Part 1
Ashthabhuja Lal does not like to think about his past. Remembering it makes him want to vomit. He feels as if he has been imprisoned in his wife’s wardrobe. The memory of the wardrobe is as much torment to him as falling into a stinking sewer could be. He tries extremely hard to free himself from this distress. Desperate and hurt, he craves release. Since the moment he explored his wife’s wardrobe, his consciousness has been painting terrible images of his life so far. Like a never-ending nightmare, the wardrobe is etched in his heart and soul.
Recently, when his wife was visiting her parents, he chanced upon the wardrobe’s key, which she had forgotten to take with her. Definitely without any malice and driven purely by innocent curiosity, he decided to take a peek at Mrs. Kusum Kumari’s carefully stocked treasures … and Ashthabhuja Lal opened a can of worms. Had he let go of this random bout of curiosity, the wardrobe would not have become an ugly, ever-present smear on the memories of his life. He would have been spared the anguish of falling into and craving out of the stinking sewer he now found himself in.
That day, he found an assorted collection of items in his wife’s wardrobe. The moment he unlocked the wardrobe, he had an ominous feeling. His instincts advised him otherwise, but every time he tried to pull his hands away, yet another intertwined curiosity would surface and pull Ashthabhuja Lal deeper within the maze.
He shook his head, cursed himself and felt upset with himself but stayed stuck in the wardrobe. In front of him lay the spread of paraphernalia that had emerged from the wardrobe, for instance, his eldest daughter Dhanni’s feeding bottle from when she was a little child, an old frock and nappies that belonged to little Banni, his second daughter — now 24 and ready to get married, two bras with missing hooks belonging to his wife, an Arjoo brand replica of the iconic Taj Mahal, cheap books containing lyrics from old movies such as ‘Mere Mehboob’, bottles of cosmetics — mostly empty, from the days of his impetuous, passionate youth, a black and white portrait photograph in which a printed tie hung loosely from his neck and a meticulous Dev Anand pompadour was on proud display. And in the same wardrobe, he also found it…! The evidence of Mrs. Kusum Kumari’s sluttishness changed his life and everything it had been about. Suddenly, he found his entire existence vulgar; he began to abhor his own name. He felt a raging desire to decimate anyone who called him by his name.
*
The origin of Ashthabhuja Lal’s name was hidden in the story of his birth. The situation, from before his birth till he came to be, was complicated. His parents’ long-drawn struggle to have him was the reason they had named him thus. His mother Mano Dei was an exceptional beauty and an impressive personality. When Mano Dei’s father gave away in marriage the daughter, who had chirped around in his house for seventeen years, his house became gloomy. At the same time, the house of Jhoolan Lal, Assistant to the famous Chhapra Civil Court Lawyer Babu Hanumant Sahai, filled with auspicious gaiety.
For an entire month after the wedding, young Jhoolan Lal was seen neither at the court nor at his superior’s residence. He was busy feasting on delicious Mutton Salan, and the melodies of Mano Dei’s tinkling silver anklets. It was when Mano Dei started vomiting and the symptom was welcomed by her mother-in-law’s Sohar (folk songs sung to celebrate pregnancy and births) that Jhoolan Lal came back to the court.
After giving birth to seven daughters in rapid succession over the next eight years, when Mano Dei turned twenty-five, court intern Jhoolan Lal, now thirty-three, lost his patience and fell into a deep dark well of depression. Of the seven daughters, the firstborn passed away at two years of age. The second and the third one could not illuminate their parents’ household for more than a year each. The fourth and the fifth could bless the world for only a few hours. The mentally unstable sixth daughter also could not bring any honour to Mano Dei’s womb and died as soon as the seventh one started taking form inside Mano Dei. When their seventh child turned out to be stillborn, Jhoolan Lal visited Goddess Ashthabhuja’s temple, a divine Shaktipeeth, built outside the town on the banks of the river Saryu. He claimed his loyalty to the Goddess by hitting his head fiercely on the temple’s threshold and asking her Divineness for a son. In return, he promised to visit the temple every morning and evening for the rest of his life. The divine mother appeared in his dream the same night and blessed him. He woke up as soon as the Goddess vanished. In a trance of happiness upon having the divine interview, he reached the maternity room. Mano Dei lay there almost dead, like a bloodless corpse. Jhoolan Lal caressed his wife’s forehead. Mano Dei opened her eyes and looked at her husband. As she heard about divine blessing and the dream, she stared at her husband for the longest time with eyes seeking mercy — the eyes of a lamb facing the butcher’s knife.
