Danger ( Bipod )
A short story by Bibhuti Bhusan Bandopadhyay
I was working from home, writing. In the morning, someone called out: “Uncle”.
Lost in my writing, a little irritated, I said, “Who?”
An unknown girl’s voice said, “Me, Haju.”
“Haju? Who Haju?”
I stepped outside. A sixteen-seventeen-year-old girl, poorly clad, stood holding a baby in her arms. I didn’t recognize her. After several years, I’ve recently returned to my village; there are many people I don’t know. I said, “Who are you?”
In an embarrassed tone, the girl said, “My father’s name is Ramcharan Boshtam.”
Now I could place her. As a kid, I used to play cowrie-games with Ramcharan. I had heard that about five years ago, he’d left the troubles of the world for his heavenly abode. But I'd no idea about his family life. That he had such a grown-up daughter, I learnt just now.
I said, “Oh, you’re Ramcharan’ s daughter! I see you’re married. Where do your in-laws stay?”
“Kalopur”
“Well, well! This your son? How old is he?”
“About two.”
“Okay, take care, go inside.”
“I have come to you, Uncle. Do you need any domestic help?”
I said, “No, we have help, we don't need anyone else. Why, who will stay?”
“I would. You don't have to pay me, just the two meals a day.”
“Why, what about your in-laws?”
The girl didn't reply but why should I get into all this messy business. My writing was getting delayed, so I said straightaway, no, now we
don't need any maid.
Then the girl went into the house; later I heard she had come to beg. Taking some rice, she went away.
I'd forgotten about the girl till suddenly one day I saw her from outside the house of Ray’s. Sitting on a stool, the girl was eating a slice of watermelon – and how desperately! The way she held that slice and bit into it, the word "desperate" was most appropriate and it came to my mind. Her clothes were tattered. The child was not with her. On a nearby stool they were a few pieces of papaya and a piece of gur. I guessed that because of today's Akshay Tritiya festival, the Ray family was doing a pooja and she had got these while having gone there to beg. Because at the feet of the girl, there was a bundle with possibly the rice that she had begged.
That day I asked someone about this girl. I heard the girl doesn't go to her in-laws because the situation is very dire, not even two meals a day are not available. Not being able to manage, the girl’s husband had left her at her father's house, without even saying when he would take her back. And here at her father’s house, the situation was quite tough. Ramcharan’ s widow worked as a maid in other people’s houses, trying to bring up two ill-mannered children with great difficulty. The girl had landed up on the mother for the last one year. How will the mother manage? So the girl has to live on her own.
One day, the maid in our house asked me in passing, “I heard Haju said she wanted to work at your place?”
“Yes, she had - one day”
“Be careful, Babu. Don't let her come into the house. She's a thief.”
“Thief? What kind of thief?”
“Whatever she finds, she steals. The Mukherjee family didn’t keep her, she would steal whatever she’d find and eat, she stole milk and drank, she stole rice and took it away. She’s always desperate for food. Just eat and eat. They couldn’t handle her elephant’s feed; so the Mukherjee family let her go. Now, she’s on the streets.”
“Her mother doesn’t take care of her?”
“She doesn’t have enough to feed herself. She’s told her, where will I get for you? You see for yourself. So she goes door to door.”
From then, I felt pity for her. Whenever she’d come home, I’d give rice or lentils, a few pennies. A couple of times, she’d also had lunch at my house.
About a month later, I heard someone crying loudly in front of my house. So I stepped out of the house. I saw Haju crying loudly and coming
towards our house. What's the matter? Apparently, Madhu Chakrabarty had beaten her up, and snatched her mug. She had gone to his house to beg, that was her
crime.
I was angry. I'm a senior citizen of this village, the secretary of the People’s welfare association. I immediately sent for Madhu Chakrabarty.
With a red gamchha on his shoulder, Madhu came running to my house. I asked him,“Madhu, you hit her?”
“Yes, Dada. I hit her once. I couldn't control my temper. "She's a real thief. Please listen to me. She had come to beg, from the courtyard, she was stealing handfuls of chillies from the chilly plant. Another day, she’d come begging and I saw her breaking a ripe papaya from the tree in the courtyard, that day I didn't say anything. But today I couldn’t control my temper. I gave her a tight slap, I won't tell you a lie.”
