Atasi

I can no longer recall exactly when or how I first met her. My memory, though, can hardly be blamed for that. There was nothing about Atoshi that could be called extraordinary. What struck you were her two eyes. Those strangely beautiful, eloquent eyes always brought to mind the poem "Banalata Sen." "Eyes like a bird's nest!"

Atoshi was not beautiful at all, yet her dark face seemed to sway with a loose, languid grace. I remember those incomparable eyes of hers. I took to her from our very first meeting. I had asked my mother, "Ma, why are you hemming and hawing so much? She's not really that ugly. Besides, the way Uncle..."

What more could a son say to his mother? Atoshi was my uncle's daughter, his only daughter. And my mother was Uncle's only sister, and I her sole treasure.

My uncle was a very wealthy man. That was his only child. From childhood I'd heard that Uncle was very fond of me. But that remained just hearsay. I never had the good fortune to see him with my own eyes. The reason was that he had gone to England on business, married a foreign woman there, and simply never returned home. Letters would come from there—he would inquire after us and send financial help when needed.

Then suddenly one day, without telling anyone, Uncle returned and immediately took to his bed. We learned that the foreign woman had died in an accident. Uncle couldn't bear the grief of losing his wife and became completely bedridden. His daughter Atoshi was then seventeen or eighteen. She was the sole inheritor of Uncle's entire fortune. My mother used to say that Uncle was deeply worried about his dark-skinned daughter—this too I heard from Mother's lips.

Even then, I hadn't met either Atoshi or her father. I lived in the hostel. A final-year student. There was never time. Yet even without seeing them, listening to my mother's proud descriptions of their wealth, I understood one thing quite clearly: my parents' deepest wish was for Atoshi to become their daughter-in-law, or else Uncle's vast fortune would slip away. But despite such sincere desire, Mother somehow never dared speak this thought aloud directly, ending her sentences with a long, heavy sigh: "Oh dear, all of brother's hard-earned money will be squandered by some wastrel!" I would say, "Why would anyone squander it?"

"Won't they!" Mother would exclaim sharply. "Won't they indeed! Your uncle is dying. And then whoever that girl marries will live off that wealth for fourteen generations, won't he?"

I would console her: "Let them squander it, or throw it away. After all, he'd be Uncle's son-in-law! Why should that upset you so much, Ma?"

Mother would say in a broken voice, "Why shouldn't it bother me? He's not one of seven or five brothers—he's my only brother. His blood-and-tears money will be wasted later, and I, as his sister, will just watch helplessly, unable to say a word?"

Yet if Mother wished, she could become the owner of all this wealth, and how that might happen was not beyond my understanding; still, I remained silent. And why Mother, even as a mother, couldn't express this heartfelt desire to her child became crystal clear to me that day.

That day I had gone to visit them, hearing that Uncle's illness was worsening. I went to see him. I'd been there a few times before, and went again that day. The afternoon hadn't yet reached its full glory. A thin layer of golden sunlight still shimmered on the tree leaves and the green grass of the lawn. There I saw her. Wrapped in a golden-yellow sari, with vermillion on her forehead, possessor of those wonderfully large, dark eyes—that dark-complexioned girl. She stood by Uncle's bedside, holding the bed's footboard. I called to her softly. She looked up, startled. Then quickly fled through another door. I smiled to myself. How could I not smile! This had happened once or twice before when we'd met, and she'd done exactly the same thing. For some reason, whenever she saw me, she'd do this! It's not as if I'm a tiger or bear who'd devour her!

Someone who had spent seventeen springs of her life in England shouldn't suffer from such awkwardness. Still, I thought, who knows, perhaps she's terribly shy! But why such shyness? Her mother was a white woman, and I'd heard she was renowned for her beauty. Yet the daughter turned out dark. But should that cause such self-consciousness? That hesitant, shy gaze of those two black doe eyes touched me deeply. I'm not ashamed to say now—I think I fell in love with her eyes.