Part 2
Eight years after that night, Mano Dei gave birth to Ashthabhuja Lal, her eighth child. However, Jhoolan Lal could not bear witness to this auspicious occasion. Having spent a lifetime praying to the Goddess, Jhoolan Lal had lost all hope and created for himself an aloof world. He seldom spoke and, with lacklustre eyes, kept staring into the sky for hours.
He felt no motivation to attend the court but had to earn a livelihood. So, he accepted whatever little amounts his clients offered without any negotiations. All around him lay an endless desert of hopelessness.
In times of such impenetrable despair, one morning when he returned from the temple, Mano Dei announced to him the news of her pregnancy. He felt happy at first. Then, he went down memory lane walking one day at a time through all the years, since the birth of their seventh stillborn child. He pressed hard but could not alight on any memory of the moment. He looked through every corner and deep alley of his past but he could not recall it. Finally, he gave up and asked his wife. Mano Dei was forthcoming and honest. She revealed everything to him.
That’s when he thought hard about his maternal cousin Bachnu Lal who had been staying with them as a permanent guest and working at the Civil Court. Jhoolan Lal took a long look at his wife. He remembered the near-lifeless figure of Mano Dei that had emerged from the maternity room when their seventh daughter was born. He kept staring at Mano Dei for a long while. He noticed the healthy pink glow of her fair and light skin, the beautiful gestures of her big and deep eyes, her frail skeleton supporting her huge breasts and heavy bottom. He weighed his own empire of frustration that had accumulated over the years. Comparing it to the beauty and the wellness that Mano Dei had accumulated, he did not live another month. One night after making his daily visit to the Ashthabhuja temple, he went to sleep, forever.
The pregnancy months went by. Mano Dei gave birth to a son. Jhoolan Lal registered his gratitude to the Mother Goddess by taking a bow from heaven. The son, born with the blessings of Goddess Ashthabhuja and after the birth of seven daughters, was named Ashthabhuja Lal by Mano Dei. She was proud of her victory against nature, society and misfortune, and thus baptized her son with this name with a great sense of pride. The name was a marriage of the religious beliefs of Ashthabhuja Lal’s father and the struggles of his mother. The very name whose story Ashthabhuja Lal would never miss a chance to proudly talk about had suddenly become his worst demon. That wardrobe had toppled the order of his life.
*
Mrs. Kusum Kumari returned with her entire extended family from her parents’ house. She had gone to Patna with her younger daughter Banni, to attend the wedding of her elder brother’s younger son. Her elder daughter Dhanni had also arrived there with her husband and children to attend her cousin’s wedding. So Mrs. Kusum Kumari returned with an entire army of daughters, sons-in-law, and grandchildren.
