"It all started with a mango slice," I said, lying there on the cozy hotel bed. It was quite odd that someone was trying to ask me why I was doing what he paid me for. I always dreamt of having that bed one day in my own sweet home as well.
"Means?"
I don't know why that man was trying to be so sympathetic towards me, maybe trying to get over his self-guilt, I thought and smiled in my heart. He had moved out of the bed till now and was dressing himself up as his family waited for him at home. I also sat up and adjusted my too appealing for a sixteen-year-old breast brassiere. I was sitting on the left side of the bed, tying my hair and searching for my pants. I saw that half-filled whiskey glass throwing a yellowish-brown reflection on the raw mango salad lying there on the table. He was probably looking at me from behind, waiting for the story to start and his sympathy too. What could I tell him as everything revolved in my head, which I couldn't speak about? I wore my pants and the top. The combo of black pants and grey top worked magically with my curly hair on a white face with a maroon lipstick. I went to the table, picked up the platter, and went to him, who was properly dressed in his black suit by now. I took the fork, pierced a mango slice, and put it in his mouth - seductively. He just sat there looking at me seductively, and chewing the crunchy mango. I just kept looking at him seductively as well.
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I was sitting there in the corner of the room and my house. I was huddled up, and I wrapped myself up and gathered all of me under my 14-year-old arms. I was not afraid that day. I had adapted myself to the environment. Tears rolled down my eyes, but still, there was no fear. Earlier in my childhood, I used to shut my eyes for avoiding the view, but now I could easily watch it all. There was a pain but no fear. My posture was the habit that I couldn't change. I kept looking at the shadows of my mother and my father on the bedsheet hanging across the room to make partitions. The only light bulb was on their side, so it was clear and distinct. I could see my mother lying there on the floor. Her hands were probably joined in a silent prayer to her husband. He stood there, with his only leather belt, that he had not staked and lost till now. I could hear the whipping and slashing, but no sound from my mother. She was a brave lady, I thought. He kept on ranting and hurling abuses and continued beating her up. He finally stopped, he stopped beating.
He removed his pants, pulled up her saaree, and just...
I kept sitting there with my eyes down. I heard a grunt, and I knew that my mother would come out anytime now and would serve me dinner. He had gone out of the house, and she also came out, adjusting her only saaree and folding up her hair into a bun. She went to the stove and served dinner.
We both sat there and had our dinner in the common old and dented steel plate. The dents couldn't make us forget the day when my father had lost all of his day's earning in the gamble, and he tried to take the utensils from home to sell for gambling. My mother had tried to resist him, and he had hit her hard with that plate on her head. Remembering that day every time I have my food, is preceded by looking at that scar on her forehead.
After we had had our dinner, she went to the door to look for her husband. After confirming his absence, she went to the stove and took out a mango from behind the burner. She washed it and brought it to me. We both sat down, and she peeled the mango. Parts of it had rotten due to the heat from the stove. She brought a knife and started cutting the small slices which were still fresh and yellow, and gave them to me. As I started eating, I looked up to find that she was eating the rotten parts of the mango. She looked at me watching her eating that slices and smiled at me, behind the white turned yellow seed. Her eyes smiled, her lips smiled, her body smiled. She smiled as if nothing had happened.
"You know, your father gave me twenty rupees, and I bought a kilo of them. He ate all, but I hid this one from him." She said and giggled. I always thought that why she didn't bring half a kilo of good ones so that at least she doesn't get beaten up for serving him a poor quality of mangoes. I wished to grow up soon and start working. I just wished but really couldn't.
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I was at my school, and it was recess time. I had only one friend who was absent that day. The village's only school was government-aided. Today also, the maximum of my teachers was absent. So we had almost nothing to do but play. And I had no one to play with. Girls seldom came to school. The percentage of girls in the school had increased by 100% in government records, last year we were two, and this year we were four in number.
I was eating my lunch, a chapatti, and some homemade pickle that my naani would send every year. I would often take the vegetable curry or the daal rice that was served as a midday meal back home for my mother, who would have returned home after cleaning eight houses at noon, with no energy left for making lunch for herself.
They were serving mangoes that day. They seemed to be of better quality. I went there and stood in the queue and got a mango. I stood there, hoping for one more but "One mango per student," the man said. I moved out and ate the mango. It was delicious. I recalled my mother and realized that I should have given it to her. I was sad but contented with the taste as well. I was sitting there again, looking at groups of students playing in the field. There were distinct groups, one having students with a tuft and a tilak talking to each other, and the other group of students with well-built bodies. One such group was standing in the open corridor of the building, and enjoying mangoes. I couldn't stop myself from looking at them eating. Where did they get the mangoes from? I thought to myself. While I could find a satisfactory answer, the voice from one of them called me.
"Hey, Silpa!" he shouted.
I looked at him, and he gestured with his mangoed hands and called me there. I just got up and went to them.
"Is Resma absent?" he asked, sucking the pulp out of the mango.
"Yes!" I said and kept looking at that green mango.
"Oh, you must be feeling lonely right? Anyway, did you eat mango?" He asked me.
"Yes, I had my mango. But from where did you get these extra mangoes, the ones you are carrying in your pockets?" I asked, pointing to his pocket.
