Bokul (Hasnahana Gogoi)

It feels like I’m thrown into discomfiture nowadays when I am asked my name.

I was always rich regarding names. My parents named me Zinnat. Everybody in the house cut that short and called me Zina, sometimes even Zinu. My friends at school and later on in college cut that name in a more fashionable way by calling me Jin (although the teachers always used my full name Zinnat Nehar). When grandfather was alive he used to call me Bokul which made me angry as I didn’t like that name at all. But all my relatives called me Guddu which was my favourite. And more than favourite was the name Nava called me, Jaan. Yes, I was Nava’s Jaan.

It was in the last year of my college days that I met Nava. I still remember the day I saw him for the first time. It was the last day of Ramzan and the next day was the day of celebration. My sisters, Raziya and Asfiya, and I went to the nearby market to buy stuff for the next day. The market place was crowded and busy; people everywhere seemed to be in a hurry. They offered alms to the many beggars present as everyone was happy. We too were very happy. The girls were flying from one shop to another like butterflies picking up sundry little things and I had to follow them everywhere. Then in the bangle shop, suddenly I discovered that I was under someone’s gaze. A shiny pair of eyes. I stole a glance at the gazer. A plain but affectionate face. The guy was standing just a few paces away from us. It was not an unusual thing; in fact, it was one of the very common things that had been happening for a few years then. The only unusual thing that happened was my becoming nervous at once. I saw the pair of eyes following me wherever we went. I got agitated and tried to finish our shopping as soon as possible. The girls wanted to stay longer but I was not ready to stay any more. On our way back, I had the feeling as if someone was stalking us.

That was the beginning. After a couple of days I saw the guy with shiny eyes while coming out of the house of one of my relatives. Then again in my college. He was following me everywhere, at the college gate, in the market, at the book shop, restaurants and where not! I wondered why the fellow did not try to talk to me even when he got the chance; all that he did was to stand in a comfortable corner and pass affectionate looks. There was such a deep feeling in his eyes that it caused a tinkling somewhere inside me. I couldn’t remember when I fell for this innocent and silent lover of mine. One day we started talking without any formality and thus started our story.

Every day after college we dated. Sometimes even during college hours I went out with him. Nava had an old bike and being the least hesitant I went with him sitting on the back seat. Such was the power of love. So blind was I that it was quite inexorable on my part not to go with him. I did not know much about him except that he was from one of the villages though and that he worked in a wine shop. What mattered to me at that moment was that Nava loved me and I too was in love with him. I knew he had money. Enough money to spend on me and to support a family. I felt secured and was happy; so happy that I forgot almost everything else. The disparity and social barrier between us: of religion, caste, family and so on.

But time does not remain the same and we have to move to the next stage. We too had to. Although I was not that hasty about being together forever by the bond of marriage it was  society that pushed us up to that. A Hindu guy having an affair with a Muslim girl was never a normal thing to happen in our small town. It was a worse thing when it was a Dhakai Muslim. Like a bad smell permeating through the air this pernicious news disseminated. Very soon, it became the talk of the town. People got surprised. They started gossiping.

“What! A Hindu boy! Hai Allah, how sacrilegious!”

This was the normal expression of the people in my vicinity.

And then came the day about which I was afraid even to think. One evening, Abba was not home. The four of us were lazing around in the sitting room. Ammi was in the kitchen busy preparing the evening meal for us. Suddenly, Abba appeared nobody knew from where. His sullen look and puckered face was enough to make us feel that something was wrong. He rushed to me. I was frightened by his look. And I fathomed that it must have something to do with my affair with Nava. My heart sank and I was shivering to death. I could not answer any of his questions but my lowered eyes and mum lips told him everything. Even when I was beaten hard with the wooden bed post I did not utter a word. It was something that had never happened in our house before. Everyone in the family knew that I was Abba’s favourite and the most pampered child. Forget about beating, he never used any harsh words on me. Not only my siblings, Ammi too was taken aback. And as for me, I did not react and was so obstinate that not a single teardrop of tear came out of my eyes.