It was a Sunday. Ashthabhuja Lal hadn’t eaten anything this morning; instead, he’d laid on his bed hugging a pillow. He got up to answer the door, opened it and looked at his wife with narrowed eyes. Before anyone could even touch his feet and wish him, Ashthabhuja Lal quickly turned around and took refuge in the bathroom. The house that had felt like an abandoned old tavern for the last ten days came alive and began to feel like home. Both the grandchildren ran around making merry. Banni who had been waiting to get married and somehow controlling her rebellious youth, filled the entire household with her presence. Dhanni, having given birth to two sons and in return earned a huge belly, and a grand bottom in the five years of her married life lay on a cot struggling with a severe headache. The bank employee’s son-in-law Mukund Bihari Verma installed himself on the sofa in the drawing-room, and proceeded to lust over his sister-in-law Banni, flirting and salivating shamelessly. Mrs Kusum Kumari was busy displaying the gifts she received in her parents’ house — Boondi Laddoo, Sari with chunri print, cloth for Banni’s salwar kameez, and her husband’s kurta-pyjama. Dhanni’s gifts were in her suitcase. Mrs Kusum Kumari had returned triumphant; it wasn’t easy to get so many gifts from a house she had left thirty years ago, that too when her sisters-in-law were mean and her brothers their loyal pets. Although they had restrained their husbands from spending anything on gifts for her husband, Mrs Kusum Kumari succeeded in having her mother utilise her widow pension fund to arrange it. Ashthabhuja Lal emerged from the bathroom, looked at his wife sitting like the local grocer, with a heap of gifts in front of her, and moved away without saying anything. Mrs. Kusum Kumari said — “Listen! My sisters-in-law have gifted cloth for you — pure malmal velvet for your kurta.”
“For me?”, Ashthabhuja Lal turned around, and gave his wife a cold stare, then asked, “ Did they give it or did you beg them for it?”
The bullet hit the target and set it on fire. Mrs. Kusum Kumari lost her ground with this well-targeted offensive by her husband. Stammering, she said, “What’s wrong with you? Ever since I’ve come, I see you upset. You haven’t spoken a word. You haven’t even asked if the kids are okay.”
“Finish this circus you have brought from your parents’ house. There is a lifetime to be happy about other people’s prosperity… first, get me a cup of tea.”
Ashthabhuja Lal turned to go to the drawing-room. The son-in-law came and touched his feet. He embraced the son-in-law and blessed him. It seemed as though having fired the deadly shot, the tank had pulled back its gun and changed course. Mrs. Kusum Kumari felt totally defeated. Lying where she was, nervous, she watched naively as father and son-in- law met each other with such closeness. She tried to collect herself but failed miserably. In shock, she remained where she was.
Part 3
Somehow the day slithered past. Dhanni spent the day sleeping on account of her headache. Mukund Bihari Verma and Banni kept making moves towards each other, flirting behind the smokescreen of their relationship as jija-sali. Banni’s drapes flowed about and the bank clerk picked up its tailwind. Ashthabhuja Lal tried to ignore his wife, and buried himself in playing with the grandchildren. He wanted to laugh out loud at their innocent play and doings, but the truth hidden in his wife’s wardrobe repeatedly exploded against his heart with the might of a torpedo and bled his happiness away.
Mrs. Kusum Kumari remained busy the entire day. But even with all the busyness, her mind remained drenched in memories from her parents’ home. Thirty-year-old wounds had reopened. She had kept alive her hopes of reuniting with Niranjan Sahai long after Banni was born. Those were difficult years. To live with someone and live for someone else, was the equivalent of dying a thousand deaths with every passing moment. Dying every day while trying to live, she had buried the memories of Niranjan Sahai with great difficulty. Then, she somehow applied herself to bringing up her daughters. But like a genie that was now out of its bottle, this time, Niru…
She called him Niru! She still calls him Niru. That was how she ended up addressing him, that day.
Memories of Niru began to fly around like cotton puffs riding a serene wind. Her heart had taken over after years of silent hiding in the woods of inaction. Niru still smiles the same way. He still speaks emphasizing his syllables. His walk is still that of a proud bull. She sat amidst a crowd of women, and he still recognised her. Tearing through the crowd, he accosted her… and she couldn’t help but exclaim, Niru! … and Niru took in an eyeful of her. A drill pierced her hard stone cover right through to her wax core. Had she maintained her stance, may be… but she melted with just one look at Niru. She lowered her eyes.
“Kusum! Come here!” Niru called out.
