admin -Vishnu S Rai
It was the first day of the New Year, 2010. The husband was in a very good mood. He had taken his wife to the Lake Side View Restaurant on the New Year Eve, where he killed 3000 rupees to enjoy a champagne dinner. Today he had plans to take her to his sister’s home – a two hours’ drive, and she had heartily agreed. They were going there in the afternoon. Right now the wife was chopping vegetables for their lunch. He had noticed some stains of the fish curry on his trousers from the New Year’s Eve dinner. He went to the kitchen and took an old brush his wife used to clean the sink. He put some water and soap on the stains and scrubbed at them with the toothbrush. He was very happy with the result as the stains were gone and even the old toothbrush was also shining.
“Look!” He said to his wife, “The stains are gone and even your dirty toothbrush is also shining.”
“I don’t clean the toothbrush because I use it to clean the dirty sink and utensils”, she retorted, without looking at him.
“You should”, he said, still pleased with the result of his work. “It’s not dirty now.”
“I don’t clean it because I use it to brush dirty things,” she instantly replied, still with her back to him.
“To clean dirty things doesn’t mean that the means of cleaning should not be cleaned,” he reasoned. “We use a brush to clean the toilet but that doesn’t mean the brush should be dirty.” He tried to make his point.
“Well, I don’t clean the toothbrush, OK”, she said huffily.
“But I only said it was dirty because it was dirty.” He said patiently.
“Don’t talk of cleanliness to me. Have you seen how dirty your underwear always gets? And you talk of cleanliness to me.” She struck back at him.
“That’s not the point. I was only saying that the toothbrush was dirty and now it’s clean”, he reasoned – but his voice too was rising now.
“It was dirty, so what?”
“If something is dirty, I’ll call it dirty.” The argument was still not too heated.
“Don’t talk about cleanliness to me. Look at your clothes and underwear then talk about cleanliness.” She said chopping the cauliflower, – her back still towards him.
“I say stop this nonsense about my underwear.” Now the arguments were crossing the limit.
“I will. You talk about my old toothbrush, why can’t I talk about your underwear. You talk of cleanliness, you, who used to take the filthy tobacco of Mishra-ji.” Her reply put ghee on the fire.
Mishra-ji and her husband were colleagues. Mishra-ji used to chew tobacco that he kept in a small tin-box. He used to take a pinch of tobacco from the box, put it under his lower lip, and then offer the box to her husband. She neither liked tobacco chewing nor the way her husband accepted Mishra-ji’s offer to take the tobacco from the same box. It was unhygienic – and unacceptable from her point of view. He had given up taking tobacco long ago but she still thought that he took it secretly, and she often referred Mishra-ji’s tobacco tin, which always made him angry. The mention of tobacco and Mishra-ji angered him, and he said.
“You’re back to the same old topic again. Yes, I used to take tobacco from his box but it was not tainted, can’t you understand –taking something from the same pot to eat by two people doesn’t mean the food is defiled.”
“It is defiled, and you used to chew tobacco defiled by Mishra-ji, who offered you by saying ‘Partner, how about…’ didn’t you?” She mimicked Mishra-ji. “Don’t I know your character?”
“Now stop I say. You’re taking this too far…” He was really angry now, not knowing how to stop her.
“No, I won’t, you defiled eater, you characterless…”
It was too much for him. As if some Satan had taken him over, he punched her in her back. She turned to him, raised the knife she was chopping the vegetables with, and lunged at him. He staggered back. He blocked the blow with his left hand then slapped her on her behind. Furious she again lunged at him. He dodged but took the blow on his arm. Then they came to their senses -probably realizing what a petty thing they were fighting about. She started crying, and he sat morosely, overcome by guilt that he had hit his wife.
He thought about saying sorry to her but he could not. Maybe after a while it would be all right, and they would start for his sister’s home, he thought. Such things had happened before in their 49 years of married life –arguments went violent and they beat each other –but after some time everything was forgotten, and life went back to normal. Soon everything would be all right again, he thought. But no. Not this time. Why not? Even after 15 years he could not understand. She went to the bedroom and locked the door. His left wrist had swelled enormously and hurt badly, so he went to the kitchen to boil some water. Then he heard his wife talking with their daughter on the phone.