After that incident I was not allowed to go out. It was like a house arrest. My brother Reyan was keeping an eye on me all the time. No one talked to me; even Ammi did not talk to me for two days. From the third day she started counseling me. For ten days I was not allowed to go to college. And for ten days I was away from Nava. It was like ten long years for me. Ammi tried to make me understand the trouble that I was creating for myself and my sisters. She focused on the differences between societies and the tension between families belonging to two different religions; but all in vain. Nothing was getting into my head. All I wanted was to see Nava; all I knew was that I loved him and I wanted to be with him. To tell the truth I was dying to see him once and get myself lost in his arms.

One day the opportunity came. My parents thought that the constant counseling for more than a week had influenced me and had succeeded in bringing a change to my thoughts. The heavy air was beginning to be normal again. One afternoon, Abba was out. Ammi was in her regular afternoon prayer. My sisters were gone for tuition and I did not see Reyan around. May be Allah showed a bit of mercy that day by taking Reyan away. It was a golden chance for me. I put on my best salwarkameez, took all the money that I had saved in a drawer which was not less than one thousand rupees and stole away. Our house was near the daily market place and it was easy for me to get lost amidst the street crowd.

It was a time when public telephone booths were still in vogue and very few people had the luxury of land phone connections. Nava did not have a phone connection at home but he gave me the number of a PCO where one of his acquaintances worked. I entered a nearby PCO and dialed that number.

Within half an hour I found Nava standing by my side. None of us uttered a word but we realized our condition. His fluffy eyes and unkempt hair told me everything the way my dark circled eyes and stale face was enough to make him understand the whole situation. Moreover, it was not a time to think and talk but to take action. And both of us knew what to do. Nava took me to his house which was some four kms away from the main town. It was a semi-village kind of place that I had never been to before. He stopped his bike in front of an old Assam type house and opened the gate for me. I don’t remember now how exactly I felt at that moment. I was at a loss and could not fathom what was going on. When his parents along with his younger brothers came out and yelled at him I realized that things were not as smooth as we assumed them to be. Nava was very angry. He went inside leaving me in the yard all alone and vulnerable to the attack of his family members. I was so embarrassed that I could not hold my head up. But I knew all were staring at me as if I was a strange creature. I heard a shrillish female voice uttering pejorative words.

: “You Muslim witch! How dare you bewitch my innocent son! You bitch!”

It was Nava’s mother and I almost fainted out of fear and embarrassment. Then to my relief Nava came out of the house and took me by my hands. In a few minutes we were in the street heading back towards the town. Nava took me to a temple where before the stone idol we accepted each other as man and wife. We exchanged garlands and Nava filled the parting of my hair with red powder, the mark worn by every married woman of the Hindu community. I was afraid and felt the red mark a tacky stamp on my head. But later on when I saw my face in the mirror I liked it, as it enhanced my beauty.

That night we stayed in a hotel. It was the happiest day of my life as I was with my Nava all alone. I achieved the most desired moments that I had been longing. We were shy at first but after sometime everything was so easy. The passionate kisses, tight hugs and the pleasure and pain of first mating. I was the happiest woman on earth. The next day we shifted to a rented house at one corner of the town. I was only two kms away from my parents but mentally I was thousand miles away from them. Not a single thought of them came to disturb me in my newly built happy world. Every morning Nava left for his work. The day seemed too long for me and I waited eagerly for him to come for lunch. In the evening, very often we went out. And every night was one of exploration. I was happy. We were happy.

Things went on the same smooth way for about three months. Then one evening Nava came home a bit early. He was in a very good mood.

: “we are going home tomorrow.” He announced.

At first I did not understand anything. Nava explained that his parents had agreed to accept me as a part of their family. Only that I would have to go through certain rituals by which I would be officially accepted as a Hindu. He told me to do the packing and went out for some necessary shopping. I was left baffled for I did not know whether to feel happy or sad. I knew I was afraid. The shrill voice of the woman was still buzzing in my ears and a scary feeling crept through my inside. I felt as if I was going to suffer loss – loss of happiness, of someone close to my heart and of myself.

The next day was Sunday and we reached Nava’s home before noon. I was wearing the silk mekhela-chadar that Nava had bought me the day before. When we opened the gate two or three women came out to welcome us. A rhythmic chanting of prayer was heard which was coming from inside the house. Nava’s parents arranged a small ceremony where the society was invited. Later, I came to know that they had to try hard to convince their people to accept me in their society. We were taken to a room where some elderly people called Bhakat were sitting and chanting prayers. We bowed down before them and they chanted words of blessings for us. In that ceremony, I was given a new name, Pallavi.  It was strange and so difficult for me to respond to a new and unfamiliar name at first but eventually I got used to that. For me it was like the birth of a new woman out of an old body. However, I liked the name, Pallavi, Nava-Pallavi, new petals. But Nava still called me Jaan.

