Translated from the Assamese by Syeda Shaheen Jeenat Suhailey
After staying for 21 days, I returned to the hotel.
Perhaps it was best that I left. But we never do all the right things at the right time.
Trusting the tongawala’s assurance, I went looking for the ‘Mahamaya’ hotel. It was 9:30 at night by then. There was no hotel named ‘Mahamaya’ within a mile or mile and half of the rail station. I couldn’t afford to stay at a costly hotel either.
I had the tongawala stop at a hotel in a corner of the city large enough for a dozen people and met the manager. But I was disappointed. There was no vacancy in the hotel. I was informed that a few rooms might become available after a few days. Usually, lower-middle-class workers or businessmen stayed in this hotel situated on one side of the city. Two of them were supposed to vacate within 10-12 days. Then I might get a place. But not that day.
While I felt it was not the worst-case scenario, I was troubled. I felt too tired to search for a hotel at 10 pm.
The hotel manager was sympathetic to my situation. He was looking out for himself, too; he would have gotten some money if he could have given me a place. He asked me how many days I would be staying.
I said, “I am an agent for a foreign company. If required, I might have to stay for three or four months, even. But if I can’t get a place to stay right now…”
The manager was intelligent. He could understand why I didn’t go to any costly hotel but came to his. Thinking briefly, he asked a bellboy, “Are there any guests at Uma’s house now?”
“Probably not. No news the last four days,” the man replied.
“Take this man there. You should go with him. There is a house about 6 furlongs from here. They keep paying guests. You can stay there for a few days if there are no guests now. I will bring you to the hotel when a place opens up. The people are good. You won’t face any difficulties.” Then, the manager gave his instructions to the tongawala.
Arrangements of my stay were finalized. I made up my bed and put down my cases in a small room to the west on the second floor of a small old house. I had stayed in similar arrangements.
The one thing I have done the most times in my life has been packing and unpacking holdalls. Over the last seven years of my nomadic life, all the cities I had visited, places I ate at and slept in, and so many strangers I met are written down in my diary, but can no longer remember them myself.
The house was silent and still. Nobody else was in the house apart from the lady with whom I had spoken earlier.
She came by once to show me the bathroom. She also enquired about my food, what I normally ate, what were my usual meals.
I said, “At night, I eat chapati.”
At meal times, she called me into the room in the centre of the house. She would place the dishes very nicely and neatly—really simple fare—four chapatis, a glass of warm milk, some greens, some fried peas, some raw onion, a few raisins on a small plate, some raw radish slices, and some boiled cauliflower.
As I ate, the woman slowly asked me, ‘Where was I from?’ ‘How many days would I be staying?’ ‘Whether I ate fish or meat?’, ‘Who did I have in my family?’, ‘Did I need anything else?’
I did not think it necessary to answer all the questions. I just summarized that my work was to move from city to city and there was never any guarantee about how long I would stay in one place. I ate both fish and meat. In between, I might have to be away from this place for a few days.
While I was talking to her, a fried egg on a plate was set on the table. I looked up. I saw a girl of perhaps 14 or 15 wearing a polka-dotted kurta. She didn’t have a dupatta on and looked like a small girl.
Not feeling the need to make a big production, I said jokingly, “This is enough for today! I shan’t be able to have so much today.”
The woman softly said, “This is our usual fare; we don’t have anyone to go shop for us now. Don’t mind.”
Everyone who keeps paying guests talks like this at first. I did not find it novel.
I looked at her face. She was around 35-36. The facial structures were not similar. Maybe the girl was not her daughter.
Hearing the measured Urdu from their lips, I knew they probably came from an elite family but possibly were facing financial difficulties.
Lying on the bed, I did not think anymore about them. I was grateful towards the Good Samaritan, the hotel manager. I was just about to fall asleep when the lady opened the shut but unlatched door, and entered the room.
“Who…” I called out.
“It’s me,” she said. Then, in a quiet voice, she said, “You should lock the door from the inside. Don’t keep it open. And if you hear something from downstairs, ignore it.”
“OK,” I said as I sat up on the bed.
“There are some bad people nearby. Not criminals, just drunkards who yell and make a fuss. I didn’t want that to scare you.”
I felt she wanted to talk with me, but I was in no mood to chit-chat. For the sake of courtesy, I said, “Sit down.”
