Meena

                                                      

“The smell of mustard oil and jasmine filled the room. With only the light of morning sun through the window, i saw my grandmother sitting on her bed, humming mantras with her eye lids resting. Distant sound of temple bells for morning prayer concerted with my grandmothers’ hymn.

Everyday, at the crack of dawn, she would offer rice and sugar with some delicately woven words to please the rising sun.

A clacking, rusted, old iron door would wake me up, everyday. The door led to the terrace of our house where she would pray to the sun god. The door was never repaired. Never painted.

“namaste ,dadiji.” i mumbled, settling my gaze on her eyes. I felt obscure emotions hitting me. I wish she does not open her eyes. She is at peace.

The voice of metal cracking the air and the rosary falling to ground were so distinct, my life seem to have slown down. The smoke from the gun blurred my vision and choked me a little. My grandmother lied in front of me, blood pouring from her chest, reflecting the sunlight.”

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“Meena was standing behind her mother. Her eyes fixed on the ground, yet swiveling to catch a glimpse of decorated temple. She held the loose end of her white and gold saree, playing with it anxiously. I could only see her silk lashes resting like a curtain on her eyes. Her white skin gleamed in the dying sunlight. Only sometimes, do miracles like her are created with the skilled hands of God.

I could have never imagined that she would me my wife. Neither would have she.

Dadiji invited everybody she knew in our marriage. The whole house was decorated with yellow lights and white flowers. Priest was called from the town to perform the marriage ceremonies with age old rituals. The affair was grander than i could have ever dreamt. She danced all night as if she has met her god.

On the first day after marriage, Meena prepared halwa for dadiji and her god. I swear, i had never eaten anything so delicious in my entire life. I can still taste the miracle she created that day.  She was a skilled artist. Her art was cooking; she believed that. I believe that too. dadiji always wanted someone like her to be my wife.

Every morning, clacking iron door would wake me up to the sight of Meena’s wet hair and her rejuvenating reflection in freckled mirror. Vermillion in her black wavy locks gleamed like a star in dusty morning sky. Temple bells’ harmony with her bangles’ melody was my morning prayer. Her soft skin, carefully hidden by her saree made me want her more.

She would accompany dadiji to temple from where she would return drenched in scent of morning flowers and incense.”

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“A year into our marriage, postman could have not bought us any graver news as he did on Meena’s birthday. dadiji received the letter and handed it to Meena, mumbling her prayers. Never did she know those prayers were needed soon. The white paper bore the news of her mother’s death. Her father was seriously ill and she was called to assist him in her mother’s last journey.

I could not see her lashes wet. She would talk endlessly about her father teaching her to paint and her mother’s lessons on cooking. How she would escape cooking dinner by staying at the temple for late. Her memories were mine. She shared with me, the book of memories she had in her heart, reading each page with same emotion as she felt.

We saw them leave together. Gleaming in her tears, bright yellow fire enkindled her parents.

Her father set his soul free on the morning following his wife’s demise. Meena stood there reflecting quietly, till all was ash.”

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“dadiji shut the iron door fiercely behind her as she stormed inside our room. Her blouse was drenched with her sweat while her loose messy hair fell on her forehead and shoulders. My thoughts raced  towards every possible scenario, resting only on dead ends. She mumbled. Her eyes were fixed on Meena as she inched towards her and held her from shoulder. Her gaze was clearly revealing the fear inside her heart. She looked at me, still holding Meena. I could not decipher what her puzzled looks were trying to reveal. She wiped the sweat off her forehead, cleared her throat to say something, but restrained her words. Regaining herself, her eyes relaxed as she looked back to Meena. putting both her hands on Meena’s nicely combed hair, she chanted a sanskrit mantra, blessing her soul.

Next morning dadiji woke up early to cook food for the way. She had all packed and ready when Meena woke me up to tell me that we had to go. I saw the morning stars fade away from the dirty window of rickety bus we were travelling in. Meena was sitting by my side, quiet as desert. Dadiji did not speak a word while she packed everything for us. A tear trickled down her cheek when she kissed my forehead and blessed me before leaving.

I had never left her since i remember my life. The rusted old iron door would wake nobody that day.”