Mrs. Kusum Kumari walked as if possessed by an unknown power. There were a few chairs placed in the courtyard next to the verandah. He pulled up two chairs, offered her a seat, then sat down and talked at length. He asked after the well-being of her husband and children. He asked why her husband could not attend the wedding. He called Dhanni, Banni, the son-in-law and the grandchildren and met them enthusiastically. He said that he had a daughter and two sons. The daughter was married and the elder son had settled abroad after his marriage. The younger one had joined a bank this year and lived with him. His wife had passed away about four years ago. He was doing well, and remained busy because of his law practice. His father Navrang Sahai was now an octogenarian and lived with him. A full-time nurse had been arranged for his care.
Mrs. Kusum Kumari would answer his questions; sometimes drowning in an old memory off the old vines, sometimes shying away lowering her eyes. They spent a fair bit of time together. Banni came and offered some tea to both of them. Finishing her cup of tea, Mrs. Kusum Kumari asked, “You will stay for some time, won’t you?”
“Yes, I will take the late-night train, the day after tomorrow. Kusum! It’s a busy house because of the wedding. We may not be able to speak again. I want to say something.” Niru’s voice grew serious.
Mrs. Kusum Kumari felt a chill run down her spine. “Yes?”
“Give Banni to me! I am looking for a good match for my younger son. I knew you would come to this wedding. Your mother told me about Banni. At first, I assumed that my son will take after his old man and fall in love, but I was disappointed. …and of course, I will ask for some dowry.” Niru said with a smile.
“What do you want in dowry?”
“All I want is to be in-laws with Banni’s mother. And Advocate Babu Niranjan Sahai gave a loud cheer of laughter.
Mrs. Kusum Kumari smiled and lowered her eyes, and her lips trembled softly to say, “I will write to you once I reach Chhapra.”
*
Every moment of this stay at her parents’ house became a sweet memory for Mrs. Kusum Kumari. Amidst the crowd, Niru’s eyes kept following her. For every ritual, whenever she adorned herself, she secretly desired that Niru see her. Niranjan Sahai almost waited for such moments and appeared suddenly.
During the last feast, Niru’s eyes followed her, and pierced her like a laser.
Mrs. Kusum Kumari’s heart was light and happy. Innumerable candles lit up every corner of her person. The tears she had shed during the initial years of her marriage now bloomed as fresh flowers… and floated about in the sky of her heart. She returned to Chhapra full of happiness. She couldn’t wait to tell her husband about the good news of Niru’s offer for Banni. She was sure that he would be extremely happy to be spared the hard work of finding a match for his daughter and arranging for a hefty dowry. But a different and altogether unpleasant mood seemed to be reigning here. Mrs. Kusum Kumari tried the entire day to strike a decent conversation with her husband but Ashthabhuja Lal did not relent at all. The more she tried to come near him, the harder she got kicked away.
Night fell. Everyone gathered at the dining table. Dhanni’s kids had already eaten and gone off to sleep. Ashthabhuja Lal was nibbling on roti with no enthusiasm. His wife asked, “Are you alright?”
Ashthabhuja Lal’s wounds lit up like a thousand suns. With fiery eyes, he stared deep at the wife, pushed away the plate, and left the table. Mrs. Kusum Kumari sat perplexed and clueless. Banni tried to lighten the atmosphere after her father left by flirting with her brother-in-law, but Dhanni put a stop to that with one solid gesture. The daylong exploration of flirtation with his wife’s younger sister thus came to an end. The bank clerk pulled himself within the boundaries of his dinner plate. Having rested for the day, Dhanni had decked herself up, was feeling good and was in no mood to let her treasure be usurped by anyone. Banni got up and collapsed for the night on the drawing-room sofa. Dhanni took over Banni’s bedroom with her husband. Mrs. Kusum Kumari left the table without eating, cleaned up, put the kitchen in order, and went to the terrace.
Part 4
It was the last week of May. The days were extremely hot and the nights were humid. People remained on their terraces till late in the night. In the old days, people would sleep outside their houses but now they had secured themselves with boundaries. They slept inside their houses or on the rooftops. …
The hot summer nights in Danapur Railway Colony flashed in Mrs. Kusum Kumari’s mind.
