The glass slipped out of her hand and fell. And it fell right onto the dish rack. Nothing serious should have happened. Yet a big chunk of a corner broke off. Asha Mitra was chewing betel leaf with her granddaughter on her lap. She was sitting with her legs spread out on the cemented courtyard. It was a small courtyard with a tubewell on one side, mostly covered in moss. There was frequent bickering between Ranjana and Minu over dividing chores. On one side of the tubewell was a small mint plant. Surrounding the courtyard, there exist three rows of concrete houses with tinshed roofs.
Asha Mitra is Minu’s mother-in-law. Minu lives in this rented house with her husband, Sarit and their eight-month-old daughter, Titli. Two of the three rooms belong to them, while one belongs to Ranjana’s family. Asha Mitra arrived at her son’s house two weeks ago to see a doctor for her arthritis. However, her body is dealing with several other issues. She feels nauseous all day, with a sensation of swirling in her chest and a feeling as if a liquid is trickling down her throat—this is how Asha Mitra describes her condition.
The doctor’s visit was over, but Asha Mitra planned to stay for another day or two. As soon as she heard the sound of the breaking glass, she yelled furiously, “What did you break, Soro’s wife?” Minu remained silent. Lately, her mood hasn’t been good. She contemplated, “Whatever broke, it’s broken, but I haven’t broken anything from your household.” But so many thoughts come to mind, yet it’s better to keep them at the tip of the tongue.
At Minu’s silence, Asha Mitra’s anger flared up even more. She thought, “What nerve this girl has! My husband is still alive, and me and my whole family are not leeching off my son, that you will act with no respect!” Asha Mitra had a large, round tip on her forehead, almost like a plate. Her parted hair seemed as if a whole container of vermilion had been poured on it. Tugging her saree’s end over her head, she rushed to the kitchen, her temper flaring like a burning stove, and snapped, “What’s so important state affairs you have that you can’t even answer a simple question?”
Minu was also harboring a mountain of anger within, but she still bowed her head and spoke like an obedient, timid schoolgirl-
“I’m working, Ma. The glass broke, and all the pieces fell into the dish rack. I’m just picking them out.”
“Can’t you be a little more careful with your work? The prosperity of a household doesn’t come like this, right? If you think earning two hundred taka from tutoring makes you the head of the household, then we’ve got a problem,” Asha Mitra retorted.
Hearing these words while picking up the glass shards, Minu felt her head burning with rage. Still, she kept silent. Surely, Ranjana in the next room was listening intently with her ears perked up. Sometimes Minu thought, “What if she hadn’t married Sarit and had ended up with someone like Ranjana’s husband, Nirmal!” Nirmal worked tirelessly all day, earning just enough to keep the household running, yet still managed to sit patiently with Ranjana’s endless list of odd demands! Despite being able to afford only one extra rented room, Ranjana had a never-ending desire for sarees and bangles! But when her mother-in-law visited, she never sang these complaints about broken things.
Minu carefully picked up the glass pieces, tossed them into the trash, and then swept the tubewell area. As she muttered under her breath, she swept with more force than necessary to clean the moss, hitting the floor hard with each stroke and making a loud thwack sound. Ranjana called out from her room, “Oh my! Didi, you’re cleaning? I’ve been planning to do it for days.”
It was past midday, the time when the heat was at its peak, and without electricity, sitting inside was unbearable.
After finishing the chores, Minu washed her hands and, in a calm voice, said to Asha Mitra, “Give her to me, Ma. I’ll put her to sleep on the bed. I’ll serve lunch when Sarit arrives.”
Asha Mitra knew very well that a brewing storm lay beneath Minu’s composed demeanor. She thought to herself- such a stubborn girl—a wild yam! These modern-day girls don’t easily bend to anyone’s will.
“Let her stay in my lap for a while. You just do the tutoring or often run to your parents’ house at every little excuse—does the girl ever get to stay on your lap? My dear, I also got married in the same village, yet I never once turned my face towards my father’s home except for festivals. How will it run smoothly if you don’t dedicate time to your household? Will Goddess Lakshmi stay?”
