Excerpt Bandaged Moments : Stories of Mental Health by Women Writers from Indian Languages By Nabanita Sengupta, Nishi Pulugurtha
Excerpt Bandaged Moments : Stories of Mental Health by Women Writers from Indian Languages By Nabanita Sengupta, Nishi Pulugurtha
Prabhas would come early morning and be with the construction workers here. He not only had to deal with sand, cement, price of iron rods, design of grills, details of bathroom fittings but also had to negotiate with the local club and party honchos. He was then a young man of about 23 or 24. His elder son is now that age and yet he had to be served rice and fish curry and his tiffin of bread and butter had to be packed for him to take to college. And to think of what he had to do at that age! He had to carry sacks of cash for party honchos to their table. Not one or two rupees but ten lakhs. Or else they refused to allow the construction work to go on. He had carried that money in a jute bag covering it with a few Tangail saris and travelled by bus.
After all this work, the building came into existence and everyone from Nabadwip moved to stay here. Family members who were scattered all over Kolkata now found a place to stay. There is a pleasure in staying in a house that one had built singlehandedly. However, Prabhas was not able to enjoy that feeling. On one hand there was the hurry to be at the shop each morning. It wasn’t an easy route from Kestopur to Burra Bazar and on top of it everyone who lived in the building believed that Prabhas had the solution to all their problems. If someone didn’t have a mug in the bathroom, if there was a broken tile in someone’s kitchen, if a maid had to be found for someone, Prabhas was called to attend to all. Initially, he liked it but soon he got irritated. Maybe there would have been major issues and quarrels had his uncle not got him married. This was the first time that Prabhas’s days in the new house all of a sudden became blissful. Everything seemed nice. He reacted to everyone’s unjust demands with a smiling face.
Jaba did not have a sharp nose, her eyes could be described as small, but her skin colour compensated for everything. She had beautiful hair and always had a smile on her face. Jaba had lost her father and most of her family members lived in Kishoreganj in Bangladesh. Wearing heavy ornaments made in Bangladesh, Jaba entered the threshold not just of the house but of Prabhas’s heart as well. She walked into the house after the ritual where a new bride dips her feet in milk and alta and walks into her new home. For a few years after marriage there was so much of joy in the body and the heart. Tutun and Mithuya followed one after the other. Jaba immersed herself in domesticity, cooking and caring for her children. At night she answered to Prabhas’s desires and never gave excuses, no matter how exhausted or tired domesticity rendered her, unlike other wives.
Is this that Jaba, or is this her ghost? Jaba was seated in a corner of the bed making sure she could be away from any kind of touching. Two plaits on two sides with red ribbons folded into flowers, tied to them too. Those red flowers swayed like danger signals in front of Prabhas. He could take it no longer. He decided to send for his younger brother-in-law and send her away to Bangladesh. His mother-in-law should know the condition in which he was living.