She never wanted to come and stand before me. Never spoke a word, not even by mistake. Yet I could sense the tender touch and sincere hospitality of that secluded woman's two hands. Atoshi would send tea for me through the servant, but I could immediately tell whose arrangement it really was. Who else knew how to place tuberose sticks so beautifully on a tea tray! Who else had the refinement to buy tissues and perfume them! Through such gestures she had firmly established herself in my heart.

If I were some stranger to Uncle, that would be one thing. But wasn't I her own relative? So that day when Atoshi fled swiftly with a deer's rhythm, I smiled and hatched a plan. After finishing business talk with Uncle, I came to the drawing room and saw the usual refreshment plate. Nearby, a modest arrangement of tuberose flowers. Ignoring all this, I buried myself in an English magazine. The servant boy came to urge me on. The tea was apparently getting cold and turning to water. I paid him no heed. I said, "Hey, listen, call your mistress here once."

The boy seemed not to understand. Seeing him stare at my face like a fool, I snapped at him. "What's wrong? Didn't you hear me! I told you to call your mistress, didn't I?"

Y... y... yes... I don't know how long it would have taken him to finish that stammered word, but before then the curtain stirred. Atoshi appeared silently. Her eyelashes weren't moving. I said, "Come, Atoshi. Come sit here. We haven't even had a proper conversation."

She remained standing. "Come, Atoshi. Come on!" I pleaded.

Atoshi came. Sat down. I said, "What's wrong? Won't you talk to me?"

Atoshi remained silent. Her eyes were brimming somehow.

"Atoshi!" I called in a deep voice.

Atoshi stirred. Pulled open a drawer. Took out a pencil. Taking a piece of paper, she bent down and scribbled something quickly. Then she looked up. Met my eyes with hers. Her eyelashes trembled. I saw a few drops of water glistening.

"Atoshi, why are you crying?" I was astonished.

Atoshi jumped up. Thrust the paper into my hand and ran away. I stood stunned for several moments by the suddenness of it all. Then I looked at the paper. I didn't blink for some time. I was thunderstruck. Atoshi had written in English: "I cannot speak."

All night long my eyes wouldn't close. Atoshi was mute! Was it because Atoshi was mute that her eyes were so eloquent? I tried to banish Atoshi from my heart. I saw it wouldn't happen. Those unblinking eyes of the speechless girl somehow kept gazing within my mind.

Uncle died. Before leaving, he placed Atoshi's two hands in mine. Without ceremony, Atoshi became my wife. I became wealthy. My prestige swelled—not just my mother's, but all our relatives' too. Social status is a real thing, after all. How could one manage with a mute wife? My own disillusionment didn't take long either.

Someone who loves you or doesn't love you but can never once say so aloud, who only opens two beautiful eyes and becomes like a mirror's reflection—how could such a person not become unbearable? I grew irritated.

Then there was my meeting with Mousumi—my friend's sister. She had grown despondent about my future. My friend, Mousumi's elder brother Harun, called me "hopeless." This is how someone ruins their life! There's still time left, why won't I learn what's good for me? It's true, isn't it! Is Harun wrong? How beautiful Mousumi is! How sweet her voice! What Otoshi couldn't become even while living abroad, Mousumi has become right here. How effortless, how free of inhibition! In a single day, she became so close to me. Mousumi is just like a talking dove. She loves me. Every moment she invites me. We turn night into dawn with endless conversations on the cell phone. Otoshi lies silently on the bed. I adorn my failed nights with garlands of words. Mousumi sings to me over the phone. And Otoshi? She neither draws me close nor pushes me away, only gazes with a strange, curious look.

One day I finally said the ultimate thing to Otoshi.

She continued looking at me just as she always did.

I said, "I'm going to get married." Amazing! She nodded her head in agreement.

I said, "Won't you feel bad, Otoshi?"

