The Witch (Part 2): Mala's Problem

Boorimashi came back from the old factory wall and went inside her hut, grumbling and complaining to herself about the monsoons, loudly enough to draw Mala’s attention. Mala stayed in a dingy hut only a few steps away from Boorimashi’s. Mala smirked on realizing that the curses were meant for the monsoon clouds and thought of chatting with poor Boorimashi.

Boorimashi managed to light a lamp after fumbling in the darkness for a while. She looked up on hearing Mala’s approaching steps. Mala came and stood near the door. Her weary eyes, seated deep in their sockets, found Boorimashi sitting at one corner of the room. Mala was in her early twenties, fairly tall, dark, and lean with worries. She was already was a mother of two. Her eldest son, Poltu, was born four years back and then three years later she was again blessed with a daughter whom she had named Minoti.

‘I heard you shouting….what’s the matter Boorimashi?’ asked Mala, carefully suppressing her smile.

Boorimashi took up her torn straw-mattress that was resting in one dark corner, folded in a cylindrical form and propped at an angle against the walls. She unrolled it, holding one side with both her hands, and waved it twice to shake off the dust before spreading it out on the floor. Then her wrinkled hand reached out for her torn palm-leaf fan and started cooling herself. Mala sat down on the mattress with her legs splayed and hands resting on the floor behind.

‘Why was I shouting?’ retorted Boorimashi at Mala’s question as if the answer was evident. 'The monsoon is here. It’s the most wretched season of the year. Today the entire lot of my cow dung cakes has been washed away'. ‘You are always complaining about something or the other!’ replied Mala teasingly. Boorimashi ignored her comment and went on fanning herself.

Mala hesitated for a while and then moved on to discuss something that was more important to her; something that had been gnawing at her heart for quite sometime then. She moved close to Boorimashi and said softly, ‘You know, he has been asking for a third one.’*

Boorimashi seemed to be happy on hearing it. She smiled, her eyes squinted, and her shriveled lips parted to form a wide joyful grin, exposing her red gum and the few unevenly spaced teeth that stood on them. But Mala didn’t seem to be very excited that her husband, Nitai, was in favor of having yet another child for she was quite happy with the two she had and didn’t want a third one. She was worried about it and had come to ask for Boorimashi’s advice. Boorimashi had served as the midwife during her previous two deliveries and Mala trusted her and valued this old lady’s opinion. One NGO lady who once came to visit their slum a year back had told Mala about the need to maintain a ‘small and happy family’ and had handed her a red and white batch to her that carried a symbol of a couple and two kids- one boy and a girl. The NGO lady had explained that only a small family like the one shown can bring prosperity to the nation. At the time Mala was happy to find that the symbol matched exactly with that of her own family; she felt as if the symbol had been solely inspired by her own family. She had enjoyed watching the envy in the eyes of her women neighbors when the NGO lady praised her family and mentioned it as an ideal example.

However, Mala had not fully understood the things that the NGO lady said, she had mentioned some kind of surgery and all. Mala had stared with awe in her eyes, amazed at the lady’s smartness and confidence. But she had only realized that the words of the NGO lady had truth in them and that she would need to follow her words if she wanted her children to grow up well. She had seen how two of her elder sister’s five children died of some disease which the doctor had said were caused due to malnutrition. She didn’t want the same to happen to her kids. She wanted both Poltu and Minoti to be healthy, she wanted them to go to the nearby Government school, and she dreamt that one day Minoti will get a good groom and Poltu will be working in some office instead of becoming a rogue like his father. She told it all to Boorimashi, the details of her immense worries and her little hopes. Boorimashi listened to her carefully, nodding her head in approval from time to time, and finally she said, ‘Don’t worry. I will take you to Doctor Munshi if you want; he will be able to tell what actually needs to be done. I have also heard about this surgery. Last month, Chatterjee’s daughter got it done. The in-laws were at first upset, but they didn’t stop her. Chaterjee ginni was telling me about all that some days back. She said that it is a small operation and is safe too. I will ask her for details about it. You go to sleep now, don’t worry so much, things will be fine’. ‘But I am only worried about Nitai and other people here….do you think they won’t mind if I get the operation done? I think they will curse me and talk bad about me,’ said Mala despondently.

The old caring voice once again responded with the usual consolation- ‘Don’t worry.’ Mala hesitated a bit as if she had more things to tell but got up slowly. She complained that Nitai hadn’t come home for the previous two weeks. Her brows knitted together with disgust at the thought of her husband’s frivolity but she controlled her anger. Boorimashi stood near her cottage door with her soot stained lamp that threw a suffused yellow light on the alley and watched Mala as she walked back to her hut. The gloomy night sky, still covered with clouds, hang low with a sense of foreboding. A black cat mewed and emerged stealthy from the backyard; its green eyes glowed fiercely in the darkness of the surroundings. It gave a momentary pause, alarmed by Boorimashi’s peering eyes, and it swiftly leaped across the soggy passage before disappearing in the night’s cloak. Boorimashi grumbled at the inauspicious creature with disgust and scuffed back to her room.

* Women in these parts don’t take their husband’s name while talking; rather they refer to them with pronouns like ‘he’, ‘him’, and ‘his’; a tacit convention that everyone follows well.