Nava’s parents loved me. They showed much affection towards me. But my world got confined. There were barriers and restrictions. We could not meet in the day time. Nava came home for lunch but did not stay longer. It was only in the evening after dinner that he was by me. The whole day I missed him and was eagerly waiting for the evening when he would finally come to me and we were in each other’s arms. Still we were happy.

Time passes so fast. I could not reckon how two years passed so quickly. In the meantime, a new member came in to our lives. Our first child. Everyone in the family seemed happy because it was a boy. Although I wanted a girl, after seeing their expressions I felt proud. Nava’s mother named him Maina but I wanted to call him Bubujaan and I did when no one was around. To have Bubujaan was a great experience for me. It may be the common experience every mother gets after having her first child. It was an indescribable feeling and the mere look of his innocent face was sufficient to make me happy. The phases he went through – his first toddle, the first two teeth coming out of his soft lower gums, and the first utterance of the most beautiful word, ‘ma’. Oh! It was like being in heaven on earth. I just could not stop tears rolling down my cheeks. The tears of happiness.

The boredom that had almost engulfed me earlier during the daytime was no more. I had been busy with Bubujaan. I still missed Nava but the urge of coupling was not that intense during those days. But we were happy.

Two more years rolled by in the blink of an eye. Things were the same for me and like everyone else I was busy and I did not notice that Nava was busy too. I realized it the night when Nava did not come home. At the dining table Nava’s younger brother told me that Nava had telephoned (we had the telephone by then) in the afternoon and that he would be away during the night for some business. It was the first time that he was not home and I smelled something ominous. The whole night I could not sleep. When he was back the next morning I could not talk to him properly. He caressed me and said that some urgent business had called him away. When I asked him “What business?” he turned and I was hurt. That was only the beginning. He started being away during the nights and eventually it became a common thing that Nava was not home for a few days. He even stopped giving money to his parents. But whenever he was home he gave me money and brought things for Bubujaan.

But things were worsening. It was like everything was taking a different turn. I noticed a gradual change in the people’s behavior in the house. I discovered that my affectionate in-laws were no longer so towards me, that my brothers-in-law stopped talking to me unless it was urgent and that the neighbours had some secret behind their tight lipped faces. I could see that in the people’s faces, could smell it in the unpleasant air and felt that something was wrong, about which everyone was aware except me.

Then the day of revelation came. It was in the afternoon. I was in my bedroom and Bubujaan was playing with the neighbourhood children in the yard. Suddenly he rushed into our bedroom. I turned to him. He seemed fretful and was pouting. With bright teary eyes he uttered the most appalling words in the form of a question:

: “Ma, is it true that father leaves with another woman in town?”

I became still and dumbfounded. I had been told the most dreadful tragedy of my life and that too by my own son!

: “Where did you hear that?” I heard these words coming out of my mouth.

: “Everyone is saying that outside. My playmates are saying that. It’s not true, is it?”

I perched on the bed. Not a single word could I utter. I felt the salty lines tickling down my cheeks. Bubujaan was 5 years old by then but he sensed something. He came near me and held me as tightly as his small hands could. Both of us wept together for a long time.

Nava’s revelation enhanced my insecurity. But to my sheer astonishment I could not hate him. I could not keep myself asunder, rather I was happy if he came to me or coupled with me. In fact, I got desperate to have him by my side. And whenever he was I tried to give my best. It was like I was trying hard to bring him back but as I saw there was not a vestige of love in his eyes any more. Whatever happened between us was just like a physical exercise inevitable for experienced men and women sleeping in the same bed. We were no longer connected mentally and there was nothing he wanted from me. His absence became longer gradually and once it was for twenty five continuous days. Almost a month he was away from home and his family. I suffered not only the loss of my dearest one but the loss of affection from my in-laws as well. I became no better than a maid in the house. The same attitude I saw on the day I stepped in their house was back in them. And I was afraid that any moment they could ask me to leave the house and this time Nava would not be there beside me. I felt awfully insecure and lonely. It was in those days that for the first time since I got married I remembered my parents. It had been six years then and in those years I never missed them. I realized how selfish and self-centred I had become that I did not even think it necessary to remember them once. I was so ashamed of myself and repented for doing such an injustice to my dear people.

