1906 Calcutta...
It was a curious place. To outsiders it seemed like the most languid place on earth and yet there was an undercurrent of a palpable energy. Something you can't quite put your finger on. The people moved with exaggerated lethargy yet look into their eyes and you will be surprised at the liveliness in them. These were the people who thrived on debates, arguments and fights. And oh what better thing to fight for than the independence of one's country??? Freedom of one's self? These were the people who loved to go against the grain simply for the thrill of getting into a nice verbal match. The thrill of being the center of attention. They loved rules only so they could boast of breaking them. A place where staunch orthodoxy and radical liberalism went hand in hand. The place where the richest and poorest could survive. This was where it all simmered to life. A nation rose to grasp its legacy. This was Calcutta, the capital of British India.
It is 1906 and the intellectuals in the country finally wanted to have a say in the government of India without interference of the White Sahebs. Zealous youths have decided to wear khaki and to boycott all things western. But the change was not as radical or widespread on the streets of Calcutta. For just two blocks from the British Residency was a white washed mansion. Our story takes place in the hallowed halls of this very mansion.
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"Kriyo."
"Ei Kriyo.", the name was accentuated with a thick Bengali accent. The insistent call resonated off the walls of the barren white washed mansion. The sound was made by a stocky middle aged man, dragging a young adolescent girl of about twelve years down the wide verandah of the mansion. The man passed the corridors while keeping a firm grip on the girl wriggling in his grasp. The whole place looked fairly calm until a steady trickle of girls of varying age groups started pouring out from rooms in that place. The girl looked with a mixture of trepidation and awe at her alien surroundings. The place filled with hushed whispers as the girls discussed among themselves about the new entrant and the commotion Madan da was making.
"Oi Kriyo, where are you? Look what I found in the streets."
One of the ladies among the throng of girls came forward to meet the portly Madan Da before he could create any further ruckus.
"Kriyoshi Bai kothai? Where is Kriyo Bai, I ask? the man barked at the girl before she could utter a word.
Lata rolled her eyes at the hysterics of the pimp. She was used to them. "Kriyoshi Bai is offering prayers in the mandir. You have to wait." the girl replied in an equally caustic tone before turning kind eyes to the young girl in Madan's grasp. The little girl looked in a trance of sorts. She was decked in red bridal saree as is customary in bengali marriages. The burden of the heavy benarasi seemed to saddle the poor little thing. Her slight malnourished form was not even visible amongst all the embellishment. Another unfortunate wench. She needed to find a room for her. Maybe Sheetal will be willing to share. Or else she would share her room with the girl. Lata's musings were interrupted by the loud guffaws of Madan.
"Ha ha ha ha." the man supported his paunch with a hand as he laughed loudly. "She is praying???? Devtas don't listen to wh**es. She will end up getting cursed."
Lata wanted to slap the pimp across his face. She was used to the pimp's demeaning comments but she abhorred him extending the same courtesy to Kriyoshi Bai. But before she could act on her urge , a sudden melodious voice interrupted her.
"No. But maybe Devis do."
A hush fell on the previously boisterous room. Everyone turned to greet the form of the lady emerging from one of the wings in the mansion. She was a commanding presence in the room and in equal amounts riveting. The simple yellow cotton saree was wrapped around her in the traditional Bengali style. It was not particularly a style meant to look sensual but on her it looked downright alluring. A helpful quality to possess in her line of business. Kriyoshi Bai looked every bit an apsara, she was rumored in the streets of Calcutta to be. She walked or more like, floated towards the group huddled in the centre of her frontyard. Kriyo could easily pass as the wife of a zamindar. Not that she had any dearth of those. She had most zamindars in Calcutta knocking on her doors. Each wanted to make her fulfill wifely duties as well. There was just a minor glitch. None of them were inclined to actually offer her the rights of a wife. In hindsight, she was not really missing out on anything. The wives of zamindars did not really have rights, did they? No, they were just servants of a wealthier bunch of people. They called her a Kotha wali. A tawaif. The respectable wives turned up their pretty little noses on her. It was a funny sight really. Seeing them abhorring her yet being jealous at her. They wanted to know the lure that made their high handed husbands grovel at her feet. Kriyo knew the secret. She knew it was the desire to own her that led those spoilt aristocrats to her in droves. She liked the power she had over these folks. They might condemn her for not being a bonded labourer. But she will any day forego the ivory bangles and vermilion for the ghungrus. The ghungrus were synonymous to freedom. She had tasted freedom with them on and it was more addictive than the hookahs those miserable wives blew on.
