The Scarface I Hated Pt. 03

Chapter-10

The day passed like a dream. Imran was thoroughly confused and I enjoyed it immensely. For a straightforward person like Imran, his life was strictly divided between black and white or better still as right and wrong, my cryptic one-liners like 'I don't love you' etc simply proved devastating. He would look at me and say, "I know you love me but you are saying the opposite." And I would say, poker-faced, "of course not. You are the one who loves me but I am only a capable wife." It was hilarious to watch his face look so sad. When needed, I kissed him, caressed him and made love to him but said things that he was not expecting. He was torn. I loved tormenting him.

I suddenly realised that I need not wait long for a child. There was already one at home. Imran was a child who had all the innocence, simplicity and an eternal capacity to hear that I loved him. I was acting the typical stone hearted girl who was not ready to yield to a request. Even today, in midst of my fulfilled happiness, my mind constantly fought unease. Was he really mine? What if it was all a dream? Would he still be there when my dream ends, to ask if I loved him or not or would I just be what I have always been, forsaken? Worry was my companion. I was not used to good things in life. They came to me only to be snatched away.

But if it was all real then I wasn't worried. His eyes, his touch, his broken voice, burnt down by fever on that fateful rain filled night, was a lifelong assurance. There was someone in this universe who was kind to me. I had someone all to myself who was loved and adored by so many and most importantly respected by so many. How would I be able to assimilate so much goodness in one? What did I do to justify such largesse, such benefaction?

But again, what should have been an unadulterated joy for me was watered down by dilemmas. Ups and downs in life had made me incapable of accepting the good and negate the bad on its face value. I looked hard at Imran trying to decipher hints of emotions that could give away his goodness or the wickedness. But, it was difficult, he would look down evading eye contact and then peek stealthily when I looked elsewhere with a kind of greedy look reserved for something too precious and unattainable. Like a child stealing a hungry glance at an expensive toy.

After some time, that glance became so disconcerting that I decided to ask him to get up and get some food. Finding something to do worthwhile (or maybe because I commanded it!!) he was up in a flash and rushed out like a burst of air and returned with a bag of food sufficient for five persons for three days. Though inappropriate for a newlywed bride, I admonished him harshly and he looked at me so shamefaced that I had to let it go. Yet, when we settled down to eat, I realised that we were actually starving and at the end of some silent devouring, the leftover was fairly manageable.

I looked at the bed and the general disorder made me blush. I showed it to Imran and he blushed mightier. So, we took bath, got the house in order (for the first time independently) and lay down side by side, in complete fulfilment. And we talked for the first time. Time flew and we shared, our innermost desires and dislikes, that we never knew existed. It came out like a flood. We spoke as if there could be nothing to conceal from each other. Our secrets melted away with a fierce understanding and faith. Now I knew what troubled him.

Imran's father died when he was five years old. His remembrance of his father was vague and hazy. He, for all practical purposes, was brought up single handed by Kiana, his mother. They stayed in several small towns where she worked in schools as a senior teacher. She took tuitions in the evening. Although he was uncertain as to why they moved every 2-3 years despite changing schools, he performed admirably well in his class and soon became favourite of many teachers. His mother was a very organized woman and planned and executed each move with efficiency. Very less was spoken about his father but Imran gathered that there was deep love between them but something had gone amiss right before his death.

After finishing school, he finally joined a very famous engineering college. Though they had little finance but Kiana with single-minded doggedness arranged for his studies. As expected, he excelled and after passing out they moved to this town. By now, the struggles of life had a taken a toll on Kiana and Imran wanted to take over his responsibilities and provide some relief to his mother. But, life turned out to be cruel on him and he failed to land a job despite his excellent records. Various social factors contributed to this and he gradually became frustrated and desperate. The rest of the story was known to me through Suresh.

He spoke animatedly about his workshop. His description of the difficult times, failures and finally success. It seemed like a story right out of a novel. His love and dedication for his workers and staff made me feel a wee bit jealous. But, I could sense his sincerity. He could not speak about his mother much. The pain in him was palpable. I could feel his intense sorrow for his mother. He genuinely felt that he had failed her.