And one day the catastrophe took place. It was again in the afternoon. I was sitting in the verandah. Bubujaan was playing in the yard. Suddenly my elder brother-in-law came to me and imperatively uttered those words.

: “You are to leave the house today.”

Those words were like thunderbolts to me. I did not understand what he was meaning. But he was not alone. The whole family had decided that and it was like a preplanned drama of which I was completely unaware. So sudden and terrible was their attack that there was no way. The younger brother-in-law brought some of my belongings and clothes in a sack and they almost chased me out of their house. Bubujaan rushed to me but my mother-in-law clasped him by the hand and took him back. He was crying aloud and the woman was coaxing him against me. “She is not your mother”, she said, “she is a Muslim!” Everything happened so instantly and dramatically that I did not get time to understand what was going on! What I understood was that in a moment I turned into a woman in rags who was beaten, robbed off her son, standing in the middle of the street all alone and no one to offer a helping hand.

I did not know what to do or where to go. For six years I had been almost totally cut off from the outside world. Nava and Bubujaan were the only world I knew. It was yet to be dark and I knew all the people in our neighbourhood were aware of what had just happened to me. I could feel their presence by the closed doors and windows trying to peep through every hole to have a look at me. But no one dared to come out of their houses and offer me help. I found myself in abject helplessness. In despondency I could think of leaving the world but I still wonder that I could not think of dying even while experiencing the utmost agony of my life. I picked up the sack and slowly dragged my body towards an unknown destination.

I did not know any address to head to but I knew where my feet were taking me to. I was walking towards the town. I knew the passersby stared at me but I was in no position to heed or be bothered about that. All I knew was that I was abandoned and no one was more miserable and lonelier than me at that moment. I walked almost five kms. With empty looks and a vacant face when I reached my parent’s house the whole world was enveloped in darkness. It was Raziya who first found me at the door. It was quite normal that she did not recognize me at first. And the moment she did she turned back inside. In a few seconds everyone in the house was outside. My mother started sobbing at my condition. I too was weeping and my poor father did not know what to do. Instinctively I knelt down before my parents and burst into tears. There was no word between us; as if language had become insufficient to communicate with. I was so ashamed and full of penitence that I could not utter a single word. I don’t remember for how long I remained like that. At last my mother held me up and took me inside. She washed me, gave me clean clothes to wear and prepared something for me to eat. All these times she was wiping her eyes and I too was unable to hold back the stream flowing down my cheeks. I realized that nothing on earth equals to what a parent feels for his child no matter how mischievous the latter may be. This only enhanced my pain and thickened my guilt.

My parents gave me shelter. It was difficult for them to accept me yet my people tried their best to make me feel at ease. Ammi was always kind to me, even more affectionate than she used to be six years back. My brother and sisters always tried to make me feel good and comfortable. But Abba was never easy with me. He never talked to me directly and I understood his pain. He had his reasons and right to act that way. He filed a case against Nava’s family and I signed the divorce papers that he brought me. Nava came to meet me once but I did not see him. Without much trouble I got the divorce although it took a couple of years to get out of the whole affair. I got my son back but did not demand anything from Nava. My father did not want me to.

The next part of the story is not long. In the next five years both my sisters got married. Reyan took over my father’s business. Abba and Ammi came back from Haj, and I completed my unfinished degree. Abba died last year. I took up a contractual job in a school and now live in a separate house with my son which is not far from my parent’s house. Ammi is a regular visitor in our house and Bubujaan likes her a lot. Very often she asks me for remarriage but I don’t want to think about that. I am happy in my small world with my son and do not want to complicate it further.

Sometimes I ask myself, do I still love Nava? I don’t get any answer but whenever I see my face in the mirror I miss something on my face. And there is another little thing that troubles me. I get discomfited when anyone asks me my name. Many words whirl around me and after an awkward pause I hear myself uttering, ‘Bokul’.

[Published in Indian Literature, Vol. 59, No. 4 (288), July/August 2015, pp. 148-156. Republished online with author’s permission]