A day of Reckoning

A day of Reckoning

-Biprajit Datta Choudhury

Shalini and her father sat beside each other without talking. The whistle of a train at rest went off loudly and the passengers strolling outside hurriedly jumped into the open doors of the train waving at their loved ones until the train had pulled out of the station. The 2:30 train to Guwahati for which they were waiting was running late by four hours and they had no choice but to sit out the time at a hard-seated concrete bench at the railway station. It was a hot day in June and the sunlight falling on the far side of the railway platform where there was no roof was blindingly bright and the brown earth near the railway tracks simmered in the hot brightness.
Shalini could remember vaguely the day she had arrived by train to this small town some five years ago with Kishore. She had just appeared for her matriculation exam and was madly in love with Kishore who lived in her neighborhood and was five years older than her. He was madly in love with her too and had asked her father for Shalini's hand in marriage which her father straightforwardly refused along with some threats and jibes that would not make it to writing. Kishore worked in an electronics store where he was a repair worker and her father didn't want to marry off his daughter to a man who could not scrape together a square meal for himself three times a day. But after a month of Shalini's house-arrest and her father having beaten up Kishore multiple times, they finally eloped together to start a new life away from the shadow of her father and now four years, six months and twenty-five days later she now sat beside her father on a hard-seated concrete bench in a little-known town reminiscing  the past memories. Her eyes were red from crying and the skin beneath her eyes swelled up and she could still taste the saltiness of her tears on her lips. She had not wanted to call back home out of the blue. She was not happy in her new life but she did not want to call her father and tell him that she was not happy. If her mother were still alive she would have understood and Shalini could have called her and poured her heart out to her mother. She wanted to come back home. Kishore did not love her the same way as he had done before and that they were having fights almost every other fortnight until she was scared for her life that he would do something terrible to her and her two-year-old son, Bijoy. He was drunk almost every night and she had barely any money to buy groceries and every night ended with a terrible squabble about her being a spoilt kid and how long was she going to live off his hard-earned money and call her rich father to help them out. Her neighbor Fatima had to intervene during these wild episodes fearing for Shalini and her son's safety and on the most terrible nights, she would spend the night in her neighbor Fatima's house. She would have told her mother about the various scars on her body and to tell her father, she wanted to come home.
But she did call her father and her father did not say anything more except asking for her address and he would come as soon as he can. He had arrived here that day just a few minutes after Kishore had left with Bijoy to drop him off at his school and go to work after that. Her father did not put any effort to comfort her. He impassively told her to pack her things and they would be traveling on the 2:30 train to Guwahati. She packed her bags and left a note on a table addressed to Kishore. She met Fatima on her way out and hugged her and talked to her for some time. Her father was already out of the shabby building clutching the large suitcase in one hand and was waiting beside an auto when Shalini had come out.
Her father was as impassive as he had ever been. He was on the phone telling someone that he would reach Guwahati by tomorrow morning and to tell the clients that the meeting was not to be postponed.
‘Father?' Shalini said.
Her father moved slightly to face her. His face was as a face on a stone statue must have been, pugnacious eyes and lips poised downwards as if he was perennially upset with something and she had never seen him in any other way in her life.
‘I am sorry, father.'
Her father turned away from her looking straight ahead.
‘Father say something please?'
‘What do you want to me  say?' he said angrily,'You ended up in the same situation that I had warned you before. But who are you  to listen to me?'
Shalini remained silent and looked away to hide the tears that had welled up in her eyes.
‘Do you think a simple sorry will suffice for all these years that I have spent looking for you?' the father said trying not raise his voice too high.
‘What do I do father? I have made a terrible mistake.' Shalini said burying her face in the palms of her hands.
The father was quiet for a long time. He wetted his lips before he spoke,'don't worry about it anymore. I will get in touch with a lawyer and all this nonsense will be done with. You will complete your education and-‘
‘Bijoy my boy, what will happen to my boy?' Shalini said in a choked voice. Her cheeks were wet from tears.
