Submission 8

A Telephone Call It all began with the telephone call. Her ageing mother had called from the other side of the country to say that Cousin Dheeraj would be in Savitri’s town and that she must invite him home for a meal. Ignoring Savitri’s reluctance and spluttering excuse, her mother continued with her usual defense, ‘What will Rajni say if she finds out that Dheeraj was in Jabalpur and you had not extended your hospitality to him?’ Rajni, the mother of the distant cousin, was unwell and not in a state to react to such a trivial matter, Savitri almost reminded her mother in anger, but like always, she held back the words. Her mother was getting old, yet social norms and obligations still determined her decisions, even at the cost of her own daughter’s happiness. ‘Forget what happened, Savitri. Dheeraj is a successful business man now and might even be able to help Sudeep with some business matters’, her mother said almost nonchalantly, dismissing Savitri’s concerns like she had that night, twenty years ago. Even her mother’s recommendations that she should make Dheeraj’s favourite dessert gulab jamun for dessert, added to the bitter taste in Savitri’s mouth. Like most times, the decision had been made, without her consent. The aroma of the vegetable biryani and palak paneer engulfed the small kitchen and the rest of the house. Wiping the beads of sweat on her forehead with the pallau of her sari, Savitri silently moved from the refrigerator to the stove, with grace that belied the roaring pace of her thoughts. She was putting together a sumptuous meal, but each moment leading up to the fateful dinner that night, felt like a reminder of all that she had forced herself to forget. She felt herself drawn back into the past as each second played out in her mind.

Struggling to prevent her rising nausea, Savitri closed her

eyes and gripped the kitchen counter for support. She was twelve years old lying on a bed, engrossed in a teenage romance novel. It was a lazy, summer afternoon and the familiar sound of the ceiling fan complemented the stillness in the rest of the house. He entered the room with a gentle smile, cautiously proceeding as Savitri sat up in bed and put her book down. He was a distant cousin who was visiting for a few days. Up until that moment, Savitri had not said much to him, other than the required pleasantries. But, then again, Savitri was a shy child, lost in her own world of books and day dreaming. ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you’, he had asked almost apologetically, sitting

down on the edge of the bed. He appeared to be in his early twenties with quite an ordinary face, Savitri noted to herself. Little did she know then that it was a face that would haunt her for many years to come. ‘Not at all’, Savitri had replied, with an awkward pause that often accompanies moments of unsure conversation. Not one with exceptional social skills, Savitri tried to make small talk while attempting to cover her ankles with her skirt. And then almost suddenly, she felt his hand on her thigh. She pulled back in fright, paralyzed and speechless with shock and fear. The hands had grabbed and touched, leaving a crawling sense of repulsion all over her body. The consoling words with an unusually calm voice that was revolting beyond anything she had thought possible. Then, she had run from the room blinded by rage and tears, a sense of violation and agony pervaded her thundering heartbeat and every pore in her body. The cousin had departed the next day, leaving behind an unforgettable scar that Savitri believed would last a lifetime. Later, replaying the scene several times in her head, she was still not sure how he had managed to hide his intentions behind the warm smile. For a while she had even blamed herself, but for exactly what she was not sure yet. Engulfed in a shroud of shame and inconsolable tears, she had confessed to her mother. Her mother had hugged her with tears in her eyes, held her close, but instead of threatening to confront the cousin, had tried to convince her that there was nothing they could do about it. ‘Beti, we cannot say anything. It would ruin the family relations‘, had been her mother’s exact weak words. Years later, she would remember, that it was precisely when her mother had asked her to keep the incident to herself, in order to protect the family name, that had defined her existence for many years after that. It had been the final blow. Forced back to the present by the excruciating scream that threatened to erupt from her throat, Savitri ran to her daughter’s room. Nisha, a modern teenager of the new generation was very unlike her mother. She was boisterous, with a sharp wit and bold opinions. But, the scene was uncannily familiar. Nisha was lying on her stomach in the room as she browsed through a magazine. Her skirt had ridden up, exposing her calves and a little bit of her thigh. The fan had been replaced by an air-conditioner, yet it still showed a teenage girl who lay unprotected to a devious mind. With an earth defying maternal instinct, Savitri rushed towards her daughter and pulled her into an embrace. Nisha unaccustomed to such powerful forms of display from her mother, squirmed in her clutch. ‘You must go to the

