The Loss



Village Woman

 Marjari in her early twenties was already a mother of two kids, daughter and son. She lived in Sultanpuri, a small village in Uttar Pradesh with a population of about hundred families. The roads are kuchha and don’t lead to the destination. You might have to walk through the gallis to reach where you want to. A small river runs across the village which is a fun place for children. They play, swim and bathe in the river; some make sand castles with their imaginations as they have only seen huts and not houses.  

Her face was covered most of the times with pallu of her saree, only when she had to call Bhola and Shashi, she would bring it to her forehead and call. Her husband Ram Prasad worked as a day labourer on the fields. In the village, a fraction of people owned the land, majority worked like Ram Prasad.

“Can you quickly give me chapatti, Marjari I have to go to the fields”, shouted Ram Prasad, Marjari’s husband. 

“Am bringing, just give me five minutes”

“No, the sahib would cut my pay, let me go, you bring chapattis to the field”, said Ram Prasad as he made his way towards the fields.

Last year, it rained scanty resulting in low cultivation and less profit for the landlord. The daily wages of the labourers came down from one hundred eighty to one hundred fifty rupees per day. This year again it seemed to be a case of bad monsoon. It was already mid-July and there were no rains. Ram Prasad was deliberating on how he would pay back last years’ debt, fifty thousand rupees which had accumulated because of his mother’s sickness.

He told Marjari about the situation and his plans. “I would go and work in the city so we have more money and I can pay the debt easily,” he said. Marjari was sad at the thought of living away from her husband. “But how would I live?” she said wiping her tears.

There was no choice for Marjari, teary-eyed she bid farewell to Ram Prasad. Shashi and Bhola were busy in their play, they just knew that bapu had gone to the city and soon they would get new toys and clothes. 

Slowly, Marjari got busy in children and routine chores. Three months passed; there was not a single word from Ram Prasad. Marjari would run out quickly at the beep of postman’s bicycle thinking there would be a letter or money order from him. 

Now, it was getting tough for her, all rations and money had finished. As she scrambled the rice container, tears fell down, “my God, how am I going to feed my kids, this is the last katori rice,” she said to herself. 

Marjari, like other women in the village lived inside four walls and never stepped outside. However, circumstances forced her to go and speak to the village head if she could get some help. “You can start work in the fields till the time Ram Prasad comes back,” he said.

Next day onwards, Marjari started going to the fields. She would prepare lunch for children and leave for work. But she was sad, every minute her thoughts turned to Ram Prasad, where he was, if he got some work and worse she could think was if he was still alive. 

Ten months had passed but there was no news of Ram Prasad. Marjari would often hear men talking about Ram Prasad, “he has found a new memsahib, he’s not coming back; you can choose a new husband,” they said laughingly.

Marjari was getting anxious, she was praying day and night for his return. “If I could just get a letter that he is safe and would soon come back,” she said to herself “then I can show the village that he is coming back.” She was lost in her thoughts and would keep talking to herself.  

This year monsoon came in full spree; it was raining heavily when somebody banged her door. “I have sad news for you,” said the village postman. 

“What is it?” asked Marjari in trembling voice

“There is a letter which says that Ram Prasad was working as a construction labourer for Metro Railways. On 20 July, he died in an accident.”

For a few minutes she was numb. “Amma, I want to go and play in the rain,” said Bhola pulling her saree pallu. Marjari said “yes” and taking Shashi in her lap went along with Bhola. Her steps were fast as she hurried towards the river. Heavy rains had almost flooded the river. 

“Take your children home, the river is flooding,” said an elderly voice. But only the words of postman echoed in her ears. She was completely lost in herself, unaware of her actions. In a fit, she first threw Shahsi, Bhola and then jumped in the river. A fisherman was packing his daily catch of fish when he saw her falling. Unfortunately, he didn’t see the children drowning, he saved Marjari. Years later, she could still be seen looking for her children in water, crying and calling their names.