The father scratched his forehead and wetted his lips before he spoke,'All this will be taken care of. I will take care of the boy once this divorce is finalized and all this nonsense is out of the way. You just calm down for you will you?' he said,'Sit here for now. I'll go and inquire about the train.'
The father stood up on his weak legs and slowly strolled towards the railway inquiry office. It was four o' clock in the afternoon and the sun was still high in the sky. Another train had arrived at this time and Shalini looked pensively at the flurry of passengers hurrying onto the moving train as it slowly screeched to a stop. She had forgotten to look at her phone all this time and there were a handful of missed calls from Kishore. He would often call during the day when his anger had cooled off to inquire of her but mostly to apologize for the night before when he would behave crassly with her or tore the house asunder with his violent rage. She did not call him back and thought about how different her life would have been if she had not met Kishore. she was good in studies, not the brilliant type but still good enough to sail her through her school life. she would have been a freshman in a medical college if she had persisted with her studies. Her father always wanted her to become a doctor like her cousin brother who was practicing medicine in the United States. She did not know how good she would have been if she had become a doctor but she would have tried very hard and would have gained admission into a reputed AIIMS college and would have left Guwahati for good and she would not have had to marry someone to do that. She would have lived her life on her own terms and not on the terms of the men in her life. strangely she felt very little love for Kishore and she would not have given another thought to leave him. Little by little he had become like her father from whom she was trying to run away. she was too young, she was too young, even Fatima told her and rebuked Kishore for having married a girl who had hardly come of age. She vehemently defended her love and tried to be a good wife in the way Kishore wanted her to be. They made love every night and those first few nights were very disturbing for the neighbors because of the passionate moaning and screaming. Soon enough the vomiting and dizziness started and one day she observed how much her belly had swelled and she could cup her hands around her breasts which were plain like her chest before. A boy was born, six months later but the doctors could not save the premature child who was born with an underdeveloped air canal. They said that there was forty percent mortality rate in case of premature babies and most were born with birth defects. She lied that she was eighteen years old and was told by the doctors that she was still too young to conceive a child and they pointed a cautioning finger at Kishore.
She gave birth to Bijoy when she was nineteen years old and that cold morning in January was perhaps the best day of her life. She did not care what her life had been before this day but the days that would follow would be the happiest for herself and for her husband and son. But that did not happen as the days of merriment soon passed and a pay cut made Kishore once again take to the bottle. She spent the rest of that year in between bouts of depression and sleeplessness and only the sight of her son, draped in soiled clothing from the night before would make her reach for a fresh pair of sheets and not for the neatly coiled rope hung on a nail. But she finally called her father and she was relieved that she could muster the courage to spurt out a few words unlike the countless times before when she held onto the phone without talking until the line went dead on the other end.
Her life would be different now. She would have to move on, Fatima had told her as they parted outside her doorstep. But what about her boy? Who will take care of him? What will happen if Bijoy ended up living with his father? She looked expectantly at her father as he walked back to the bench and told her that the train will arrive in an hour.
‘Are you hungry?' the father asked.
‘No I am not' Shalini replied.
‘It is a long journey. You have to get something to eat or you will feel nauseous.'
‘I am not hungry, father.'
‘All right,' the father said, 'There are some cakes and beverages in here if you want any.' He handed her a plastic bag filled with eateries.
‘Thank you.' She said inaudibly. She wanted to ask him what will happen to Bijoy if she went back home. What would he think? What would he do to bring him back to her?
‘Father.' Shalini did not look at him as he turned around and looked at her with the same odious expression that had forever marked his face.
‘You will bring Bijoy back to me, won't you father?'
Her father was silent for a long time before replying,'Yes, I will bring him back. But it will take time.'
‘I don't feel he will be safe with Kishore.'
‘These things will take time frankly. But don't worry, you will see the boy again soon.'