“No, it’s OK. You are sleepy; go to sleep. I will leave.”
But she didn’t go. She stood by the window, looking down out of it.
“Who lives in your house?”
I had no need really to ask this, but I asked and looked at her face.
“There is hardly anyone here. The girl, Padma, me, and …”
“And?”
“And Deepak. But it’s the same whether he stays or not.”
Not quite getting her, I looked at her. I felt that she had a lot to say. And she came to my room at midnight to talk with a stranger.
“Please sleep. I disturbed you, don’t mind me. You will learn about him soon enough.”
Saying that the woman had gone away after closing the door. As she left, she told me to lock the door before sleeping.
Following her instructions, I locked the door as she said and returned to bed. Before I fell asleep, I couldn’t help but wonder why she was so insistent. No matter how dangerous the girl who brought the fried egg was, she would not dare to mess with a guest she had met for the first time that day. What then?
I fell asleep.
In the morning, I saw everything was the same. I didn’t feel like anyone had disturbed me in the night.
I saw the house and its surroundings better in the morning. The house was quite old. At some time, the owners of this house must have been quite affluent. The house was old but neat. Due to lack of maintenance, the place was now showing signs of decay and neglect. Cobwebs clung to the framed pictures on the wall of the main room. The ceiling was bare and cracked in places. The wooden furniture must have been expensive at one time, but was now dilapidated.
I ate breakfast when the woman asked me, “Did you have any problem at night?”
“No, no problem at all. I slept well.”
Just then, Padma came out and greeted me. I asked softly, “Can you give me one more cup of coffee or Ovaltine?”
Meanwhile, the lady brought out a cloth bag and said, “I am going to the market. Please rest. Will you be going out? If you do, do so after eating. I will be back as soon as I can.”
To Padma, she said, “Padma, look after him. I will be back.” She left.
Padma was standing on the other side of the table. She looked sad, her eyes soft with great deal of sadness. Her face was blank and calm. No sound apart from the tinkle of the cup and saucer. The silence was deafening, and though the doors and windows were open, I felt claustrophobic.
I looked up from the saucer to Padma. She bowed her head.
I called “Padma.”
“Yes?”
I had nothing to say, really.
“Is there no man in your house?”
“Deepak is…”
“Who is Deepak?”
“Elder brother …”
“I have not seen him; where is he now?”
“He’s been out for a few days; you will see him when he comes.”
I was not that curious about this Deepak. He may have worked somewhere far away and come when he could. I had no need to pry. Without it being said, I understood that Padma was without a father.
“What is your mother’s name?” While not required, I wanted to know in case I needed it.
“Uma,” Padma said softly.
“Uma, Padma, Deepak ...”
I recited the names as if to memorize them. Perhaps Padma found that funny as she laughed quietly.
At the other end of the city, I took orders at a big shop. Getting orders worth Rs. 1,700 on the first day pleased me. Perhaps I could get exceptional business in this city.
A few women were buying clothes and beauty products at the shop’s counter. Like the other shop patrons, my eyes also went to them. Two were pajama-wearing Punjabi women; two were frock wearing European women, and a few other gentlewomen wore sarees. While examining the wares, they sometimes stole glances at us.
I was showing our products to the shopkeeper.
Suddenly, there was a disturbance in the shop. The women created a commotion, and ran around in confusion, trying to hide. At that moment, people in the shop got agitated. Everyone was shouting, and a crowd formed.
I quickly put my things away, as I knew this routine—definitely some pickpocket, a thief, or a miscreant.
One of the European ladies had almost fainted, overcome with anger, shame, and outrage. A few of her fellow ladies were tutting, saying, “What a terrible thing to happen! How awful!”
After 5 minutes, things settled down. People asked what had happened. One of the Punjabi ladies said, in anger and with some hesitation, “Some hooligan came and lifted her clothes, baring her to everyone.”
We hung our heads in shame. The European lady was obviously half dead with shame. “Where did the man go?”
“A thin, tall man. Complete thug. Who knows where he came from so suddenly. He stood behind us; we didn’t think anything of it. Ooh, so horrible. He ran away when people shouted. We didn’t understand anything.”
The country was filled with such hooligans. Such uncivilized behaviour in an independent civil country is unbearable—saying such things, the crowd dispersed.