His momentary lack of caution and imprudence continued to be a relentless source of self-mortification. In the last five years, he never allowed himself to forget his indiscretion, even once. His penance was interminable and his conscience unyielding in perennial repentance. He could neither absolve nor forget. With his mother being unforgiving his indictment was complete. Worse, he suffered this profound pain in silence and in isolation.

He had tried to rectify himself. He worked like a maniac and deprived himself socially and monetarily. He effaced himself to be non-identifiable to social scrutiny. He was ruthlessly striving to disown his own entity to some unfathomable depths. Forever shrouded in self-guilt, his confidence towards redemption was destroyed.

Only one question remained unanswered, the circumstances that made him say yes to our marriage. I did not force him to reveal.

There was a knock on the door. Imran was in deep sleep. For a moment, I hesitated but went ahead and opened the door. It was Sumitra. Her face lined with deep anxiety as if not had a wink of sleep after I made her leave the house. She looked at me searching for an answer. I did not want to prolong her agony. I nodded and smiled. The dam broke. She rushed in like a woman possessed, hugged me and started crying. She kissed my face many times. I let her unburden all her grief, apprehension and finally her happiness. The relief on her face said it all. I, for one, was happy and proud of my new family who was standing by me; ecstatic in my joy and miserable in my sorrow.

After what seemed an eternity, Sumitra stepped back looking shamefaced for her unusual expression of affection. By now two more people had converged at the door. First Suresh, who was probably lurking at a distance, looking completely bewildered. The other person was Imran who looked the most embarrassed of all. No one knew what to do. I tried to recover the situation and said, "How come you two are here. I thought you will enjoy some time with each other away from us." Both were uncomfortable and sheepish. I nudged Imran to take Suresh in and I held Sumitra by her hand and led her in.

In a short time, the awkwardness vanished and there was a great merriment. We spoke till early morning. Though Sumitra suggested that it was time for Suresh to go home but I vetoed the idea. Sumitra looked radiant. Suresh, as usual, looked discomfited. I had never seen Imran so jovial. He enjoyed the most. In five years, for the first time, this house was witness to such happiness. We were all in high spirits. But my eyes did not fail me. I saw Imran, often looking at his mother's picture, though for a short instant.

I cornered Sumitra in the kitchen on the pretext of making tea and asked her about her abrupt return. She looked at me awkwardly and finally said, "Bhaavi, I was almost dead with anxiety. I could not even imagine a situation that would hurt Imran and any pain to you was also not acceptable. But I did not know what would happen. In the afternoon, I decided that if something had to happen, good or bad, it would have happened by now. So, I asked Suresh to come with me. He was terrified by the prospects but I insisted.

Sorry Bhaavi (elder brother's wife), I just could not control myself."

I patted her cheek and said, "I would have been very annoyed, had you not come today. Your Imran is a big crooked man. Very naughty." The glow on Sumitra's face told it all. Her happiness was complete. Lifelong, I longed for love and from Sumitra, it came unannounced. I felt numb with gratitude.

Late in the night, it was time to call it a day. Suresh slept on the sofa. I was tired and so was Imran. In a short while, Imran was deep in sleep. I looked at him. There was a deep satisfaction on his face. He was in a dreamless sleep. I could sense his happiness and touched the locks of hair on his forehead. He instantly caught my hand and pulled me to him. This scheming man had completely fooled me! But what could I do? I let him have his way. Sumitra and Suresh were just a partition away and I was a little concerned. But they too must have been in deep sleep so the calamity of them waking up was averted.

Chapter-11

I woke early in the morning. I opened my door carefully so as not to disturb Suresh. I found Sumitra sleeping in a sitting posture and Suresh too in deep sleep with his head on her lap. They looked like two innocent children, in deep contentment.

I quietly came back to my room.

Imran was sleeping and the locks of his hair was falling on his forehead. I wanted to touch him but was suspicious. Couldn't forget the deception he had played only a couple of hours earlier. But this time he did not wake up. He continued to sleep in a childlike state.