Asha Mitra’s relentless complaints against Minu seemed like an attempt to compensate for her son’s shortcomings. Like a ruminating herbivore, she would endlessly chew over these matters, constantly nagging Minu. But Minu quietly swallowed her words. She knew that the key to surviving in a household was learning to digest harsh words. Somewhere, a bird was chirping continuously. Birds tend to call out a lot around this time of the day; after all, they, too, get thirsty. Occasionally, Minu would leave a container of water by the grill on the veranda. A sparrow had made a nest in the ventilator of her veranda. One day, Sarit had wanted to get rid of it. Minu disagreed. Her conscience wouldn’t allow her to kill something that had come to her seeking shelter and cook it into a stew.
Asha Mitra laid her granddaughter down in bed. Minu sat with a winnowing tray of rice, trying to tidy up her tasks. Whatever Sarit brought back from the market was always a mixed bag, full of useless old items, and it was as if his main job was to fill the bags with junk. He had brought this rice, which was full of dead grains and stones—this is what happens when you always look for the cheapest option! Sarit worked at a betel leaf marketplace. His earnings weren’t great and were always in a financial squeeze. Often, Sarit needed Minu’s two hundred rupees for some urgent matter—paying for his evening gatherings with friends, picking up the bill, or betting on card games.
Minu had done quite well in school. But right after taking her SSC exams, she got married. She had obtained a first division and wanted to study science, but her father and elder brother dismissed the idea. They said it wasn’t necessary, as she would need private tuitions, and nowadays, schools don’t teach anything. All the schoolteachers run their own tutoring batches at home. It’s a no-loss, carefree business model. Even a primary school teacher, earning just five thousand a month, was building a two-story house.
In the end, she opted for Humanities, it was like burying her head in her studies. She couldn’t even sit for the Intermediate exams (IA); her marriage happened before that. She had no say in the matter, but who would listen to her? Her elder brother, Shankar, worked as an employee at a shop. There was no prosperity in the family. Shankar had a habit of stealing, and the shop owner had fired him several times. The owner had said, “Harihar Babu, your son is cleaning out my shop! Please, don’t send such a skilled and hardworking boy to my shop again.”
Her father had some acquaintances in the town, and at his request, the shop owner gave Shankar another chance. Minu was deeply annoyed with Sarit’s behavior but couldn’t voice her complaints. Whenever she tried, she would hear, “Your own brother is a thief, yet you try to weigh and judge me in a scale like a barrister does?”
Minu’s face turns pale at such times. But calling her brother a thief truly angers her—taking cash from the register a couple of times makes him a thief? And what about the big officers who embezzle huge sums with just the stroke of a pen? Still, stealing is stealing, and Minu has this basic sense of morality. But all these words from Sarit—didn’t his family deceive her too? They had heard that he was a B.A. graduate with a big business. The warehouse and house shown at the time of marriage actually belonged to his uncle. He barely passed his matriculation exams. Just because they didn’t ask for dowry, her parents didn’t bother to dig a little deeper! Her mother said, “You must accept whatever fate has in store, my dear.” But deceit? Were they so poor that they had to marry her into such a family? Her skin may not be very fair, but her face and demeanor are gentle and serene—that’s what people had always said. But in the marriage market, the color of one’s skin is what really matters. The color of one’s heart seems trivial, and completely secondary.
Across the main road, next to Mannujan’s lane, there’s a large rose apple tree under which Minu’s father runs a small homeopathy shop. Although he doesn’t have many patients, the family has been in this town for a long time, so they still hold a certain level of respect. Harihar’s shop has rows and rows of bottles lined up. Right next to it is Shashi Babu’s homeopathy shop, which does quite well. Even though medical science has advanced a lot, this is a small town, and the people here are still simple-minded like those in rural areas. If one packet of medicine can cure their illness, why should they spend so much on allopathy? Nowadays, many people know that homeopathy is somewhat like dummy pills. But there’s a deep-seated belief that if it works, it works. That’s why Harihar still gets some patients. When he’s busy, he adjusts his thick, black glasses on his cataract-affected eyes and checks the pulse with a simple pendulum-like motion, as if he’s facing a great challenge diagnosing such complex illnesses. After checking the pulse, he pulls out two glass vials from the cabinet and wraps up two packets in white paper, or sometimes gives tiny white pills resembling lizard eggs. When handing them over, he strictly advises the patient on when to take which packet, as if the cure heavily depends on the timing of consumption. If not for patients, Harihar spends his time tuning an old radio he brings in a rexine bag hung on his bicycle when he leaves the house. The old radio often makes a lot of static noise. Yet, whatever little income comes from the few patients keeps Harihar’s household running. He has been supporting his middle daughter and her son for the last four years as well.