"What do we have here?" Kriyo sat down on her knees to look properly at the face of the young girl who seemed to be silenced by her presence. "What is your name shona?" she asked in a soft tone hoping to coax the girl out of her petrified state.
"That would be 520 rupees. I won't accept a paise less for her. She is a beauty. And so young. You will have good business with her.", Madan interrupted Kriyo Bai. He was in no mood for theatrics.He wanted to get his money and get out of the place. He disliked being in the presence of Kriyo bai. She intimidated him and he did not like being intimidated by a woman. He liked his women submissive and in fear of his presence. He detested the confidence this woman emanated. Madan da was not oblivious to the woman's unearthly beauty. But he also knew Kriyoshi bai revelled in her sensuality. She was aware of the appeal she held for men and exploited it very well.
The murderous gaze Kriyo threw his way freezed Madan's blood in his veins. He should not be afraid of the wh**e. But he was. He was irrationally afraid of Kriyo. He was a sleaze but a good judge of character. And there was something predatory lurking beneath the soft exterior of this woman. He was vaguely aware that none of the young girls in the kotha were used for business as such. He was perplexed as to what Kriya did with the girls. Madan was a famous pimp of Calcutta. He supplied most of the girls to the kothas and brothels in Calcutta. But five years ago Kriyo bai had struck a deal with him. That he would deliver all the girls he found to her and she in turn would pay double for them. They have kept this arrangement till date. Madan was perplexed on Kriyo's motives.If not use them in business then why buy them???? But that was not his business at all. All he cared about was his money. Kriya murderous gaze gradually turned to disgust as she saw the gleam of greed enter the eyes of the pimp. She settled her face into a stoic expression.
"Where did you find her?", she asked in a stern tone. Madan knew the drill. She demanded to know everything of the girls he brought in. And she wanted the truth. "Found her running away from a shamshaan in bridal attire. They were probably going to burn her with the dead husband.", he replied sincerely. He could afford to be a Harishchandra for the extra money. Kriya sighed. Another sati bride. The Bentinck law did not make any difference, did it? Of course. What would the Britishers know of dealing with her people?
Madan tapped her foot impatiently on the floor. Kriya took off her gold bangle and threw it at him. "Ei ne. Take this and get lost. And don't come here till you have another girl to bring with you." Madan wrinkled his nose at the haughty behavior of the tawaif. Lord knows what gave her the right to possess such airs.
"Fine. I am going. But I hope you remember that there will be a group of zamindars coming in tonight. They are bringing the young Nawab of Jaitpur along. He has recently returned from videsh. He is looking for some entertainment. Look to his comfort and mabe you will get a gift or two." Madan winked sleazily at Kriya.
"Of course." Kriya replied nonchalantly. She itched to get rid of the pimp but he was of use to her. Not yet, she reasoned to herself. But someday she will send the man to his pyre. Kriya saw the man leaving the mansion with an extra skip in his step. Probably for the gold bangle resting in his pockets. Good riddance.
A shrill wail tore through the verandah as the young girl finally decided to react. Kriya breathed in deep as she squared her shoulders. Now she had to do the initiation and help the girl adjust in her home. Which will soon become her home, as well. This life had its cons but at least it was better than life in the house of the "respectable people". She won't be burnt to a crisp here, that Kriyo could vouch for.
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Lady Sharon Westerford adjusted her petticoatts as she tried to settle herself comfortably in the cabin bench. She fiddled with her stiff collar in an attempt to let out the heat. Blasted damnation. She should have opted for the lighter variety of gowns. The stuffy frills was constricting her throat in the sweltering heat. She had wanted to make a better impression on the parish people and had chosen the gown with the passimenterie emobroidery and heavier layers. She had long abandoned her hat and her abundant mass of fiery red curls were pulled into a bun. She wanted to take off her itchy gloves but she was not sure if that would be proper. "A genteel lady should never take off her gloves in society.", the etiquette lessons of her mother echoed in her ear. Sharon fought down a wave of nervousness and clung to her Bible tightly as she cast furtive glances at the people around her. A knot of unease unfurled in her gut as she thought of the repercussions when they discovered her absence back home. Her eyes caught her grandmother's who smiled at her reassuredly. "It is okay,child. We are about to pull in port. Everything will be okay from here on."
Sharon could not let go of her apprehension yet. "Mother and father will be ashamed Grandma. I have brought shame on to the family name."
Her grandmother waved off her apprehension with an extensive gesture of her hand. "Pah. Child. If there is one thing I know about those parents of yours, it is that they are extraordinarily good at covering up things. I am sure they will find an excuse to explain your absence."