How was I to retrieve him out this quagmire of self-chastisement, I wondered. How could I make him rise from the ashes? I needed to be his strength and bring him out of this limitless depth of self-depreciation that he had sunk to. My task was cut out and I was not letting my beautiful husband to be scarred anymore. Whatever it took, I was ready. And I needed to be strong. I had made up my mind towards the first step.

So, I poked him in the ribs. The poor fellow got up with a start and found me in my stern self. Our honeymoon was over and I was now in my practical avatar. The household activities started with precision and efficiency. Sumitra and I started cleaning up the house as if nothing had happened the previous day. Suresh was dispatched back to his work. Imran looked completely out of sorts. He would have run over to his workshop had it not been a Sunday.

In the afternoon, Imran was back to his funny tricks but I stood firm. I asked him about the mystery behind our marriage. He remained quiet for some time as if trying to organize his thoughts. In nutshell, Imran was approached by Bhavani with the proposal for marriage. It transpired that my uncle was working for him and had requested him to arrange a match for me within his severe monetary limits. Imran was shown my photograph and he was head over heels. But, knowing his own background and embarrassed of the scar, he had refused. Bhavani had been insistent and he later agreed.

I got the picture but asked him with stern sarcasm, "Good story, but I think you did not say 'no' strongly enough." He looked pale and mumbled that he really said 'no' many times.

He was in difficulty and I continued like a teacher, "Tell me Imran, did you or did you not?"

He looked down and after some time said, "You made me forget all my resolve. Believe me, I said no but my heart said yes. Bhavani knows me. He can read my mind. He said yes to your uncle."

He then said weakly, "I know, it is not fair. I am sorry."

I replied with the same severity, "You are very bad Imran, very cunning. But don't do it again." And I laughed and pushed him to bed. The cloud shifted from his face and the sun started shining. And so, did his errant activities of late.

Next day, I went to the School. I had decided to put my first plan into action and I did not want to involve Imran. This effort was going to be my lone responsibility. I had a free period before the final bell and went to meet Shubhra Mukherjee. She, as usual, was enigmatic in her smile.

I sat in front of her and said without a prelude, "Madam, I want Kiana's address. Please!" She appeared perplexed at my request and kept assessing me.

Finally, she said with a twinkle in her eyes, "How am I to know anything about her whereabouts? But, even if you are guessing, there must be some reason for it. Do you know anything else?"

I considered the question and replied with caution, "Madam, I know something, but am not very sure of. I am certain that you know many things about Imran's mother. Will you give me her address?"

Madam retorted back, "Why me? Why don't you ask Imran?" This was a tricky question and replied, "I wish to meet her and I don't want Imran to know. For the time being." Madam took out a sheet of paper; wrote the address; handed it over to me and said, "Meher. All the best. Maybe you will succeed. You are a sharp girl. I knew that I will see you again when I told you that Kiana was Imran's mother. But I never imagined it would be so soon."

After a while, she said, "Let me know what happens. I am interested." I knew she would be. There were large gaps in the puzzle but I was sure that few of the pieces were nearby.

I took her leave and reached home (now, it was my home!!). On reaching, I found things that required rectification and lot of work was pending. Things that I did not notice even two days back glared at me. I felt queer. I had been here for some time but never felt that there was anything for me to do and today work was staring at my face. It felt nice when Sumitra welcomed me with a cup of tea. We discussed household as if we have been doing it for eternity. My viewpoints were changing, I thought. That better be. I had a lot to do. Overturn things that needed turning. Find answers to questions, if not solutions. My hands were full.

I told Sumitra that I will be travelling for the next two days. She looked up, momentarily taken aback and said, "All right." I passed necessary instructions to Sumitra that was really unnecessary and superfluous. Still, she listened carefully. What a joke!

Imran came, in time and we chatted for some time. I told him that I would be travelling. He, like Sumitra looked surprised but didn't say anything. I felt that some explanation was necessary so, I said, "It's important, I will tell you when I come back." Imran was probably intrigued at the role reversal but he didn't comment. Rest of the evening passed in mild uneasiness. Discussion was laboured.