The incident was strange, but I forgot about it; I was busy with work.
In the evening, I returned bone tired. I called Padma, but Uma came out. She said, ‘Padma has gone out. She will return after some time. Seeing how long I was out, my business must have gone well. In the meantime, please have a glass of Ovaltine.’ After doing some more small talk, Uma went back inside. I was really so tired that I just fell into bed and lay with my face up.
Perhaps Padma and Uma were working to make money. Still, there was a distinct difference from a hotel. I was getting to experience the maternal care of a woman. Things in the hotel are impersonal, but it was homely here. I was pleased to experience this after a long time.
That night, Uma did not come to chat with me. I was glad. There is no benefit in getting close.
Almost one week went by. Uma’s house started feeling like home. After working the whole day outside, I would reach the house, and Uma and Padma would show great curiosity about my work. Even the food was prepared to my taste.
But I only met Uma and Padma every day, not Deepak. To tell the truth, I didn’t know whether there was actually a flesh-and-blood man named Deepak or if it was just a figment of their imagination. But I had no right to ask. I am not suffering due to the absence of Deepak.
However, I noticed that even though she was a beautiful young girl, Padma always looked sad. If she smiled, it was as faint as the sunlight on a misty winter day. On the other hand, the much older Uma was always happy and all smiles. Uma tidied her hair nicely, wore full-sleeved clothes, didn’t wear the dupatta while at home, and took confident steps. Even then, I don’t believe that she took any steps to seduce anyone. Her face, youthful body, ease of conversation, and everything else combined to give her a friendly bearing. Padma was more mysterious and controlled, wearing long-sleeved clothes and carefully covering her body. Since they were accepting paying guests, I understood that they were hard up. But I could not understand why they were constantly so dejected.
I, of course, had no need or inclination to know.
I was a guest for a few days.
I read the newspaper early in the morning. The news stories were always the same. I read them gloomily. Uma sometimes bought magazines about the movies. I looked at the pictures—nothing special, just excellent marketing skills. Where make believe, acting, is the main topic, there is no use looking for truth, but reading about the artist helped me kill time.
One day, Uma asked me, “What do you have to do to become an actress?” I didn’t have any experience in that field, so I laughed and said, “To become an actress, you just have to act.”
After a few moments of silence, “You mean lie?”
I was startled. Is acting lying? I have rarely thought about it, so I can’t say it’s true to Uma. Still, I say, “Not exactly lying, but something akin to it perhaps. I don’t know exactly.”
I was aware that Uma preferred conversing with me rather than staying silent by herself.
Padma’s silence made me curious sometimes. The young, beautiful girl was so reserved; why did she always have to be so silent? That too in a house without any other male members.
One day, Uma went out somewhere. Padma came and asked me when I would be leaving and an estimate for when I would return.
In a bid to show her openness, I said to Padma, “Sit down, Padma. You barely speak in front of me.”
“What is there to talk about?”
“Is this not your house?”
“Ours? Who told you that? We are not from here.”
“Not from here? Where then?”
“West Punjab. We are refugees.”
“You are refugees. No one told me that.”
“Who will benefit from hearing that? You are not a refuge officer who will help us with money.”
“But are you not receiving help?”
“We came in 1948. It’s been 6 years since. We received 25 rupees, and three people live on that.”
Immense pain in Padma’s voice. There was no one to speak for them. They are poor refugee women.
“But this is a good house, isn’t it?
“Government didn’t give this to us. Uma’s …”
“Uma’s ...?”
“I mean,” Padma corrected herself with a stiff movement and said, “I mean, it used to be one of Ma’s uncle’s house. All of them died in the rioting. So we came and took shelter.”
“I knew nothing of this, Padma. Please do not mind me asking.”
“I hope also that you don’t mind coming to know about our identity. Nobody wants to know Hindu refugees, those two women, who have fled from Pakistan with nothing but their lives.”
I was just about to ask something when Uma came home. Our talk ended there. Uma handed her groceries to Padma. Padma went inside.
“It must be tough to do everything without Deepak?” I asked Uma in a sympathetic voice.
“Yes, it is difficult, but what to do? He doesn’t stay at home. And even if he is here, he is not one to go shopping for the house. But don’t think it would be too much work for us to host you. If you are facing any problem due to us though …”
“I am not having any problem. I am certainly living better than at a hotel.”
