Ruchira

Ruchira was seven years old. Her little brother was four. Or she was eight, and he was five. And their mother decided to take them for a small summer vacation at her maternal house. It being summer, the distance between her husband's house and her maternal house had reduced by half. The river, on which a bridge had been under construction for years, had dried up. And if they crossed the river by foot, they cut down the distance by half. But the river still had knee deep water in which seven year old Ruchira would definitely drown. Their father carried them one by one in his arms to the other bank and on the final trip drove his scooter through the water. Ruchira had always been afraid of water, but she could see the sand underneath and was pretty calm being carried across it. The little brother had been asleep all along.

Their mother's maternal home was located on a cul de sac, the village ended there. A dozen uncles and aunts lived in the house, surrounded by a boundary of tall betel nut trees. The house was built in the shape of an L and two well groomed trees occupied the courtyard between the two arms. The nieces and nephews visiting during summer and winter would be enticed to jump and pluck candies tied to the lower boughs of the trees in some sort of a game. Ruchira was one of the little ones, she couldn't jump much, but participated nevertheless. 

Outside the boundary of betel nut trees, lived their first neighbor. A very old woman, who looked like a sack of bones, wore a dirty white sari and lived in a mud house with a thatched roof. Everyone referred to her as nani. She didn't have any next of kin. She survived by selling milk from the couple of cows she reared. She kept chickens too and sold eggs. But she was getting weaker and sicker and the children stayed away from her house except when they caught a glimpse of her while playing crocodile and water.

Ruchira's little brother was a crier. And every time their mother went to the market or the temple or to visit an old friend, the child would wail. To soothe him, an aunt or two would carry him to the garden across nani's thatched house. They called it bagaan. It was a common village garden of sorts, a rustic translation of a park. There was a pond in the middle of it and ducks swam in it all day long, between tendrils of water lily. The ducks calmed the child with their subtle acts while Ruchira stayed engaged in the water lilies. Huge bougainvillea trees covered the rest of the garden, with some old and sagging jackfruit trees, scattered here and there. At the end of the bagaan was an old shiva temple which opened only for a couple of hours in the morning and evening. But they barely ever went there. On their way back, nani's cows would continue to entertain the child and he would return smiling. 

The household was a big one, there was hardly any time to sit around. Meals were cooked and barely finished before the preparation for the next meal began. Considering this, they had hired a tribal boy as a household help. His name was Ajit. Looking at him, anyone would surmise that he was far away from home. One of the uncles had rescued him from the jungle, or so the lore went. Ajit went about all the chores like clockwork. Brought home the groceries, strung out the laundry to dry, cooked meal after meal, washed the dishes, watered the plants, went from day to day pumping out energy from his endless inner well. But come Sunday afternoon, he would be nowhere to be found. Ajit had been given a cycle to run errands. On Sunday afternoon, Ajit would clean the cycle, clean himself, neatly oil and comb his hair, put on fresh clothes and go the movies, all by himself. And return late in the night, without a care in the world. The family members, fixed together a dinner of left overs or with much difficulty and lacking Ajit's fluidity of motion between the kitchen shelves, cooked something palatable. 

Ruchira enjoyed her stay at her mother's maternal home. The rooms were large, airy and sunfilled. The kitchen was sooty with grey walls. Between the large rooms, there were a few tiny rooms. Somebody's study, somebody's pooja room, or a store room filled with items no longer useful. Such were the houses back then.

Ruchira's mother didn't have her children on a leash. Ruchira and her brother were left to be by themselves as far as they behaved. Ruchira would wonder around the house from room to room without a care. In one such room, hid an old uncle who made Ruchira hold his slimy ugly penis. Ruchira didn't understand what she was quite doing. She was made to feel she had no other option. She hopelessly stared at the man's face and did as instructed. Deeply ashamed after she escaped the man's hold, she frantically started searching for her mother. She saw her mother sitting amongst her sisters and other women of the family on the floor of the kitchen and giggling away. 

In her seven year old head, she assumed everyone had seen what she had been subjected to and that they were making fun of her. There be no way on earth that was the case, but she was too little to take that risk. So quietly she turned away from the kitchen and shut herself out.