Now don't look so down, will you? This has been your dream of a lifetime. I am sure you do not wish to waste it by thinking of those prudish old things."
Sharon lips curled into a smile before her shoulders shook in mirth and she broke into a full blown laughter. Her grandmother was a riot, she was. An extraordinarily bold woman for the likes of her society. She always managed to find the light in everything. Sharon could only hope to have some measure of her liveliness when she reached the age.
The head of the first mate peeked into the cabin as he smiled jovially at the pair. "Lady Westerford .", he acknowledged Sharon's presence with a tip of his hat. "We will be dropping the anchor shortly. I suggest gathering your belongings. I will send the natives to help you haul your luggage."
The man's head disappeared before she could voice a protest. Why should the natives haul their burden? Sharon looked around herself and saw all the gentlemen and ladies of her own country in the cabin nod in acknowledgement. If there were natives on the ship, where were they seated ? Why was there not a single native in here? She looked to her grandma in a hope to convey her confusion. "The natives are seated at the other end of the ship. You will soon learn of the way things work here, Sharon.", her grandmother whispered in her ears. Sharon's eyes creased in disapproval and she could not help voicing it out loud. "But why? Why will the natives haul our luggage? Don't they have their own luggage to carry?",the loud protest of the lady caught the attention of the people in the cabin. She saw the gentlemen shaking their head in disapproval as the ladies gasped at her outburst. One of the gentlemen she had previously been acquainted with at Bath, came forward.
"Lady Westerford, the natives here delight in helping us. They take pleasure in serving us and in turn learning of our more civilized culture. It is for their benefit alone that they do this.", he explained to her in a patronizing tone as if she was an imbecile. She looked around to see the others nodding in agreement as if it was the most rational argument in world. She saw the fool gazing at her expectantly probably hoping her to acknowledge the superiority of his logic. She had never been a very violent person but the thought of butting the man's head with her grandmother's cane was extremely appealing. No, she will not give the pompous fool the satisfaction of winning this.
"Pardon me my outspoken nature. But it seems I am not in agreement with that reason, good Sir.", she retorted back scathingly. The man seemed distressingly stunned at her response. Sharon felt smug as she saw the man gaping like a fish at her. Take that, you pretentious jerk. She looked at her grandmother expecting to see some kind of disapproval. But her grandmother just looked on at the spectacle with a proud smile. Sharon felt reassured at the support of her grandmother. She saw the man turning an ugly shade of blotchy red. It seemed he was not used to disagreement. "Well, Lady Westerford, you are allowed to proceed as you see fit. However, I will implore you not to expect the same from us."
"But.Of course." Sharon conceded with a bitingly sweet smile. The attention of the people was diverted as a man came scurrying in to ask those present to disembark the ship. Sharon turned to see a group of natives huddled in a group at the entrance. It seemed they have been spectators to the altercation in the cabin. Sharon however doubted any of them would understand the crisp British English spoken by her or her fellow gentleman. She shook off the efforts of a native who tried to grab at her language. The native looked at her with frightened eyes. Sharon was confused on how to convey to the man that she did not want him to carry her luggage. Her worry was however relieved as her grandma said something in Hindustani to the man whose eyes widened and he looked at her gratefully. "Thank you anyways.", she said in a beguiling tone hoping her eyes would express what she meant. The man nodded vigorously at her in turn and grinned at her heartily.
She picked up her Victorian trunk and dragged it down the plank of the ship. Her efforts were completely concentrated on her job so she did not really notice the eyes that followed her every move. Twinkling black eyes that had taken in the whole stand off in the cabin and understood every minute of it. Intelligent eyes that took in curiously the Georgian lady who had stood up on behalf of his countrymen. "Lady Sharon Westerford", the man rolled the alien name on his tongue testing how it sounded. The name was uttered with perfect British articulation for the speaker was a master at different languages.
Sharon whipped around to see where it had come from. She was sure someone had called her name. But there was only a group of natives milling on the deck of the ship and she was sure the name was uttered by someone British. Her forehead drew into a crease as she saw all of her countrymen have already made it to the port. It was so curious. Maybe, she have had too much of the heat and it had gone to her head. She will need to lie down as soon as she got to the parish. She left the ship but a chuckle seemed to follow her trail. It sent shivers down her spine as her belly fluttered in a frenzy. Her senses finetuned to the husky sound. Warmth flooded through her parts and her bosom felt heavy. Sharon sighed at her body's shameless reaction to an imaginary sound. Well, she mused to herself , on second thought, she will probably need her smelling salts as well.
Kumkum Bhagya
Anupamaa
70