Deepak may have worked some ordinary job. Uma might feel bad if I ask, so I decided not to ask anything about Deepak.
I was just a guest and will be gone after a few days. There is nothing to gain by getting mixed up in others’ personal matters.
Uma’s family were refugees. Due to religious persecution, they have lost everything and have taken shelter here. I felt awful for them. They were alive only because they were strong-willed.
They had come seeking shelter and safety, they had come looking for a “refuge.” Instead, what they received was an inhuman disregard, Others had snatched what was due to them, and were living in luxury and comfort.
I began to think it would be okay even if I didn’t shift to the hotel. I would be staying in this city for just a few more days. After that, I will go to another city. And, truth be told, staying there, my business was going well, I was getting a lot of orders. It cost me significantly less as well.
And a kind of affection has grown for Padma in me. Perhaps it is no more than sympathy or pity; I could not help but accept this soft emotion. Inside nearly-mute Padma was a hidden voice—it was innocent and touched the heart. A refugee woman was also a woman.
One day, I went to watch a movie with Padma. Neither Uma nor Padma had any reservations. Padma only said, ‘I can go, but you will have to pay for the ticket.’
We were returning home after watching the movie around 11 pm in the noisy city; a couple walking together might attract some muttering but nothing more. Of the thousands and thousands of such mutterings, one gets lost easily.
“Hei, Padma …”
Suddenly, we heard a rough voice. Padma and I were both startled. In the gleam of the streetlight, I saw the dried up face of a thin young man. His hair was a mess, and he was wearing a torn shirt and an old pair of pants.
“Where are you roaming around so late?”
His voice was rough. Hearing his voice’s sternness, I decided to face any sudden action he may take. If he had no weapon, then I would throw him off with a punch.
Padma had gone pale. She said, “Let’s go.”
“Yes, let’s.”
Looking at him, I walked away, ensuring that Padma was hidden from his line of sight. As if we had barely heard him.
“You are roaming during the night; you don’t understand the world. How will you—everyone is an animal.”
We picked up our pace. Going a bit further, we mingled into the crowd.
After coming away some part, I fearlessly told Padma, “Our country is filled with thugs. Good people can no longer take a walk on the road. So much degradation.”
“Please let go of my hand —” Padma said.
I forgot I had clutched Padma’s hand since we met the man.
Letting go of her hand, I said, “I am so sorry, I completely forgot.”
I looked back to see the hooligan walk away in another direction.
“Padma.”
“What?”
“How did the man know your name?”
“What doesn’t a thug not know? He might even know your name. No need to overthink. Let’s go.”
“I got so scared of him.”
“Scared? I have seen much worse than him. Why fear, let’s go.”
Even after reaching home, I couldn’t stop thinking. How did he know Padma’s name? Padma is not one to go out too much.
After dinner, I told Uma about the incident. Uma just gave a sad smile. In a low tone, she said, “The criminals we have seen, compared to them—well, how to compare them for you. Just don’t go on walks with Padma at night.”
Even without her saying so, I had already decided I wouldn’t be going out with Padma anymore.
I am a businessman. If my reputation falls, so will my company’s. Our character is our main treasure.
I was about to sleep when Uma came inside.
It was cooler at night. I didn’t want to get up from the bed; Uma sometimes came and talked with me like this.
I looked at Uma’s face. It seemed that Uma had something important to say.
Bringing a chair near my head, Uma spoke slowly, “You know, we refugees, we understand—that we have lost trust in everyone.”
“But you believe in god?”
“God? The gods in whose name so much knifing and murdering took place, so many women widowed, so many young girls raped, believing in such a god is nothing short of foolishness. I believe—there is no god.”
A lot of pain is killing off the kind woman in Uma. She does not dare to declare a rebellion against other human beings, so she directs her ire toward the unseen gods.
“In pain and hardships, we tend to think like that.”
“No. In pain and hardships, people turn to gods, but when someone just gets injustice from other humans, gods, and nature, only experiences torture, then the human rebels against everyone. I cannot make you understand with how much hope we had come here and how horrible our days had been.”
“I do understand. What I don’t understand at all, with what patience—I am not talking about Padma— have you been able to be so positive and upbeat.”
