Fate

July 15, 2015, Calcutta (Kolkata), India

Sutopa just got back from the nursing home. Her face was overburdened with feelings - crestfallen, etiolated, petrified, qualmish, and stupefied. It was 1 p. m. She thought of informing her husband, who was at work, but she hesitated. Over the last few weeks, she was feeling torpid and looking wan. As advised by many she went to visit the doctor. Dr. Nag was reputed and it took three weeks to get the appointment. Even though the doctor was good at her craft, she directed her to carry out several tests from blood to Colonoscopy. Today her MRI test report was to be delivered and she went to the nursing home to collect it. Sutapa was a devoted homemaker. Even with such weakness, she performed all her duties, obedient to habit. The last few days have been hectic for her because of the medical tests. That could not hinder her dedication though she could not stick to her routine with the kind of precision she has been categorically associated with.

One hour ago, in the nursing home, Sutapa saw in the MRI report that she was affected by lung cancer. She retained her composure and earnestly asked the nurse there about the possible fate. She helplessly begged the nurse to know how grave her condition was. ‘I know I am going to die, consider it a dead woman's wish. Please tell me.’ The nurse refused to answer strictly abiding by the code of the hospital. ‘I do not know. Ask the doctor during your appointment. I cannot say.’ Sutapa rejecting this reply insisted ‘Please what is your guess?’ ‘You are making me uncomfortable.’ ‘Please tell me I beg you.’ The nurse realized that Sutapa was not going to relinquish till she got a proper reply from her. With compassion for the teary eyes of the wretched woman, working in collaboration, she replied at last, ‘Okay. I can say this much.’ She took a long pause. ‘Last year, somebody had a similar report and his age was’ glanced Sutapa’s report again ‘he was 2 years younger than you and he happened to live for eight more months.’ This is all I can say. ‘So eight months.’ Sutopa said with a tone that demonstrated that she had accepted reality. ‘But these things vary from person to person plus he was of the opposite gender.’ ‘So it can be less than eight months ’, she said -this time with a smile. She tried to indicate that she had led a satisfactory life and that she was prepared to face the inevitable with prowess. The nurse stumbled to reply ‘No, no I meant the opposite. You may live longer.’ ‘Thank you.’ said Sutapa as if the words of nurse’s last reply did not reach the auditory nerve of hers. She left the nursing home for her house, still smiling and there was a glow in her face - a glow of enlightenment. The nurse was perplexed and there was a guilty feeling acting. She went against the medical doctrines.

Sutopa went inside the bedroom closed the door, sat on the floor, insipid and lachrymose. The dams in her eyes broke and water came out effusively. She could not pretend anymore. All of a sudden she felt that she did not live her life enough. Suddenly the longing to live gushed in with equal pace and volume as the salty solution that was pouring out from her eyes. She sat leaning on the door, slippers still on her feet. The gallantry she displayed in the nursing home was ephemeral. She was not that brave after all, she was just as ordinary as any ordinary person. The image of her mother's face flashed. She started crying louder. The things she cherished the most and things she would miss started to project on her eyes incessantly like cars on a high road. Her childhood, schooldays, family, friends, her wedding. Their wedding video got damaged in a house fire but the wedding sequence is fresh in her memory. It was an arranged marriage. She talked to her husband for the first during the wedding. She was so excited to follow the rituals of the wedding- the turmeric bath, the seven-time circling of fire, the exchange of garland of marigold between husband and wife, the application of sindoor on her forehead by husband, the singing, dancing. She remembered her first kiss with her husband Sashada on the wedding night and that made her blush.

Sashada Adhikari was from an affluent family and grew up in a small palace-like house where the number of servants was more than the family members themselves. Sashada had a lineage of landlords (zamindar). Half a century ago the practice of land-lordship was abolished by the government. As a result, the significance and opulence of the family got diminished considerably. Though Sashada’s family retained some of the symbols of heritage consciously or subconsciously. The tone with which they spoke still had the temperament of aristocracy and overlordship. There was an alluring rotund elegance, reminiscent of their glorious past, both in their attitude and in the mansion. From his childhood, Sashada enjoyed a privileged life. Although he did not receive the crown of overlordship, he grew up kind of being treated as the putative king of the ancestral properties. The cosseted son became fanciful and indolent as an adult. Jogging and physical exercise were some of those expeditions he had never really undertaken. He made the least physical movement possible on a daily basis. He had never frowned which was probably one reason for his glabrous forehead. He simplified his life by paring commitments from his schedule. He had a coterie of managers to take care of his business. Their affluence was dwindling but that did not bother Sashada. He preferred to work as an owner and manager of a renowned saree shop. The shop had so many workers that he did not have to do anything. The shop was gradually losing the charisma that it attracted but that could not make Sashada worried. The shop was at a convenient location, not far from his house, hardly one and a half kilometers walk. Nevertheless, Sashada went to his shop by car, driven by his driver. He did not know driving-never felt the need to or the urge to learn driving.