*
In the railway colony, people used to sleep on cots laid out on the street outside their respective quarters. Her father Vasudev Saharan was the goods clerk. TC Babu Navrang Sahay and Vasudev Sharan’s quarters were on opposite sides of the same lane. It was in these quarters that Mrs. Kusum Kumari and Niranjan Sahay Advocate spent the days of their childhood and adolescence. The sun, the moon and the stars in the skies over this very Danapur Railways Colony witnessed them toddling and then flying against the wind as youth arrived. It was here that a teenage Kusum celebrated her Niru’s success in the matriculation exam by gifting him the rare gift of his first kiss. It was in this colony that Niranjan Sahay was caught siphoning off money from his mother’s cash-box, and when his mother could not save him from his father’s wrath, Kusum threw herself over him and instead took the blows. It was here that everything unfolded. Little notes written on small pieces of papers evolved into long love letters. Upon failing his BA exams, and after having trailed the lanes of the city in frustration from dawn till late night, Niru found Kusum waiting for him, and swore to become a big man one day. Upon the lone end of this very colony lived Vasudev Sharan’s friend and Bachnu Lal’s brother-in-law, whose daughter’s wedding Mano Dei had just attended. He chose Kusum Kumari for her son Ashthabhuja Lal, who was working as a clerk in the registry office.
It was in this Danapur Railway Colony that their history was written with each passing moment. Before the hubbub of the wedding began, Niru said to Kusum — “You are leaving now. I am not at a stage in my life where I can stop you… but I want to meet you in private. In a day or two, relatives will flood the household and you won’t get a chance to come out. Can you come today…”
And that very night, behind Vasudev Sharan’s quarters, in the dark verandah of Bhartiya Rail Majdoor Sangh office, two souls and two bodies melted into a grand union. God not only became a witness to it but also helped them by saving them from getting caught. BA fail Niru could not stop the high-flying chariot of victorious and employed Ashthabhuja Lal. Niru silently served the wedding guests during the wedding feasts, helped in the wedding to the best of his ability, and blessed Mrs. Kusum Kumari as she left for her new home and new family. Ashthabhuja Lal came like a conquering hero and took Kusum Kumari away.
Ashthabhuja Lal was far from asleep. He felt as though he were writhing in pain sleeping on a bed of fire. As he closed his eyes, the wardrobe came back to haunt him. The wardrobe was like a nuclear reactor that had enclosed him to melt his entire existence. He tried to sleep, constantly tossing and turning. He tried to lie on his stomach; he tried to sleep on his back, but to no avail. When Kusum Kumari did not come to the bedroom in some time, he went searching for her.
Banni had succumbed on the sofa. Dhanni was locked up with her husband in the room. Dining table and kitchen — all empty! Where had Mrs. Kusum Kumari gone? He tiptoed up the stairs and reached the terrace, and saw Kusum Kumari lying on the bamboo chair, staring into the sky. He trotted back as silently as he had gone up. Kusum Kumari did not even realise that someone came and went away.
Part 5
With a deep sigh, Kusum Kumari came out of the sea of memories of the dark verandah of the Bhartiya Rail Mazdoor Sangh office located in Danapur Railway Colony. She gathered herself, and wiped her face with both her palms, and looked at the sky. She untangled her hair and knotted it up in a loose bun, came downstairs and went to her room. When Ashthabhuja Lal heard her coming, he turned his back to her and lay silent.
Mrs. Kusum Kumari lay beside her husband. For some time, she gazed at the walls of the room. With a special effort, she composed herself, crystallised her melting heart, and placing a hand on her husband’s back, said — “Listen! There is something important I need to discuss with you.”
“What!” said Ashthabhuja Lal, without turning towards her.
“Oh, turn around! I need to talk to you”, requested Kusum Kumari. “You don’t need to stare into my face to say it. Just say whatever it is you want to say!” hissed Ashthabhuja Lal.