After the birth of her son, Rupam, her husband, Biren, disappeared without a trace. There was no word from him. And yet, this daughter was the brightest and most beautiful among all his girls. But fate turned against her! Biren used to work in Dhaka in a good position. He visited once a month and promised to settle down properly within a year and bring Ranu. The baby had just been born, and it was best for Ranu to stay with her parents. But after one visit, he left and never returned. Some say he married someone else and went to India, while others speculate that he might have been shot by the police in a protest or became an unidentified victim of a road accident. They searched for him as much as their means allowed, but no trace was found, and even his office couldn’t provide any information. How could they keep track of Biren’s life in the capital from Chuadanga?
Rupam was six months old then, just starting to sit up unsteadily. Now, Rupam is almost five years old. There are also issues in Shanu’s household, his middle daughter. Her husband beats her, demands money, and supposedly has an interest in other women—Harihar has heard this. His eldest daughter is doing well; she lives in Kushtia but doesn’t keep in touch much. Still, if she chooses not to, it’s fine—at least she isn’t a burden like the others.
When Harihar and Sabitri had set up their home in this town with their children, they had so many hopes. They wanted to make their son an allopathic doctor to break free from the struggles of a life in homeopathy. Even though Harihar practiced homeopathy, he had never been weak in his studies. But his son didn’t turn out as expected. He had pinned his hopes on his younger daughters, Ranu and Minu, and tried his best within his means, but he couldn’t afford their education. All his daughters are good-looking, taking after their mother’s features, which led to constant pressure from people to get them married.
And besides, feeding so many mouths daily in this economy is no small feat. They also have to maintain a certain standard of living in the town. During festivals, buying good clothes, arranging special food when relatives visit, and hosting gatherings keep piling up. Life in the village is different; once the basic needs are met, life goes on in a routine way. But for city dwellers, it’s not that simple. Living requires so much more effort. However, even villages are changing now. Look at Minu’s uncle’s in-laws. The way they flaunt their wealth and the clothes they wear—Minu has never even seen such things.
Minu never had such demands. If only her father could have continued her studies a bit longer. But she didn’t raise strong objections to the marriage either. When her mother, Sabitri, said, “Minu, I can’t bear the weight of so many mouths anymore. Your elder brother is the oldest of all. Your eldest sister is a mother of two now; her oldest son is in seventh grade. And look at your brother, his head is already turning gray. You know how your middle sister is—always absorbed in her worries about her husband. All the household work falls on my shoulders. When your father returns home, I’m the one who serves him water. I wash a mountain of dishes in the water pump area. I even light the stove myself. Other than washing her son’s soiled bedding, Ranu does nothing. If we bring in a daughter-in-law, I can finally have some rest. I could pass on some responsibilities and take a little break. And maybe if she faces a few slaps or punches from her sister-in-law, Ranu might understand something about life. Agree to the marriage, dear. The boy is well-educated, a B.A. graduate. He’s from a good village, with one of his cousins in the police force—even if he’s a cousin, a brother is still a brother. The family is respectable. And after marriage, they promised to support you in your studies.”
So Minu agreed to the marriage. Her gracefully tall figure, exuding a gentle fragrance like a blossoming flower, all her pride was bound and sacrificed in the seven circles of the wedding vows. What value did she have to Sarit, beyond fulfilling his nightly hunger? The very next year, her brother got married. Her sister-in-law, Ranjana, turned out to be extravagant, and her behavior towards Ranu was nothing short of cruel. But where could Ranu go, no matter how bad her sister-in-law’s behavior was? For women, it’s either their father’s house or their husband’s house. And there is no longer a “husband’s house” for Ranu. She’s staying at her father’s house. If even her parents raise objections, then where would women go? They have no other place to turn.