                                                             

Rajesh was interrupted in his narration as the doctor walked in to perform the routine checkup. The bright clean sheet on his bed reflected the sunlight, filling the whole room. The beeping on the monitors and oxygen filling his lungs were the only noises while doctor checked on him. A nurse was scribbling down everything on papers firmly fixed on her old clipboard. Her impassive face reflected the exhaustion of long work hours and her monotonous routine. The room smelled of disinfectant and dying marigold flowers that lay on the table besides Rajesh's’ bed. The dripping glucose in the apparatus glistened as drops of life entered his body. Five bullets grazed his skin, but his luck gave up when the amateur shooter punctured his left kidney with the last shot.

The officer was waiting patiently for the doctor to complete the checkup so he could resume with his interrogation. Rajesh was accused for the murder of his grandmother. He held his tears back as he narrated the journey which ended up in a hospital ward. He wish he could hear those temple bells ring and smell jasmine for the last time. He craved to touch his grandmothers’ feet and seek her blessings. Once.

He resumed as the doctor left the room,“The bustling noise of the city woke me up. Meena was already awake, anxious and sweaty, she was constantly looking out from the dirty window. That was her first time in the big city, so was mine. We got off the bus to a welcoming face of my cousin brother who leaped forward to touch our feet. He took our bags and walked us to his car. A car, we have never had the luxury to own one. Meena was spell bound with the grandeur of the city as he drove us to his house. Her eyes lit up when she saw glass adorned buildings reaching for the sky, reflecting city on itself.

Home is a feeling, we never felt in the city. I always wanted to go back to my old place, to dadiji.

Few days since our arrival, a man visited my cousin. He was wearing a black suit, the kind i have never seen. His dark brown eyes complimented his fair complexion and coal black hair. Meena made tea for him and some vegetable rice.”

Rajesh’s eyes blurred. Monitor beeped louder. He was breathing heavily. Officer’s eyes widened as he saw him leave breath. He ran to call the doctor. The silence of the room filled his ears and bright light faded away. The little air he managed to inhale smelled of dying marigold. He felt a touch on his hand. Wrinkled fingers curled around his palm as he felt a soft peck on his forehead and strong smell of mustard oil and jasmine filled the room. He stood up gazing at the soft smile of his grandmother. Her grey hair slightly swaying in the fresh air coming from the window. Rajesh knew this was his final union with his grandmother, his protecting sole.  He surrendered to her protection and closed his eyes, lying back on the bed. A final drop trickled down the side of his face, staining the white pillowcase before evaporating into the thin air.

                                                                  ***

Meena’s afternoon slumber was broken by the sharp doorbell that pierced her ears. She jolted up and reached for the door. A gust of hot summer air filled the room as she opened the door. In the scorching sun, stood a guy with a black bag hung on his shoulder and an envelope in his hands. “Ms. Meena?” inquired the postman. Meena nodded, signed the paper of delivery and took the envelope from him.

She sat down on the sofa, gently tore the glued top of the envelope and pulled the single piece of paper it had inside. She adjusted herself into a relaxed position and looked at the letter. Beautiful handwriting, she thought as she read it.

Meena,

Write to me when you find solace. Life was never fair to you, but so is life. Like a river with myriad turns, but progressing. I have found a job for you here. Your life has taught you more than any teacher can. I think it’s time for you to move with stronger steps and face the world. Nothing worse can happen.

Will be waiting.

Stay safe.

Jaya.

Meena sat there thinking about her life, gazing into the infinity. Jaya was the only person she could talk to about her despair. They both used to play hide and seek in the temple compound back in the village when they were young. Her childhood memories flashed in front of her eyes. Memories, her only possession, were keeping her alive in this city. She knew he would come back. He would unite her to Rajesh’s soul, to her family.

She stood up, wanting to write a reply, but thought against it. She had already decided to leave the city, even if the letter had not come. The nightmares in the city were beyond her capability. She went back to her bed, lied there till she slipped into a much needed sleep.

She woke up in the evening when the police officer rang the bell to her door. She was ready to leave everything behind, her memories, belongings, her dreams, her ambition, on the land of this dreadful city.

“He ate vegetable rice fondly and appreciated my art. I was delighted but  was uncomfortable. I had never served any guest before. But the city gave me many first times, so I accepted it open mindedly.”

