Rashika. (Part 4)

The inner lanes of Garia were silent that afternoon. It was relatively quite in this elite colony during afternoons and late hours. His newly bought brogues had a coat of fine dust rendering a rusty texture to it. She walked alongside him. Her sling bag waved towards the sides in an orderly manner every time her feet touched the ground. He carried a toddler in his arms who was half asleep. The tiny hands had clenched his shoulders firmly. She watched him occasionally as he avoided pools of water on the road, cursing the municipality for the condition each time. 

The newly painted apartment with protruding balconies from which all sorts of clothes lay hung tied to a fastening pin stood in front of them. The vibrant colors were not always its identity. The old apartment had to be renovated after the inhabitants complained to the promoter. It had become a common affair of buildings collapsing due to old age. The apartment had fine marble furnishing on the inner side with smell of the newly applied plaster of Paris. He raced upstairs while she was too languid to keep up with him. A bundle of newspapers lay untouched on the front door. He bowed down releasing the toddler from his grip and collected the sheets in one hand. The interlocked hinges on the door made a squeaking noise when unlocked.

As the sunlight made its way inside the room, it illuminated the glass cabinet which housed pictures of their marriage and of their first child. The toddler rushed inside shouting with joy. His high spirits unfurled as he ran towards his wall canvas. Picking up the remnants of the fallen crayons, he was back to business.

She made her way inside happier than ever before. First thing she did was to unfurl the quilt and dust the bedsheets to make room for a much desired rest.

“Can you fetch some milk?” She said in a soft tone. Her pitch was lost from the screams and hoots made over the week.

He silently took to her command and made his way to the shop. The toddler had to be fed.

Night had fallen and Ashok was over checking the university answer sheets kept on the table. He put them aside and looked at his son who appeared to be in deep slumber. Rashika entered the room retiring from her daily business early. Soaked in the smoke of the cooking gas, she threw herself on the sofa.

She leaned towards Ashok. The air conditioner evaporated her fresh sweat. Rashika had always been alone after baba’s demise and Ashok was the only one who was near her since their marriage. It couldn’t have been closer. She recalled the complex labyrinth of the muddy creeks, rapids and Khadar soil atop the hills where she had conceived her son. They had been so high that the winters were freezing her soles and the glacial winds constricted her lungs. The permafrost had covered all vegetation and naked oak and figs were all that was in view. Ashok had never been so caring. He rubbed her hands every few minutes, drew his furry collared coat and covered her face to the extent where only her eyes were visible. As he applied lotion on his cracked skin, he drew Rashika closer to the window form where the village was visible. The rural folk were felling a large dying oak tearing the branches from the end of an axe. Some women collected the smaller chunks for firewood while the larger branches were to be used as hedges to constrict the movement of the mountain goats. It was then when Rashika became aware of necessity of preparedness from the adversities to come. She wanted to tell Ashok to never leave the place.

(Image source- https://pixabay.com/en/winter-snow-landscape-hut-shed-2080071/)

She snuggled up into his arms and attempted to spread her legs between the interstices of the wooden enclosure surrounding the sofa. Ashok obliged to everything she did. It was all she had wanted. The yellow neon street light made its way into the dark room casting an enormous hue on the wall enclosing their shadows. She felt no hesitation or rigidity in Ashok’s arms and he cuddled her in the same way Rashika always did. It was all accompanied by a smile, endless love in their eyes and the slow whispering of their names. This was when Rashika experienced as to how necessary possession was to express the desired love. Even when Ashok was at the university at late hours, she knew he was to return to her.

The toddler slept between them and she stretched her hands to cover both of them. Caressing his hairs softly, she thought what life would have been if Ashok was never there for her.

The day dream of her association with Ashok increased once she found that everything was to end soon.

A loud thump on the back brought her back from the dream which always sent her in a different dimension of having everything she never actually did.

She knew everything was over. At a distance the glass door opened and the news was out. Ashok was no more. She did not move on hearing it. With a heavy weight on her heart, she let the emptiness sink engulfing her. She was prepared. She was best prepared, better than Basudha for she knew the storm was coming long back when Ashok sat on the ghat with her. That was when he was diagnosed with second stage of colon cancer. The heavy medical terms were all Hebrew to her. She only understood that he had a bad stomach ache frequently coupled with excessive weight loss and abdominal cramps. Every day she had seen him suffer and get worse to the stage when there was nothing left to actually do. Even when Basudha had said that the best way to end his suffering was death, she believed there was much to live and see. It wasn’t Basudha’s fault. She gave up early on many things. When her son once fell sick with fever; she collapsed on the floor. She was a fervent lady. Rashika had seen worse. While still young to differentiate between life and death, she had seen baba’s corpse travel the streets carried by able bodied men never to return again. 

(Image source- https://pixabay.com/en/candle-light-candlelight-flame-2038736/)

Her preparation came well all the way since the day when Ashok leaned on his arm chair few days back and tried to whisper something to her. She never knew what he had to say but all she knew was if there was even a tiny chance to catch his lost breathe from the thin air, she would have grabbed it to put him back to life and hear it.