Uma looked straight at my face. “What else can we do? I am not an idiot to do penance for a crime I did not commit. I will not do penance. I will not be sad about anything. We are refugees, and we have no identity as humans. I want to handle this normally. I am able to, but Padma, a young girl, cannot.”
Uma was getting agitated. I was feeling uncomfortable. I have never thought of Uma as someone bad, nor did I want to. Uma was handed fate’s rejection. Anyone else might have become unbearably angry, but not Uma and Padma.
Suddenly, Uma calmed down. “Forgive me. I am sad, so I am talking with you. I know that these are not the things you want to know. No one in the world wants to. Everyone wants to forget. But even if everyone else forgets, we cannot wipe away the stain of our hurt. Till we die. Please go to sleep; you look sleepy.”
Without waiting for my reply, she went out of my room.
If Uma had lost all trust in everyone, she could not trust me either. Was that what Uma was conveying to me? Only Padma’s hurt-filled face and sad eyes seek out love.
If Uma starts to distrust me over that, she will misunderstand. Even though I am a guest at their house, I do not plan on becoming a guest of their heart.
In the morning, Padma gave me tea as Uma had gone out. I was fearful of Padma and could think of nothing to say to her.
Padma said, “You were able to sleep well at night?”
“I slept late. That hooligan’s face kept coming before my eyes.”
“Of course, because it was your first time, that’s why. Is there any other animal as scary as a human?”
I looked at Padma’s face. She was saying these things calmly. Suddenly changing her tone, Padma said, “This evening, I will be going to a distant place, and when I return, it will be late. Would you mind coming with me so I don’t have to walk home alone?”
“I will go out in the afternoon, not now. When will you return?”
“12, maybe 12:30 am. This is the address. You can wait at the four-lane crossroad; I will meet you.”
I took the piece of paper with the address on it and put it away.
“There won’t be any problem. I will be going to that side of the city as well. I plan to find out if I can do business in the refugee market.”
Uma and Padma have started to believe in me. This is their weakness. I may not be a miscreant, but I was still an unknown man. How could they believe that I could never harm them?
Padma went out around 10. I felt a bit bad seeing her. That day, Padma wore that long sleeved kurta and old pajamas. Maybe Padma didn’t have any other clothes. I had only seen her in two sets of clothes. When she wears the kurta, she doesn’t take the dupatta but takes it when she is wearing just the chemise. Both Padma and Uma take great care to cover their body completely. Modern Punjabi women wore the kurtas as frocks.
I thought to myself, when I give them money, maybe Padma and Uma would be able to buy some new clothes. But they may have so many other needs. At most, they will get 100 rupees from me—one month’s rent and food.
Would they dislike it if I were to buy them two pieces of clothing??
I had gotten my salary money order the previous day. Within a few days, I would have gotten my commission money. When I return, I would bring two pieces of cloth for Uma and Padma. They knew me, and they won’t misunderstand.
12:30 at night, I went to fetch Padma from the address she gave me. I did not say anything about the pieces of cloth I had in my portfolio bag.
We came back talking about other things.
Why did Padma go to that place, and why did she stay there so late? I wanted to ask, but I didn’t. It was Padma’s personal matter. If I were to ask, she might feel hurt.
By the time we reached the house, it was almost 1:30 am. I knocked on the boundary door. At first, there was no sound. Had Uma fallen asleep? Suddenly, there was a noise inside.
I called out a little loudly, “Uma—”
As if from far away, Uma said, “Coming …”
The door was opened, but it was completely dark inside. I felt Uma was breathing hard before me.
“Please bring the lantern, Uma, it’s so dark.”
“I can’t light the lamp,” Uma said with a sob. I was getting uncomfortable. What kind of joke were they playing?
“I will bring the lamp,” Padma said.
“Don’t bring the lamp, don’t. Deepak is here,” Uma said beseechingly.
I felt like my blood had turned to ice.
“Who has come?” I became agitated.
At the same time, Padma shouted, “Deepak? When did he come?”
“No lamps, just come with me—” Uma said and, in the darkness, came to my side and took my hand.
I felt dizzy. I held Uma’s hand and stepped in.
In the meantime, Padma went to my room. She brought my lamp from there.