“No, that's quite wrong. Hitting a girl, what's that? Behaving like a monster. Go return to her whatever you have taken from her.”
I told Haju you shouldn't ever go begging to Madhu Chakraborty's house.
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At this time the drought began. Rice was no longer available in the markets. The daily ritual of giving alms to beggars had been stopped. One day I saw Haju with the child in her arms begging in the streets of Goalpara. Seeing me, she innocently looked at me and said, “O Uncle!” as if she had been searching for me for long to give me some good news.
With some irritation I said, “What?”
“Oh! I'll come to your house.”
“Okay, at our house today you will get prasad - understand?”
Haju was very happy. I know if she gets to eat, this girl’s very happy. Under the shade of the kanthal tree outside the house, when she sat down to eat, her plate had rice for two. That food could provide such joy, to learn that you had to see how Haju ate that day. I told my wife to give her a few extra pieces of fish, to feed her well.
One day, seeing Boshtam para’s Ritesh Bairagi, I asked him, “Your para’s Haju, she doesn't go to her in-laws. Why?”
“Her husband doesn't take her.”
“Because?”
“There are many things. She's apparently very greedy, she steals from the pan and eats, the cream can't settle on the milk, she steals it all, so they chased her away.”
“That's her only crime, nothing else?”
“This is what I heard, nothing else. They are also not good people, otherwise who’d the chase away their own bride just for eating. They’re also weird.”
For some days, I didn’t see Haju on the streets. One day, the para’s Boshtam-woman said, “Have you heard what’s happened?”
“What?”
“That Haju from our area, she's gone to Bangaon and written her name.”
I was saddened. Here, “writing your name” meant becoming a prostitute. So finally, Haju had become a fallen woman. It was not something to be very surprised about, but I felt sad because she was a girl from the village. And with this, this matter should have ended because I don't always stay in the
village and even then, I don't really know what happens to everyone all the time.
The long age of the fifties slipped by. By the roadside, here and there, even now a couple of skeletons could be spotted. The desperate starving immigrants from Tripura district have left their mark on earth. In this district, the drought wasn't that terrible. Where it was, the people from there – desperate single souls came here and never returned.
It was the month of Pous. A bitter cold had set in. In the big city, a school had an annual festival. I’d gone for that. On the way back I thought I would cut through an alley to the market. I’d taken a few steps into the alley when somebody called out, “O! Uncle!”
I said, “Who?”
“Oh! Me.”
In the half darkness of the alley, I struggled to see clearly. In front of a shanty home, on the street, a girl in colourful clothes was standing, the colour of her clothes fading into the darkness, I could just see the shadowy contours of her face and her two hands.
I went closer and said, “Who?”
“What, you couldn't recognise me? I'm Haju.”
Even when she said Haju, I couldn't remember anything. I said, “Who Haju?”
She laughed, “From your village, Haju. You’ve forgotten! My father’s name is Ramcharan Bairagi. Now, I'm in this city as a courtesan.”
The tone in which she said that last word, it was as if she had reached the pinnacle of success and she was bursting with pride to be the courtesan
in such a big city. Few have in their fate such good luck and honour. The people of the village, let them see and understand her amazing achievement.
Before I could say anything, she said, “Please come into my house.”
“No, I can’t come right now. Don’t have the time.”
“Why, what will you do?”
“I’ll go home.”
She insisted, “No, you have to come in. You must step into my home. Please come…”
I don’t know why, I went with her into her house. On the low footsteps, lay some straw, beyond that was a small room, in it was a low bed, the mattress covered neatly with a fresh clean white bedsheet. On the wall, a few posters of foreign cigarette ads. The lady taking a drag of a certain cigarette. On a small stool, a few bronze vessels shone in the weak light of a lamp light by cheap oil. On the floor, an old thin rug. A girl from Boshtam, after all - so a picture of Krishna hung on the wall. In a corner of the room, a pair of small tablas, a hookah, the tobacco of the hookah, and a few other things.
Haju said with pride, “See, this is my room.”
“Nice. A nice room. What’s the rent?”
“Seven and a half rupees.”
“Nice.”
Bringing a mug of water, Haju said, “Wash your feet.”
“Why? There’s no need to wash my feet, I shall leave now.”
“You have to eat at my place, Uncle.”
Do I feel like eating here? The house of the fallen woman. I felt sick, nauseated. I said, “No, I won’t eat anything here. Don’t have the time.”