She smiled. Otoshi's teeth are very beautiful. Her smile too is quite sweet. I was amazed. I had never seen Otoshi so exuberant. But in the preparations for my wedding, how graceful she became.

One day after another fell away like turning pages. And I too seemed to be losing enthusiasm somehow. Otoshi's silent eyes would pierce me with their unblinking, wide gaze, lodging like a fine thorn of pain somewhere inside my chest. I didn't like it. I avoided facing Otoshi whenever possible, yet how strange—she didn't sulk even once, didn't shed a single tear! Rather, seeing such festivity in the house, she bustled about constantly. Still, seeing those work-weary, sweat-moistened lips with their forced smile, all my peace and comfort began to vanish.

That day was my gaye holud ceremony.

Before this, there had been no celebration at all in the house for Otoshi's wedding. Mother had somehow managed the bride-welcoming ceremony. All the relatives had been displeased. Hardly anyone had bothered to come. Their sentiment was: "An only son, and he brings home a mute bride! Shame!" Therefore, this time everyone rolled up their sleeves and got to work. No one paid any attention to my opinion. The house was like a proper relief camp! Seeing the spectacle, Otoshi seemed quite amused. Only I remained dejected and wordlessly ashamed.

The wedding procession would leave at eight in the evening; preparations were underway. Mother dressed me up with her own hands. I felt sad thinking that no one was thinking about the helpless girl. She has no one to think of her! No one even counts her as existing! At the moment of departure, my heart somehow felt heavy. Fearfully, I stepped into Otoshi's room.

For some days now, our beds had been separated. I had thought I would surely see tears in Otoshi's eyes this time. After all, she's human, made of flesh and blood. Just because she can't speak, does that mean she has no sorrow or pain? But in that brilliantly lit room flooded with fluorescent light, seeing the girl sitting before the dressing table with her lips to a glass of water, sandalwood-anointed, I was stunned.

Is this my speechless, shy bride Otoshi! I felt as if she was the bride at my wedding. The complete adornment of a new bride covered Otoshi's entire form. She hadn't even forgotten to apply the forehead dot. I stared with wide eyes. She looked as beautiful as a goddess today. Putting down the water glass, Otoshi applied lipstick to her lips again. Meeting my eyes, she smiled mischievously. Coming forward, like on the first wedding night, she touched my feet and saluted me.

Forgetting everything, I pulled Otoshi to my chest and said, "Otoshi, what will happen now, tell me! I won't go. I can't leave you no matter what, Otoshi." Now tears came to Otoshi's eyes. Within my tight embrace, the weeping Otoshi trembled and shook. After a few moments, freeing herself, Otoshi lifted her tear-wet eyes and pleaded with me. With gestures, she showed me the way. She was telling me to go.

I said, "No, Otoshi! This cannot be. Why didn't you stop me all this time, tell me?" Otoshi smiled wanly. I noticed that her sandalwood-anointed forehead had broken into sweat. As if caught in some unbearable drowsiness, Otoshi was swaying. She seemed to be trying desperately but couldn't keep her eyes open. Still, again and again she raised her index finger and pointed to the open door. I came and placed my hand on her shoulder.

"Otoshi, are you in pain?" She shook her head "no." Otoshi's eyes were now completely closed. Her lips were trembling. Otoshi seemed to be trying to say something. Otoshi! Otoshi! I called out with all the warmth of my heart. But she seemed to have no strength left. Otoshi's head fell unconscious onto my chest. The entire house erupted in commotion. The doctor came. But alas! Understanding everything, Otoshi had dissolved and swallowed seven sleeping pills together—bringing her back was not so easy!

Wounded Otoshi never returned. Whether Otoshi knows or not, I don't know, but I had truly returned. The bride of my second wedding...she too was Otoshi. The wedding procession didn't have to return that day, because the words that Otoshi could never utter with her mouth, those very words I understood clearly that night on her final bridal night...Otoshi loved me.