“Come immediately. Your father beat me. Come today and take me home with you. I’m not safe here”, she was talking and sobbing at the same time. He didn’t know what else she said to their daughter, who was a medical doctor and lived 400 kilometres away in Kathmandu. He was just putting his hand in the warm water to ease the pain when his mobile buzzed. It was his daughter. The first time he ignored it but it rang a second time persistently, so he picked it up.
“What happened father”, she addressed him as father and not as papa which she usually did. Mama phoned me.” At first, it seemed funny to him that the small child whom he used to swing in his arms was now trying to be a mediator between him and his wife, but presently he said, “Didn’t your mama tell you what happened?”
“She said that you beat her”, she said bluntly, and the truth in her words hit him hard. “Why, what happened?” She repeated again.
“Didn’t she tell you why?” a nameless anger was starting to rise again in him.
“Whatever the reason, beating is not the solution, is it? You always told us not to do such things and you yourself do them, why?” She struck him dumb. He didn’t know what to say. There was a prolonged silence. “Well?” She started again.
He had never thought that some day his little girl would preach to him about right and wrong. He also didn’t know what her mother had fed her with, and he didn’t want to tell her that she has hit him too, to gain her sympathy. This was an awkward situation –he didn’t want to tell her the details as if he was justifying his action. So he said, “Why it happened? Who beat who and why –I don’t want to get into all of that. If I’m wrong, I’m sorry, OK?”, and he ended the call.
He still had a faint hope that everything would fall into place, that everything was going to be all right. But no. A few hours later, their daughter came to rescue her mother. She had come by plane. It was totally unexpected. It was as if she believed her mother was unsafe with him, as if he would have murdered her unless she came to rescue her. In fact, it was ridiculous to think that he could have strangled her or something after their marriage of 49 years. Did they, his wife and daughter, really believe that? He was shattered, and his faith in his daughter’s common sense was also shattered. On top of that she didn’t say anything to him, didn’t even say ‘Hello’, but went straight to her mom and started packing to let him know that she was going back with her mom by the next flight. He too didn’t try to say anything –if she thought he was the only guilty one and not worth of talking to then let her think so. Sooner or later, she would know the truth.
He just watched. They packed and got ready. Then she came to him and informed him, “I’m taking mom with me.” He didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say, actually. Then she ordered, “A sack and a bag are in the kitchen. Bring them with you when you come back to Kathmandu.” He just kept quiet. Then they left.
In the evening, his son phoned, he didn’t answer. The phone rang again –he didn’t answer. His mobile buzzed when he was trying to sleep. It was his daughter-in-law. He didn’t answer. They all wanted to know why he had beaten his wife. It seemed that by now the whole world knew. She wanted to make him feel ashamed of himself in the eyes of their children, and in the eyes of the world. Well, she was undoubtedly successful in her mission. He felt worse – he’d never felt so miserable in his life ever before.
15 years had passed since then. His daughter and son tried to bridge the gap between him and his wife. He never went back to the Kathmandu home which he had given to his wife, and left the Biratnager house which he also had signed over to her long ago. He lived the life of a vagabond like a homeless tramp. She never came back to him. He never went to meet her. They never called each other, never met, but he always thought of her (and probably she of him). They didn’t even say goodbye to each other. “Life is such a strange story and men are such strange characters. They don’t know what they want –like me, like my wife, like us”, he thought.
X X X X
It was a bright morning. She went into her small garden. Flowers and vegetables greeted her. She felt the fresh wind on her wrinkled skin. A creeper had fallen down. It had to be put back on to its pole. She couldn’t do this. She remembered her husband who had always helped her with work like this. 15 years had passed. She took a long breath. Someone knocked on the gate. She went there slowly and opened it. The postman gave her a small packet and got her signature. She opened it –an old green toothbrush fell out. She picked it up. It was the same toothbrush which had caused the fateful fight between her and her husband 15 years before. It was clean and shining as if smiling at her. Inside the packet, there was a piece of paper. She started reading. There was no return address. The note simply said,
This is the toothbrush that separated us for 15 years. It’s so powerful. I kept it from the day you left. Now I am dying, so I’m sending it to you.
Goodbye and God bless you!
The piece of paper dropped from her hand and she collapsed.