Suddenly, I was shocked beyond words. The Uma pulling me ahead was utterly naked. There was not one stitch of clothing on her.
I was astounded.
What had I stepped into?
Without making any attempt to cover Uma, Padma shrieked, “Where is Deepak?”
Immediately, like a ghost, a thin young man came out from the corner of the room with a bearded face like a demon. A weird look in his eyes.
Seeing the man, my heart raced.
This was the thug we had met that night. How did he come inside?
I became alert instantly. As a man, I decided to do my duty. I started shouting, “Nikal jaao, get out—”
He looked at me as though he understood nothing. Then he muttered, “Lakhi is alright, Lakhi is alright, if anyone touches Lakhi, I will finish him.”
Padma shouted at him, “You go out now, Deepak bhai. A gentleman is here, don’t you see?”
The thug looked at my face with pure hatred and said, “O gentleman. OK, I am going, good night. Padma, I am going, Lakhi is not here—Lakhi, you are OK. No one can touch you.”
Looking at me, he walked out. Padma closed the door with force and latched it. Turning back, I saw in the lamp’s light a completely naked Uma. In the meantime, it seemed she had calmed down. Almost as if she is fully covered. Lowering my head in shame and embarrassment, I sat on my bed. Very softly, Uma said, “Please give me something to cover myself.”
“Your clothes?”
“He took them away.”
What a cruel world. Padma went to the darkness of the other room and handed Uma the kurta she was wearing. On Padma’s body, the light dupatta only.
Without lifting my head, I asked, “I don’t understand anything, Uma. What is happening in your house?”
“You won’t be able to understand. There are stories from hell. You have never seen hell before. You saw it today.” Uma said in a calm voice.
I looked to Uma. In the meantime, Uma had worn Padma’s kurta and covered herself. I looked at Padma. Through the thin dupatta, the outlines of her body could be clearly seen.
“Go and make some tea, Padma. I will tell him everything to make him understand.”
“Understand?”
“Yes, understand, or else he will not understand.”
“No need; I don’t need you to make me understand. I don’t want to understand anything.” I said in a rebellious tone.
“No, listen, it is a small matter. You will be able to understand.”
I remained silent.
Uma came before me, sitting on the chair by the bed. After that, she started to talk in words that conveyed agitation, but slowly and steadily.
“We left everything behind. Home and house, land and lineage, family and friends, we left everything in the murderer’s hands, and we left shame. We left shame behind at the border between Bharat and Pakistan and killed it.
“Us 300 girls stayed completely nude before 200 thugs for 7 days. They didn’t allow us to wear clothes even when it was cold. Those animals watched us, touched us—did whatever they wanted to. We forgot that we were human. We started to believe in our hearts that we were wild animals. Clothes, etiquette, shame, mortification, we learned nothing. They turned us into animals.
“Ending everything else, with only hope in my heart, we came. We could have died, but we didn’t. We hoped that there were humans here. That we would build a home with humans. We would live.”
But humans can easily turn into animals. Animals, on the other hand, can’t easily become humans.
“But here. I met Padma on the road. She, too, had lost everything. Both of us ran away together.”
“Padma is not your daughter?”
“Daughter? I have not yet married. Torture has made me older. I am just 24 years old.”
I looked at Uma. There was a glow of youth in her body. But the face was dry, with deep dark circles.
“And this Deepak?”
“Deepak. He, too, has lost all. He, too, is a refugee. With his Lakhi in tow, he had run for their lives. But he could not save Lakhi; Lakhi was snatched cruelly from his clasp, and he went mad.”
“Went mad?”
“If not mad, what could he have done? He came to Bharat. Meeting me on the road, he asked me, ‘Have you seen my Lakhi?’. I said, ‘Why, am I not Lakhi?’ Perhaps our minds are not fully normal, either, and sometimes he thinks that I am his Lakhi.”
“But he is a thug—”
“The mad are called thugs in our country. Indeed, everyone here thinks he is a thug. They tell him to go away, chase him away. But he is no thug. I think he is my son. He thinks that I am his Lakhi. That is why…”
Just then, Padma brought two cups of tea.
“Sit down, Padma. I told him everything. Perhaps you are thinking we are mad as well. Maybe even our brains are not completely well.”
“But what was Deepak doing here?” Although it was not something I should have asked, I did. I wanted to know how things ended.