“What are you angry about? … It’s not fair to punish me without even telling me what I have done to deserve it?...and what’s the use of talking like this?... turn to my side, then I will talk to you,” said Mrs. Kusum Kumari in a sweet voice, and tried to embrace Ashthabhuja Lal in her arms, softly massaging her husband’s back.
“Say what you need to say, quickly! I am feeling sleepy!” Ashthabhuja Lal wanted to remain untouched by his wife’s affection.
“No, first turn around! Look at me, I will talk only then.” She pressed her breasts into Ashthabhuja Lal’s back and bit softly between his shoulder and neck.
Ashthabhuja Lal turned around. Mrs. Kusum Kumari smiled while holding her husband who gave in to her old trick so easily. Then she said, “Look! You may shout at me and scold me as much as you want in front of our daughters, but please try to respect me when the son-in-law is around.”
For a while, Ashthabhuja Lal looked into wife’s eyes, and said — “What is it?”
“You remember Niru? Niranjan?… you met him at our wedding.”
“No! I don’t remember anyone.” Ashthabhuja Lal again looked deep into Mrs. Kusum Kumari’s eyes.
“Our quarter was right in front of their quarter. Navrang chacha’s quarter! Niranjan is a well-known advocate now. He practises in Bhagalpur. He owns a house. He has done well and has a lot of ancestral property… I spoke with him about marrying our Banni to his younger son. The boy is a bank officer. Both our sons-in-law will be bank employees. Both daughters will have similar statuses. They are from a grand family, and agreed only because of old time’s sake. My mother and brother also insisted. Now, he wants to come along with his son to see Banni. … actually, right next month.”
“Is he coming to see Banni, or to meet his old flame?” asked Ashthabhuja Lal, gritting his teeth. His eyes were red with anger and nostrils flared with rage.
“What is wrong with you?” Mrs. Kusum Kumari asked in a small voice.
“Nothing is wrong with me, although you seem to be getting ahead of yourself. Under the guise of marrying off a daughter you want to resume relations with your old lover! You slut!” roared Ashthabhuja Lal and like a tiger, climbed on top of Mrs. Kusum Kumari in a flash.
“Are you out of your mind..?”
Before Mrs Kusum Kumari could even finish her sentence, Ashthabhuja Lal slapped her with all his might, bent to one side of the bed, and collected a bundle of old letters. Throwing the bundle in Mrs. Kusum Kumari’s face, he continued his rant, “I have been burning since the day you left for Patna. Here, read your old lover’s letters.” Niru’s letters, written to her before her marriage, lay spread all over the bed. Ashthabhuja Lal was sitting on Mrs. Kusum Kumari’s chest. Volleys, slaps, and punches rained over her, as Ashthabhuja Lal held her with her hair and continued to vent his rage. He had been transformed into an eight-armed octopus gobbling up Mrs. Kusum Kumari in his tight hold.
It took Mrs. Kusum Kumari just one moment to understand the reason for his transformation. She was numb and overcome by the attack by her husband, but in a split-second, she decided that this was the right moment to break free of the octopus named Ashthabhuja Lal.
She gathered all her courage and got up with a strong jerk. Ashthabhuja Lal’s grip weakened and he was thrown off. Mrs Kusum Kumari stood up strongly and said, “Enough! Don’t even think about touching me anymore. You found these letters in the wardrobe, but you didn’t find your mother’s diary? It’s all written there. Go, read it for yourself! Your mother Mano Dei gave it to me as a keepsake before dying. It is written in Kaithi script. I read it after I learned the script from you. Go read it!.. And from tomorrow onwards, don’t introduce yourself as Ashthabhuja Lal, son of Jhoolan Lal… call yourself Ashthabhuja Lal, son of Bachnu Lal!
Ashthabhuja Lal lay on the bed like a load of dead vegetables. The mighty octopus had lost his multiple arms.
(Translated from Hindi by Swapnil Dixit, an IIT Kharagpur graduate and an MBA from Haas School of Business, University of California at Berkeley. Hrishikesh Sulabh is a Hindi writer best known for short stories and writing plays in Bideshiya Shaili.)