Meena began to cry. She held her face in her palms and sobbed. Officer wanted to make her comfortable and console her but had no idea what he could do: he just sat there waiting for Meena to sort herself.

“Who was that man?” inquired officer

“An eclipse on my happiness” Meena mumbled. She got up and helped herself with a glass of water. She sat on the sofa, a little uncomfortable this time.

“All his life, Rajesh lived and grew up with his grandmother. She was the only family he had. Savouring the vegetable rice, the pale short man was Rajesh’s father. Dadiji never talked about him, nor did Rajesh. His sudden appearance jolted both of us.

Next morning, we were back on the road to our village. This time, in a bigger car, but away from the noise of the town. Rajesh flung open the door and stormed inside the house where dadiji was preparing the evening meal. She was not perturbed a single bit to see all three of us. Rajesh wanted answers, about his life, about his family, about his existence.”

                                                              ***

“Next morning, I woke up on a dusty mattress. Broken wooden chairs and few old cabinets filled that room. I felt my head pound. I tried to get up when I realised my hands were tied with a rope. A spurt of fear ran through my spine. My whole body shivered. Tears rolled down my nose as i lay there, helpless. I looked around to gather where I was. I saw dadiji sitting calmly on her bed praying to her god, counting beads of her rosary. She looked at me, comforting me with her eyes. The morning sunlight dimly lit the room. The sound of metal grinding with metal broke the silence; Someone was opening the door from outside. dadiji quickly closed her eyes, pretending to be meditating. Rajesh stood there on the door, scanning the room. He mumbled.

A loud noise shook my world as the bullet cutting through air hit dadiji. Her rosary fell near my face, I distinctly remember seeing the sun in the pool or her blood. My eyes were wide open from the trauma of the incident that just unfolded in front of me. Following the last shot, five more bullets were fired. Rajesh fell on the ground, with him my world crumbled in front of me.

Rajesh’s dad came running in the room, with the gun in his hand, lamenting the death of his mother; He held her body in his arms, looking at her face, he cried.”

Meena broke down again. Her sobs were much calmer now. She managed to hold her tears back this time. She wiped her face with the end of her saree as the doorbell rang again. She put the glass on the table and moved to open the door adjusting her saree.

                                                              

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Rajesh’s father inched towards her with the widest grin on his face. He was baffled to see her unperturbed face. She moved away from the door to let him in, her nonchalant eyes scared him.

Meena did not notice the officer standing up; it was natural for him to act quickly in cases like these. She stood there, looking at rajesh’s father as he settled on the sofa where Meena was sitting moments ago. He relaxed himself, lit a cigarette, and shifted his gaze towards Meena. She stood there like a statue, unaffected by any emotions.

She had nothing to worry. All she had was gone. Her family was lost. Her emotions were lost. Only possession she had was her memories which no one can steal from her.

She wanted to rest, eternally. She had no fear of death, no fear of loss. With her husband, she lost the need of union, with her mother, she lost the need of love. With her father, she lost the need of security and with dadiji, she lost the need of blessings. Meena wanted nothing more than solace. Her life was a blank page with all the ink washed away in the storm.

The man on the sofa spoke words that no longer mattered to Meena. His revelations about the death of her husband made no sense to her. She was not lending any piece of her sanity to the man sitting there with a cigarette. While he spoke of the actual incident that led to Rajesh’s death, she had her mind wandering in the beautiful memories of Rajesh. he would always appreciate her cooking skills. She wished she could cook for him more.

The time dadiji took her to the temple where she taught her the sacred mantras. The jasmine garland always adorned her hair. Meena’s lips spread in wide smile, slowly chanting the mantras that dadiji taught her.

The memories began to fade with the dying sun. she did not resist her eyes closing as the blood poured out of her belly. She stole a last gaze of the red burning sun,almost settling down at the horizon, praying for an eternal union with her family. Rajesh held her hand and pulled her out of the falling body. His arm wrapped around her waist and gaze so powerful, she surrendered her to the security of her husband.

Rajesh’s father tucked the gun back in his belt. The officer walked to him, sat by his side, and smiled. “No one will know.”