While speaking, Uma was getting agitated. Padma came and sat by me. Uma said, “Perhaps seeing me naked with Deepak in the dark makes you think of something else. But no, Deepak thinks I am his Lakhi and that his Lakhi was not humiliated like the other girls. Just to prove this, he has tried to disrobe some gentlewomen in marketplaces and has got beaten up for it.”
I silently looked at Uma and Padma’s faces. The brightly lit lantern was unbearably sharp.
“I know, you have never seen such disgusting and shameful incidents before. But see these scars of pain on our body, a mark of our humiliation—show him, Padma, let him understand.”
Saying this, Uma pulled away the dupatta from Padma’s body as she sat, hesitating, near me and her firm and youthful body emerged. A shiver ran through my body; Uma brought the lamp in front of Padma’s face.
“Don’t look down now. Look at Padma and read what has been written. Yes, these are not only on Padma’s body these ornaments also adorn my body. Look—you can then tell the civilized world about it later.”
As she was speaking, Uma took off the kurta she was wearing. In front of me were two unclothed women—with their bodies fully exposed. But on those young bodies, some black marks. Over the pubic area, their breasts, stomach, and everywhere that is always covered.
On the young bodies, etched deep, are some black words—so grotesque and ugly.
I bowed my head again. Padma covered her body. But Uma had become crazed. “Deepak thinks that his Lakhi is well and good, that his Lakhi’s body is not besmirched by such scars and marks. That is why he goes around to any place, mistakes someone for his Lakhi, and takes their clothes off to check that his Lakhi is still unmarked.
“He has unclothed me several times as well. But I have not let him see my body yet. If he sees that the one he thinks is Lakhi is tainted as well, he might break his head against a wall. That is why I blow out the lamps when he comes.“
See, see one more time. You got independence, You got Bharat, you got Pakisthan. And we got this.”
Without any shame, Uma held the lamp near her breasts. My eyes fell on the black letters over her breasts; that was the name of a new country and ‘Zindabad.’
The ground slipped from under my feet.
The next morning, the world was calm. Without waiting for tea, I sent my luggage to the hotel.
Later, to bid goodbyes, I went to their bedrooms. Both were deep asleep on the bare floor. Padma had clothes below her waist. Uma only had clothes above her waist. But even in the low light of the room, I could see, like some wounds, the words peeking out like an open mouth. As if some murderous individual had carved them onto their skins with a knife.
Giving a low bow to the two sleeping girls, I closed the door and came out.
Note: Syed Abdul Malik’s Assamese short story ‘Bibhetso Bedona’ (A Grotesque Despair) was written in the late 1950s to early 1960s, in an India still reeling from the atrocities of partition and newly gained independence as a sovereign country. The author faced scrutiny when this story was published, not so much for the subject matter as much for the ‘obscenity’ of portraying women naked. It still stands as a very intimate portrayal of those times and trauma those times caused. And a story like this should never be really forgotten.
I would also like to give my immense thanks to Mitra Phukan ma’am, for her invaluable help and guidance during the course of this translation.
Syed Abdul Malik [1919-2000] was a prolific writer in the Assamese language. In total, he wrote 2000 short stories in Assamese, which were not quite contained within his 23 books of short story collections. He also wrote 72 novels within the same duration and three books of poetry. He was also a sitting MLA from Jorhat, Assam, and a member of Rajya Sabha (1983). He was the acting president of the Assam Sahitya Sabha (1977), a professor of Assamese literature at JB College, a producer at AIR, a wonderful orator that was invited to meetings and weddings with equal aplomb. He had won the Sahitya Akademi Award in 1972 for his novel Oghori Aatmar Kahini (Nomad Soul’s Tale) and was awarded the Padma Shri in 1984, Padma Bhusan in 1992, and the Srimanta Sankaradeva Award in 1999, respectively, due to his contributions to literature, among his many other awards and honours.
Syeda Shaheen Jeenat Suhailey is a writer, translator, and poet. They have written primarily in English, and they have translated mostly from Assamese into English. They were involved in the BBC-backed Write Untold NGO’s Write Assamese project as well and have had a translation published in Words Without Borders. They have written more than 200 poems and some short stories in both English and Assamese. They currently reside in Assam, working as a freelancer, and continue to write and translate.