neighbour’s house and stay there until I call you’, Savitri ordered her daughter. ‘But, I have to do my homework and finish a project’, was her daughter’s quick retort. ‘No, no, you must go, as we have guests and you will not be able to study’, Savitri continued with the fervour of a possessed woman. Although unconvinced, the urgency in her usually subdued mother’s voice, cautioned Nisha to refrain from further discussion and pack her things. Returning to the kitchen to knead the dough, Savitri prepared herself for the next battle. Getting Nisha out of the house had been a small victory, she did not want that man to even see her daughter, let alone cast a bad nazar on her. Since that fateful day, she had constantly fought a bitter battle with herself, the battle of staying silent. After all, she was partly to blame for bringing this situation back upon herself. If only she had been assertive enough to tell her mother that she did not want that man in her house, rather than getting her daughter out of the house, things might be different. The sound of the doorbell was a painful reminder of what lay ahead, almost interchangeable with that dreadful summer day. The intensity of pain, outrage and fear that Savitri had felt over the years, came back with a force she did not know she had, as she attempted to fix her sari and mangal sutra with trembling fingers. Taking a few deep breaths and chanting a prayer, Savitri opened the door to her past. Their eyes met and Savitri felt like she was in the midst of her worst nightmare. Reeling from the nausea of coming face to face with her perpetrator, she offered a weak smile with an inaudible hello. So many years later, his face still held the same warm smile that camouflaged his real motives. Oblivious to his wife’s turmoil, Sudeep, was talking animatedly about the new project he was working on. ‘Yes, yes, we must collaborate and work together Dheeraj’, he proposed, continuing the conversation that had begun earlier in the car, on the way back from the hotel where the cousin had been staying. Savitri quickly disappeared into the kitchen to bring out the pakoras and chutney and avoid further conversation. Sometime later, as Savitri bustled around the kitchen preparing to serve dinner, almost miraculously she felt an unusual calm take over. The moments leading up to this night had been so unnerving that she had almost forgotten to breathe. Thankfully, the conversation in the living room had been dominated by her husband, as she had little to say anyway. But, for some odd reason, she felt more in control now.

Dinner conversation was quite the usual.‘How are your wife and children?’, Savitri interrupted as politely as she could, secretly pitying them for their misfortune of being associated with this man.

‘Oh, they are

doing very well’, he replied quickly, without divulging any further details of their well being. She had heard from her mother that he had two sons, information that had made her thankful that he did not have a daughter. Savitri silently followed the rest of the conversation, interrupting only long enough to suggest another roti or some more biryani. Even then, she averted her eyes, lest she feel the need to reach across the table and grab him by the collar, so he finally admitted to his wrongdoing and felt some remorse. But, all she saw was a content and unashamed smile that guarded all his darkest thoughts and secrets. Nonetheless, the idea of lunging across the table at him made her want to smile, even though it was quite absurd and improbable. Engrossed in the deep abyss of her thoughts, the smile turned into a hysterical laugh that escaped her mouth before she could stop it. Sudeep stopped his sentence mid way and stared at his wife in surprise. According to him, Savitri had been acting a little out of sorts all evening. All through dinner she had politely ignored her cousin, while he had tried to be a good host and engage the guest with business discussions, he thought to himself. And, now clearly she had let out a loud laugh, quite uncalled for in his opinion, during a conversation of stock market woes. Asking to be excused, Savitri ran to the kitchen where she muffled her growing laughter in the folds of her red sari pallau, as tears mixed with kajal streamed down her cheeks. It was an overflow of emotions that went much beyond the present moment. It was a release that had been many years in the making. She leaned against the kitchen sink, grateful that her initial anxiety had passed. Composing herself, she realized that by letting go, it did not hurt as much. She was not the same scared child and it was not the same summer afternoon anymore. The child had been replaced by a woman and a mother. It was a few minutes before she heard her husband call out to her, ‘Savitri, are you ok?’ ‘Yes, I’m coming’, she replied, walking back into the living room. Ever so often, she still thinks about that incident and marvels at the courage with which she had returned to the table with a stronger gait and sparkling eyes. Something had changed in that moment and her eyes said it all. And, for the first time it was with her consent. With a look of imperceptible understanding, the cousin gathered his

things and left soon after. ‘Oh no, Dheeraj, you must stay for dessert and chai’, her husband had insisted. ‘No, I have some work to finish up at the hotel. I must leave’, had been the disguised reply. The gulab jamun and melting vanilla ice cream remained untouched as Savitri reached for the phone to call her mother.