Her dreams were more possession than that of actual unconditional love. But then possession was necessary to feel the value of owning someone, the feeling of having someone near, dependent and happy. She loved baba for he was there with her. Every time she had been afraid, baba’s hand was always there to hold. Every time she wanted something, her demands were satisfied by baba with his limited resources. Baba had loved her, baba was near her. But the same conflict was never tested with Ashok. Mere finding Ashok nearer to her gave her much of happiness even though he was married and committed to Basudha. Rashika was simply happy and fulfilled seeing the happiness that inhabited Ashok. All her closeness to Basudha was a way of thanking her for being the legally and ritually wed wife of Ashok. For the first time when the object of a permanent loss came to light, she began developing thoughts of possession. She began questioning herself that when everything was to end, it was possession that could have made the difference. Possession would even have yield the same results but that it would have made Ashok nearer to her when he was prepared to leave. They could have had a family, a legal status and a social engagement and most importantly, she would have had him.

Rashika. (Part 3)

Ashok sat there silently staring at the dark sky imprecise to the hue of the morning shade. The sun was hidden and the clouds raged in utter chaos crossing long distances in an ordained manner. The cemented seats now lay bare as all people fled under the big banyan tree nearby. They stayed. Ashok’s face had turned yellow. His little wrinkles had spread over the cheeks and his eyes had merged within the sockets. Rashika knew about the storm that lay within. She was conscious of the fact that this inner storm will soon consume him. All that had existed would soon be immersed in the placid waters that razed in turbulence today.

(Image source- wikipedia)

 Rashika had once completed her doctorate under Ashok’s guidance. In the course of her dissertation, an unspoken bond had developed. It slowly converted her visits, to him, into a daily routine. The times when there was no lecture, she silently walked through the corridors passing the janitor’s room, the music auditorium, the dilapidated classrooms and finally crossing the narrow hallway that led to the central library. Ashok was there, as always, preoccupied in books about World History. His neck drooped down staring at the lifeless pages that spoke of centuries and of civilizations. Every once in a while he lifted his face to wipe his eyes and polish the ends of his spectacles.

Her thesis had been on the Battle of Salamis. The only object common to the battle and her personal life was the fact that in both cases, the outnumbered ones quashed down heavy-handedly upon the ones in minority.

She slowly became a subject of ridicule when she began visiting Ashok’s home. Considering the fact that Ashok had been married for a decade, her visits were often a subject of suspicion except for Basudha, Ashok’s wife. Every other member of the family repeatedly warned her not to return back but all the more she did. She never replied anyone as to why she had come nor did she pay a heed to any of the allegations. The homecomings slowly grew. Every other evening Rashika arrived at Ashok’s home carrying some freshly picked green Jujube for Basudha.

“This is so good. Back at home we ate these with mustard paste and rock salt, while the one's that were ripe were left for pickles.” Basudha always told her this line as she bit one end of the Jujube and spat out the seed.  

She never brought anything for Ashok, for she was not aware of anything he liked. Neither Basudha was.

In the chilly month of November when Ashok developed pneumonia, Bashudha had been to her parent’s home. Rashika made every effort to bring him back to strength, for he lay fragile with the increasing infection. This was the only time when Rashika came in close proximity with Ashok. She changed the sheets, warmed the water and even wiped off the excessive sweat from his forehead. Everytime Ashoka developed breathing difficulty, Rashika grabbed the inhaler. The infection stayed for a week and made him weary and restless. A man who admired silence would get on his nerves on trivial issues. Once he shouted at Rashika for he felt the food was pale and unpalatable while some hours later she was again upbraided for misplacing the newspaper. All she did was to remain silent and nurture him. As Ashok recuperated, Basudha had returned. He never thanked Rashika for what she had done but Bashuda ensured she got due credit.

“Here…have this”. Basudha said as she handed over a bowl of vermicelli cooked in milk.

“Thank you didi”. She replied.

It was a mark of companionship that was to develop in due course. Bashuda was entirely the one who received intimacy, love, stability and fellowship from Ashok. That day, Rashika got her share too. She was welcome. That was all she needed.

(Image source- https://www.rvcj.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/sad-woman-silhouette.jpg)

Rashika stayed even when Ashok was at the university. She pointed towards the framed certificates, hung medals and other academic accolades well decorated inside a wooden shelf, and described each of them to Basudha, who on her part was ignorant of their existence. All Basudha could tell her was about her childhood back in Murshidabad and how her parents found the most educated person in Kolkata to marry her. She herself had never studied more than elementary. As time passed, the family became accommodative with her presence and she earned her own designation. She was now Rashika masi as the children called her.

Rashika was aware that nothing could ever happen between her and Ashok. She even never wanted to make any move on her part. Her association with Ashok was saintly. She simply felt alive when he was near. At an early stage she had been deprived of baba and Ashok was the one whose mere presence gave her sense of totality. This was the reason she never wanted to earn his affection, to tag herself with a social nickname, explore her lust or to exchange religious vows. Basudha was more than a sister for her. On weekends she roamed around the streets with Basudha. She told her the stories of the narrow lanes of the city. She described the petrichor after the rains, the maps of the world, the men at her university, and about the locker-room talks she had back as a teenager.

Six years later, Basudha conceived a baby girl. Rashika carried the news herself to Ashok at the university. While returning from the hospital Ashok fetched some orange toffees for Rashika. The ones which baba used to buy her.