His wife was so immaculate with organization capabilities well surpassed by. They were a childless couple. Sutopa had two miscarriages early in their married life, after which they did not try again. This was mostly at Sashda's insistence. Probably he felt it was a fortune in disguise, a godsend way to eschew the responsibility of raising children. Sashada carried a feeling that by going to the shop he was doing more than enough for the family. He never gave a hand in household work. He never felt like doing any chores. His wife was fed up as well as habituated this kind of lifestyle. In the initial years of their marriage, Sutopa did not feel it a burden to single-handedly take care of the family. At the beginning of marriage, people generally have enthusiasm. She considered it as a sacred duty to serve her husband. She did not have any other exposure other than the relation between her parents and her mother was also a hardworking homemaker. She thought her situation was no different from other housewives. Sashada used to wake up after eight in the morning and on some days after nine. He needed tea at his bed. His wife had to monitor when he woke up. Sashada did not like delays. Sutopa used to start preparing tea at eight sharp so that if Sashada woke up at eight he had to wait for five minutes only. If Sashada woke between 8: 10 to 8: 20, he would get the same tea reheated. After 8: 20, the tea would be thrown away and fresh tea would be prepared. In the process she some days ended up making tea four times and wasting one less number of times. His wife used to hand over tea along with morning's newspaper. Sashada gazed at the front-page headlines. He read the rest in his shop. He did not even fetch his towel when he went to take a bath. It was his wife's duty to provide him with the towel and after his bath let the towel dry. He had no idea as to where most items of the house were. When it came to finding something Sashada was a stranger in his own house. His wife used to take out the cloth from the cupboard, which he would wear to his shop. At that time she could afford one extra servant so that she did not feel the burden, but she chose not to. Not long ago, she realized that she had a hand in his husband's laziness and antipathy towards household works. He tried his best to stay away from responsibility or work of any kind. She used to say, ' What will you do without me? What will you do without me?' a lot. One day she even inadvertently said, 'You will have to do all this stuff on your own if I die. 'Sashada had replied, 'Do not worry. I am elder than you. I shall die before you.

Sutopa’s morning used to start early at 6 AM. After waking up she used to nurture and water her garden and pluck jasmine, marigold, and hibiscus flowers to offer to God. Then she used to take shower and perform worship rituals. After that, she used to give instructions to the workers of her house. The wealthy would never do something as plebian as cook their food. They had a cook to prepare lunch and dinner. Sutapa utilized her time well. She ran a school for the underprivileged. With no contribution from her husband, she did all the household work, off course she was assisted by servants. She performed the family’s duty of maintaining social relationships. Sashada completely relied on this accountant for maintaining his account sheet. Sutapa was not supportive of the idea of blindly entrusting outsiders with accounts. Time and again Sutapa checked the financial transaction book for mistakes.

Sutapa's mind got surrounded by mounds of assorted artifacts from her life. Her mind got drowned in the piles of missives from her father. She remembered the lazy Saturday afternoons - dressed in a boldly variegated pajama Sashada used to smoke branded cigarettes and watched the passersby in the streets below from the aerie of his penthouse apartment while Sutapa in a saree which was a confection of diaphanous silk made of thin fabric used to read some friction. At regular intervals, Sutapa used to serve to her husband high-quality Assam tea as the music system kept on playing old melodies. She remembered a funny incident and she giggled in the same state of bewilderment as the fearful catastrophe. Sutapa’s mind suddenly deviated from past tense to future tense. She could see her last rites being conducted before her cremation. She is lying on a small bed-like structure, with chandan (sandalwood juice) design on her forehead, a garland of marigold on her neck, family members crying. She could not bear it and went back to her childhood days. She found herself in her friend’s house playing hide and seek. Suddenly a Bengali song played on her cellphone ‘What do you mean by 'Thought', my friend. What do you mean by 'Pain'….’ which interjected Sutapa’s journey to her childhood. Sashada called Sutapa’s cell phone. It was 4 PM. The first time she did not pick up the phone, the phone rang again after five minutes. She was still sitting on the floor. With a violent effort, she overcame her grief, wiped her cheeks, vehemently pretended to be in a normal state, picked up the phone, and said in a calm voice, ‘Ha bolo (yes say)’. ‘You got the report from the nursing home’ ‘How is it?’ ‘It is alright. Everything is normal’. ‘Ok glad to know.’ How will she divulge the egregious news to her husband? Her world came crashing down to contemplate how her over-dependent husband will be able to survive without her. Her husband did not have any idea of where household things were. Sashada never even prepared tea himself, never washed his clothes, never fixed bedsheets. Sutapa used to bring out clothes for him, iron them, and even give them for cleaning after they got dirty.

Train of depressing thoughts bombarded her. She lost track of time. She did not realize that it was way past Sashada’s usual arrival time. The phone rang tearing through the eerie silence shaking Sutapa. Unknown number. ‘Hello’. ‘Is this Mr. Sashada Adhikari’s residence?’ ‘Yes, it is’ ‘May I know your relationship with Mr. Adhikari’ ‘I am his wife. May I know who is calling and what is this about?’ ‘Madam, it is the police calling. I am sorry to inform you that your husband met with an accident in his car. He is no more. Can you please....’