Haju didn’t even seem to hear. “No, no, I won’t allow it, I don’t wannna listen to this, please sit.”
Then, she went to the stool, picked up the cup, wiped it carefully with her anchal, showed it to me, and said, “See, I’ve bought this, I shall make tea for you in this, I learnt how to make tea.”
Not Dresden china, nothing great, just a cup. To please Haju, I said, “Nice cup, very nice.”
Excited, she started showing me the bric-a-brac in her room. A mirror, a tiny mug, a beautiful box, etc. How is this? How’s that? She has bought these. Seeing her joy and excitement, I couldn’t help praising even the most trifling items. I had thought, I shall scold her for choosing her path, and give her some sage advice, fulfilling my duty as her uncle. But seeing Haju’s joy, no such words came to my lips.
He who has not enjoyed anything, to tell him to sacrifice everything - a virtuous sage may say that, but he wouldn’t be wise. Yesterday, she was a beggar, today, by choosing this path, she’s solved her problems of hunger and clothing; yesterday, she went begging to people’s houses, and got beaten up, today, she’s sitting in her own house serving tea to visitors from her village, with her own tea-cup and saucer; she – whose father had never lived in a city, or drank tea from a cup and saucer. In her eyes, this was her life’s great success. To call it worthless, contemptible, to censure it – such words did not come to me.
I couldn’t keep my promise to myself. Haju made tea and brought it to me. And on a bronze plate, were placed sandesh and pieces of papaya. With what eagerness she placed that plate of food before me!
Really, I was feeling nauseated. Sick.
In such a place, I’ve never sat down to eat. In such a house.
But looking at Haju’s face filled with eagerness, I couldn’t leave anything on the plate. Haju was very happy, I could see from her face.
She said, “How did you like my tea, Uncle?”
The tea wasn’t good at all. Village-style tea – no smell, no taste. I said, “Where did you get the tea?”
“This market.”
“You yourself have tea?”
“Yes, twice a day. Without my morning tea, I can’t do any work, Uncle.”
I felt like laughing. That Haju.
The picture floated before my eyes. Outside the house of Ray’s, sitting on a stool, an unskinned slice of watermelon, she’s biting into it. That Haju these mornings can’t start work with her morning cuppa!
I said, “So, now, Haju, I shall leave. It’s evening. And I have a long way to go.”
I saw Haju was unwilling to let me leave so soon. She kept asking me questions, how’s that man in the village, how about that man? Then she said, “One thing, Uncle, I wanna give Ma five rupees, will you take it? But you have to give it secretly. The neighbours shouldn’t know. Whatever I can, I give Ma monthly. Last month, I sent her a sari.
“Through whom did you send it?”
“Binod the shepherd had come, I sent it secretly through him.”
“Where’s your son?”
“He’s with Ma. Thinking I’ll get him here. He’s barely getting by there, not getting enough to eat. Here, Uncle, there’s no worries of food, I’m tired of eating out. Singara, Kochuri, Nimki – lots of it. That potato curry that small shop by the tree makes, I’ve never had anything like it. The potatoes are this big – and what masala – will you wait a while? I’ll get the potato curry, just try it.”
Oh, her innocence makes me laugh. I can’t feel anger at her. I said, “No, I have to leave. And I won’t take the money, you can send it by money order. Will people pass it on or not – whether Binod has given the money to your Ma, how do you know that?”
All these days, Haju had not even had any such doubt. She said, “You’re right, Uncle, the money, the things I send through various people, Ma gets it or not, how do I know?”
“How much money have you sent so far?”
“Oh, more than twenty-thirty rupees. Do I know how to keep accounts, Uncle? Ma suffers, do I like that?”
“Through whom did you send?”
Haju shyly became quiet. I understood that some people from the village come to her.
I said, “Ok, give me the five rupees - goodbye!”
“Please come again, Uncle. I stay away from home, once in a while drop in and see me.”
When I returned to the village, I met Haju’s mother, and gave her the five rupees. I asked, “Anyone else gave you any money?”
Haju’s ma, surprised, said, “Oh no. who’d give me money?”
I could have named Binod Ghosh. But then, word would have spread. Binod would think I also go there regularly, and I have joined the band of Haju’s lovers – at this age. Why should I bother?