When we reached our bedroom Imran asked me, "Where are you going? Tell me. I am not stopping you."

I said, "Imran. If you won't stop me then, do you really want to know?"

He took me into his arms and said, "Meher. I am worried."

I was feeling bad for him and I said, "There's nothing to be worried. I can take care of myself."

I then looked at him and said, "I have a job for you. There are papers and other documents in my box. I want you to examine them and see if you can make any sense. That is the first question I will ask you when I come back."

He held me tight and so did I.

Next day I was out, leaving Imran sleeping. Sumitra was already up and had packed a lunch. That was wonderful. I took a rickshaw and reached the railway station to catch the first passenger. The train was near empty and there were a few women in the 'ladies only' compartment. They were carrying milk and vegetables to the city and would return in the evening. This was their daily routine and I was travelling by train in years. The train moved and I was reliving experiences of a train journey that I thought was unique. The early morning sun was imparting a lovely glow on the fields. The distant trees appeared to be running with the train and the electricity lines went up and down. I felt a strange feeling of deja-vu sitting on the window and feeling as if I have been through this earlier. Stations came and went. The train stopped and there was a flurry of people alighting and entraining. There was urgency in the voices, lest the train left. The hawkers came with their fare. Then, the engine whistled and we moved laboriously ahead. There were people chatting incessantly. The people changed, the terrain changed. The only thing that was constant was the relentless change.

Chapter-12

Finally, I arrived. The station had a low platform embellished with a red gravel and two yellow boards at the two ends of the platform. The board informed me that I was 48.3 mtr ASL and I needed to change train here if I had to go to the Junction. There were Gulmohar trees on the platform resplendent in brightest fiery orange. Around the tree, there were parapets and hundreds of parrots, competing to shout down each other. It was something I had never seen before. The train soon left and those who had alighted from the train too quickly vanished. The station suddenly became deserted.

For a moment, I felt panicky, being alone. I came out of the gate. There was no one to check my ticket. I now understood what a rural area meant. There was one lone cycle rickshaw and I showed him the address. He looked at it for some time and confessed that he couldn't read. I told him the name and he said that it was about 3 miles away (? miles) and the road was bad and he would not take a paisa lesser than ten rupees. Not knowing that I could have further bargained, agreed. He was very enthusiastic and we moved through a typical dusty uneven road, mango groves and by the sides of ponds. Time passed well because he was a great storyteller.

In a short while, I was privy to all the happenings of the area including some scandalous ones. After about 30 minutes or so, we entered a village. Many children were playing. They came running towards the rickshaw and stood around us. To them, my rickshaw man freely doled out derogatory sermons. Though I was aghast, they seemed to be used to such language. I asked them about Kiana. After a momentary silence and calculations, a smart girl cried out Kinudidi! (Didi: elder sister)

She went ahead and confirmed with me, "Angry angry; white hairs, teacher?"

I nodded (what else could I do?) The convoy of children led the way like a procession. We came in front of a mud house with a thatched roof. I got down and moved towards the door. I asked the rickshaw man to wait as I was yet not sure of the correctness of my guides. Anyway, nobody left. Visitors were rare here and everyone appeared curious. In a village, life is pedestrian, nothing new happens here.

I knocked, rather banged on the door. After some time, it was opened by a woman, in middle age. The description offered by the girl fit her well except the teacher part. She must have once been handsome but now looked older. Finally, I was face to face with my mother in law (not yet confirmed though). I was not sure how and where to start and the audience standing behind me was getting restless.

The so-called angry woman said mildly, "Come in. Let me deal with these fellows."

I paid the rickshaw and went in. Meanwhile, she disposed of the children in a manner that no one was seen in the vicinity again. She came in. I kept standing. There was only one way to describe the house. Small and clean. She examined me from head to toe and a wan smile crossed her face.

"Meherunissa", she said at last. I was surprised. How did she know my name? My face must have registered the query.