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.