‘You haven't met him, father. He is a very smart boy. You would have been proud of him.' Shalini said and smiled at him.
‘Yes, I think I would have been proud.'
‘He has learned so much in such a short time. He can even spell your name.'
‘Yes?' the father looked beyond the railway platform and his sight rested for a moment on the evening crimson sky touching the canopies of coconut trees at a distance.
‘He spells his own name that is?' the father said quietly, the muscles across his face loosened and his lips delved into a curt smile.
‘Yes', Shalini broke into a smile.
‘Well, that's wonderful. I am already starting to like him.' his smile broadened and coarseness had seeped into his voice. He had never displayed more fakery in his life than at this moment.
‘O, father. I  want to say sorry for everything. For the hurt that I have caused you.'
‘Cut it out!' the father said in a loud voice.'I have had enough of your over-used apologies for a day.'
Shalini started crying uncontrollably.
‘Now stop crying, will you? You will once again live in your own house, have your son back, you will once again be the queen of the nest. Why the hell are you crying?'
‘O, father... ‘
‘What had I ever done to you? Ever since you were a child, you got what you wanted. I had tried to take care of you in the best possible way  after your mother died  and this is how you repay me with the  shame and humiliation of the community  which had once respected me and held me in good  stead' the father who was an old man broke his flow and breathed with his mouth to catch a lungful of air. His voice had started to sound hoarse as if gasping for oxygen.
Shalini remained silent. The stream of tears on her face cascaded down her cheeks and she no longer wiped them off with the back of her hand.
‘I am going to go, get a smoke. You phone me up if the train is announced okay?' the father said, his chest still heaving from all the exertion.
Shalini nodded weakly keeping her head down.
The father went off to a public bathroom and locked himself in a toilet. He lighted a cigarette but smoked very little. He should not have said those things back there, he thought with remorse. But what she had done I cannot forgive and nothing on her part can undo that and now a son and she even names her son after me. Why? for absolution? Why did I even come here?  But as a father, I had to come here for my daughter and that was my responsibility as any father. But what about the boy? Yes, that is my responsibility too as a grandfather. I will take care of them as that is my responsibility.  I am an honorable man and will do my bidding, my duty just as Krishna had said in Bhagwad Gita. But I must not yell at her again. She cannot take a beating or a scolding as a son could and I must accept that now after these long years.
All of a sudden the murmurs inside the public toilet quelled and a strange feeling of isolation and emptiness overtook Mr.Bijoy Mahajan. These episodes of forsakenness had become more common for him but they occurred mostly at night when he was alone in his house and he felt as if a brick wall was pressing against his chest and he found it hard to breathe. The cigarette slipped out of his hands and he quickly opened the door of the toilet and ran outside for air.
The 2:30 train, late by four hours was standing on the platform and once again a new crowd of passengers was desperately trying desperately to hurl themselves aboard through the open doors of the compartments. Mr.Mahajan walked over to the bench where Shalini was sitting but an empty cold bench greeted him. He called her cell phone but the phone rang for some time before an automated voice replied that the customer was unable to take the call. After phoning her twice and then when he dialed her number for the third time, the automated voice told him that the phone was switched off.
Mr.Mahajan decided to ask the owner of the food stall stand right behind the bench. There was a fair chance that he might have seen her leaving. The owner of the food stall  curtly said that only a few moments ago  some man had arrived here with a child in one hand and the man said something to her falling on his knees, begging almost, and in the next moment he saw the man had the girl's luggage in his hands and she took the boy in her arms and they went away. The boy seemed very happy sighting all those cakes and fried chips in the bag.
‘Was she your daughter, Saab?' the owner said giving Mr.Mahajan a cursory look as he calmly packaged samosas and sweets in paper boxes.
Mr. Mahajan bought a water bottle from the stall and inquired the shop owner where the D2 compartment would probably be. He walked to his right and disappeared into the teeming crowd of passengers.
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