pulling her leg thus! Fighting, bickering, making up, making love, playing like two children, they had created for themselves a haven that dripped with happiness and warmth.


Bara Sahaab had called Arun and asked him to leave. His business was making losses and he couldn’t afford so many hands, he had said. Arun's brothers, both of whom work here in the same city had not only refused to help him out, had, moreover started cornering him for the return of loans he had, from time to time, taken from them. Arun couldn't believe the world could be so harsh, especially when he thought about how, when it was his turn, he had done everything within his humble means to help those in distress. Where would he go with his young wife? He couldn’t possibly go and keep her back in the village; that was not why he had held her hand and brought her to be with him. He was responsible for her. He was in love with her. The very thought of imminent separation drove him to pathetic helplessness. And mad. And angry. And he had no-one but Saroj to vent it out to.

...And while Saroj kept silently weeping on my shoulders, I looked up to see the dark figure of her husband standing under the tree, shoulders drooped in sullenness, face lowered in a mark of abject defeat, and tears rolling uncontrollably down his cheeks...