He smiled and boasted off his father's connections with the headmaster of the school, which let him and his friends take more mangoes.
"Would you like to have some more mangoes?" he asked me very politely, and I couldn't resist.
They took me behind the building where they had kept the mangoes so that they could hide them from other students. I stood there looking at the tray full of mangoes. He picked up a mango and gave it to me, and I started eating it. They also continued eating mangoes.
"Hey, do you remember how masterji had taught us the female reproductive system that day?" One of them asked.
I definitely remembered everything because I was the only girl present that day. I was made the specimen, and he had taught all the students by touching every part of my body and telling us about them. I was very thrilled that day, as every day, any boy would be called up before the class, and he would demonstrate something or the other, and none asked me to volunteer. But that day had been awesome.
"Yes, I remember!" I said enthusiastically, gulping down the mango.
"Can you help us revise what he had told?" He asked.
"Yes, of course!"
I kept eating the mangoes, while they very happily revised all that the masterji had taught. They kept touching me here and there, making jokes while studying. As I finished my mango, they too had finished their revision, and it was time for me to go home. I began to leave when I turned back and asked for another mango. They happily said that I could take as many mangoes as I wanted to. So I went there and picked up two mangoes, and then picked up one more and went home eating it.
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I reached home and handed over the two mangoes to my mother.
"They fell on the way, so a little bit bruised. But they are better than the others. So serve these to papa in dinner."
"Where did you get them from?" She asked, accepting them.
"They were served in today's midday meal," I said, happily tossing my cloth bag in the corner of the room. I went out to play with Reshma.
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"Saali, you only found one mango Ok in the whole of the market." He pulled her by the hair and threw her on the wall. She kept lying there, and he kept on beating her for around half an hour. After releasing all of his frustration, he went out. She came to me, served the dinner, and finally took out one of the two mangoes I had given to her, and we both sat and had our dinner.
She knew that I was sad and angry.
"You know today, while I was working in Sumita bhabhi's house, Rohan, her son was saying something. He told bhabhi that mango ij.." she tried to recall the words that he would have said.
"Mango...ij the...king...king oph...yes, mango ij the king oph phruts." She said and smiled while I also imagined what it could possibly mean.
"Mango ij the king oph phruts."
We both smiled and ate.
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I went to that boy again the next day and asked him if we would get mangoes today as well. I wanted to take many mangoes today so that my father would be peaceful - at least today. But unluckily, the boy told me that there were no mangoes to be served today in the school. I kept sitting on the stone bench under the tree, thinking that again she will have to go through the same as every night. Everybody was busy in their own world, and I was lost in mine. The day was quite sunny and hot. The boy called me again.
We all were inside one of the emptied classrooms, and he had closed the doors and windows from inside to prevent the heat and sunlight from entering the room. The old fan creaked, and the tube light fluttered. I could smell the newly painted furniture and the jet blackboard. They all were sitting there while I stood there, hoping for some way to get some mangoes for the day.
"Hey I know that you like mangoes, but today they weren't served so...," he paused.
I was sad because he couldn't help me even when he wanted to.
"It is OK," I said with a heavy heart, smiled, and asked to leave.
"But I've another way," he said, and I turned back with a smile and hope on my brightened up face.
"I can give you 30 rupees, and you can buy mangoes." He said, took out three ten-rupee notes, and gave it to me.
I was elated. I could buy good quality mangoes that day for my mother. Finally, after so long, my mother and I were going to have a happy and peaceful dinner. I took the money, and I put it in my bag. As I began to leave, he called me and requested help, and in my happiness, I agreed to help without even asking what was to be done.
"Actually, we wanted to practice the reproductive system. Will you help us?"
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I felt dizzy, and it pained a lot down there as I trudged my way back to home. I had bought a kilogram of mangoes, and I was happy though tears of pain never dried up. My salwar was a little red due to some bleeding, which he told me was normal. It was difficult for me to walk. I took small steps as it ached while moving. I was very happy that I got to buy mangoes, just by helping my classmates in their studies. As I reached near my home, I found a large crowd outside my home. I could hear weeping of ladies from the house. I ran inside and found out that my mother was lying down on the floor covered with the blanket which served as the partition. My father was missing.
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It was evening, my mother had been cremated, everybody had left, and my father had returned home. He told me how he had choked her throat when she stopped him from taking the only silver anklets she had kept hidden from him.
That night, he ate all the mangoes.
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The next day I went to school and went to the same boy.
"Hey, can I have 50 rupees? I will help you with whatever subject you want."
And he gave me 50 Rupees.
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The salad which he had left unfinished, had finished now. I was trying to hold back my tears. Tears of happiness they were and not of sadness. He took out his wallet, took out a 500 rupee note, and gave it to me.
"I am a professional sahib, not a beggar. The payment is fixed, and I've already been paid. You wanted to get rid of self-guilt, you listened to me, that's enough."
I began to leave that presidential suit.
"But why did you ask for 50 Rupees that day?" He asked me from behind.
"30 Rupees for the mangoes, and 20 Rupees for the rat poison." I winked with a smile at him and left the room, checking my phone for the next booking.