After finishing sorting the rice, Minu set aside a handful in a small white container. Sarit was so inattentive towards the household that, if not for Minu’s efforts, they would probably have to fast a few times a month. Even now, despite being a father to a little girl, he seemed unaware of his responsibilities. Titli often ran out of milk, and at eight months old, she was too small to be fed solid rice. She also wasn’t getting enough breast milk. Meanwhile, Ranjana and her family ate well. They shared the same kitchen. Nirmal’s tutoring income provided them with cash flow, and Ranjana cooked lavishly with oil and spices. She never saved small portions like Minu did. Sometimes, Minu felt deeply ashamed—every day was just rice and lentils for them, occasionally an egg or a bit of fish. Meat was a rare luxury, only bought if guests were expected. A refrigerator would have made things easier; she could have stored and rationed food better. Ranjana had a fridge, and Minu used to store some items there occasionally. But once she saw a look of irritation on Ranjana’s face, she stopped.
Despite all these hardships, the dark expressions on Ranjana’s face didn’t linger in Minu’s mind. What really troubled her was when she couldn’t manage milk for her daughter. She constantly thought of finding a way to earn some money. If only she could get a tutoring job. Just then, she received an offer from a neighbor to tutor her two daughters. The family lived next door, making it convenient for Minu to call the girls over when needed, and she could manage the work around her own household chores.
Now, she earned two hundred rupees from tutoring. She set aside one *poa* of milk each time, costing her one hundred and twenty rupees. Sometimes Sarit himself covered the cost, and Minu saved the money when that happened. But whenever Sarit needed cash, he would dip into her savings.
It was lunchtime, and Sarit had arrived to eat. Minu spread a mat on the floor for him. In front of him was a bowl of fish curry, with some rice on the side. A few ants were busy carrying away the rice, forming a line along the wall, all the way to the window frame. Sarit washed his hands over the plate and asked Minu for a towel while letting out a loud burp. He mentioned that a consignment of betel leaves would be sent to Dhaka, and he needed to go along. However, he was short on the travel expenses.
Minu, who was gathering the leftovers from the floor, thought to herself—*there it is, those two hundred rupees again.* Why Sarit always had his eyes on that money, she couldn’t understand. After serving her mother-in-law, Minu went to check in the cupboard for the money. She searched under the bedsheet as well but couldn’t find it anywhere. She even checked if it had fallen somewhere, but still, it was nowhere to be seen.
Seeing her frantically searching, Asha Mitra came over to the side of the bed and remarked, “If you keep the household’s things carefully, such things won’t happen. Do you even have any sense of responsibility in this house, daughter-in-law?”
Minu couldn’t hear a word of what Asha Mitra was saying. Titli was lying on the bed, so she shifted her around and searched every corner. She scoured the kitchen, the veranda, and even under the bed, places where the money shouldn’t have ended up. If it was here, it must be within these walls. Money can’t just grow legs and walk away. But what if it fell and someone found it? So many children came to study with Nirmal in the mornings—could one of them have found and taken it? “How could I think such things! Disgraceful!” But human minds can’t help wondering. And yet, how could she even raise such a matter with Nirmal?
“Did you find the money, daughter-in-law?”
“No, Ma, it was right here.”
“Why do you keep money under these sarees?”
Sarit raised his voice this time, “Didn’t I tell you to keep it in the drawer? Why won’t you do that?”
“Why don’t I? Don’t you know?”
“Oh, I know. You think I have my eyes on your money. Do you even know how much it takes to run a household every month?”
Asha Mitra, growing more irate, interjected, “What’s this! A husband is like God. Is this how you talk to him?”
Minu remained silent. Over these five years of marriage, she had come to understand just how much of a “god” her husband was. Gripping the bedpost, she sat silently, her tired eyes gazing towards the window.
With a harsher tone, Sarit snapped, “Did you clean my shoes, or did you leave that too?”
Minu got up and flung the shoes towards the steps of the veranda. Asha Mitra’s eyes widened in shock at Minu’s sudden defiance. She turned to Sarit and remarked, “Haven’t you taught your wife how to show respect?”
Sarit walked over and, with a loud slap, struck Minu across the face.
Read Chapter 1 here.
