1 views
CHARUKI
It had been two weeks since the last mango shower. Though crops prospered and flowers bloomed
abundantly enough for deities to be adorned, the stubborn trees refused to bear any mangoes till
the next shower to the disappointment of the villagers. No mango vendors shouted their daily calls,
no children snuck into the gardens of rich landlords to steal their mangoes and no halwai sold the
famous ‘Kachcha Aam Rasgulla’which always made scorching summer worth bearing.
While Gobindpur descended into an atmosphere of gloom, the silence of the streets was short lived.
Not so far was a carriage drawn by two horses of healthy steed whose reigns were controlled by a driver. In such a place like Gobindpur, the only destination that the rich visit is the mansion ‘Anondo
Niketan’; one of the largest mansions in the countryside near Calcutta. Surrounded by a marble perimeter, this estate had a fountain and garden which directly overlooked the river. The title of the
house isn’t just for namesake. Every week or the other, the owner Mr. Prashaano Das and many other landlords from different villages; even some British generals from Calcutta would have a night
of grandeur and celebration with poker, wine and music. His hand at poker was always impeccable and many came mostly to try defeating the man ‘at his own game’. While he was an honest person
as a landlord held in high regard by all, he was known to show kindness in eccentric ways. Every month or so, he would pay the merchants money for food grains and other essentials to give free of
cost to the poverty-stricken and untouchables. He would himself carry the supplies to the Basti and deliver it to their doorstep. He also would keep savings aside to buy various birds; 10 to 20 of them
only to go to the terrace and release them from their cages.
With a 3-storied mansion and staff of 9 members, the scenario looks incomplete with the authoritarian figure. That is where Mohini Das, Prashaano Das’s wife comes into picture. All day long, she would check on the cleanliness of the house after her morning prayers; sometimes chewing a betel leaf while doing so. Her meticulousness was so overwhelming that no staff could ever reach her desired standard of maintenance. Also, the woman not being a very sympathetic person would fire those who made mistakes that she found irrevocable and clumsy. The marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Das was considered as the angel and devil tying the knot. Mohini never liked her
husband’s interaction with the poor, his poker nights or his eccentricities. Their marriage was just an alliance for more real estate. While Mr. Das tried his best to maintain good relations with his wife,
her overbearing and narrow-minded personality led to the consensual decision of living blissfully apart.
But this wasn’t a typical day for the Das family. The ones arriving to the mansion weren’t Zamindarsor Generals. Inside the carriage was a woman dressed in a greyish white saree of delicate silk with intricate fractal borders against a black blouse. Despite the dress she wore, she still had her vermillion intact and a necklace of gold. This, the softness of her palms and her ever youthful face indicated her marriage in a well-off family, high in both economic prospects and societal rank. Her expressions were calm yet sombre as she
stared at the wilderness outside with nostalgia. Her thoughts went to her childhood in this village.How she would walk to the temple while collecting flowers on her way, how she spent all afternoon
playing with slingshots and gilli danda till evening with her friends, how she and Charuki would….
Her thoughts blanked out completely. “Charuki….”. Her memories of her sister Charuki were faint. For some reason, she had always associated them to be unpleasant. Then a poem struck her. A
poem that her sister always muttered under her breath while strolling aimlessly around the house:
“A dollhouse is what I desire,
I will not settle for less,
I will have a doll
In beautiful jewels and a beautiful dress.
I will have my dollhouse,
Perfect and nice,
Adorned with a lovely life,
Anything less will never suffice.
A dollhouse is what I desire,
I will not settle for less,
I will have a doll
In beautiful jewels…………”
The voice slowly faded as it was replaced by the voice of a man gently calling her name. “Uma? Uma!”. She quickly flinched as she snapped out of thought and faced the man who was none other than her husband sitting beside. “You were lost in deep thought. We have almost reached. Although who can blame you; visiting your childhood home after 8 years.” She nodded and smiled slightly as
she tucked her head with the drape of her saree. This was Uma Das, the elder daughter of the Das
family. Her beauty and delicate features before made her the most beautiful maiden of Gobindpur. After being married, she had to go to her in-laws’ place in Calcutta from where she never looked
back at her previous life. She never thought of ever coming to visit, and now here she was, riding all the way from Calcutta to attend her now late sister Charuki Das’ funeral.
Charuki Das was the youngest member of the family. At the age of 10, it became evident that she
was mentally disabled and would continue to be so. Mohini, who was already disappointed at
Charuki for being a girl was even more outraged to learn about her mental disability. At 13 years, the
beatings to the poor girl became so much that her father made separate arrangements for her to
live out in the garden. As he yelled at his wife for beating the apple of his eye, the wife would then wail exclaiming how horrible her fate was and would sometimes even make a scene in the village.
This attitude of hers refrained him from being verbal and rather invested all of his energy in protecting his daughter. He had built a small brick house with a full-sized bed, furniture and polished floors. It even had another floor from where one can see the river. Besides, she didn’t mind living in
the garden where she could stroll around and play in the mud. She maintained no contact with people outside the mansion as the children were too frightened to play with her. Regardless, Mr. Das loved her the most as he saw many of his qualities in her; mostly being her benevolence and
eccentricity. During lunch, she saved almost half of her meal of rice for the sparrow. When a curious staff would ask why she did so, she would simply say- "I want to see them fly. They need energy for that."
Some found her endearing, whereas some others found her revolting.
One of the staffs- Karavi would often rat out staff members who tried to...
abundantly enough for deities to be adorned, the stubborn trees refused to bear any mangoes till
the next shower to the disappointment of the villagers. No mango vendors shouted their daily calls,
no children snuck into the gardens of rich landlords to steal their mangoes and no halwai sold the
famous ‘Kachcha Aam Rasgulla’which always made scorching summer worth bearing.
While Gobindpur descended into an atmosphere of gloom, the silence of the streets was short lived.
Not so far was a carriage drawn by two horses of healthy steed whose reigns were controlled by a driver. In such a place like Gobindpur, the only destination that the rich visit is the mansion ‘Anondo
Niketan’; one of the largest mansions in the countryside near Calcutta. Surrounded by a marble perimeter, this estate had a fountain and garden which directly overlooked the river. The title of the
house isn’t just for namesake. Every week or the other, the owner Mr. Prashaano Das and many other landlords from different villages; even some British generals from Calcutta would have a night
of grandeur and celebration with poker, wine and music. His hand at poker was always impeccable and many came mostly to try defeating the man ‘at his own game’. While he was an honest person
as a landlord held in high regard by all, he was known to show kindness in eccentric ways. Every month or so, he would pay the merchants money for food grains and other essentials to give free of
cost to the poverty-stricken and untouchables. He would himself carry the supplies to the Basti and deliver it to their doorstep. He also would keep savings aside to buy various birds; 10 to 20 of them
only to go to the terrace and release them from their cages.
With a 3-storied mansion and staff of 9 members, the scenario looks incomplete with the authoritarian figure. That is where Mohini Das, Prashaano Das’s wife comes into picture. All day long, she would check on the cleanliness of the house after her morning prayers; sometimes chewing a betel leaf while doing so. Her meticulousness was so overwhelming that no staff could ever reach her desired standard of maintenance. Also, the woman not being a very sympathetic person would fire those who made mistakes that she found irrevocable and clumsy. The marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Das was considered as the angel and devil tying the knot. Mohini never liked her
husband’s interaction with the poor, his poker nights or his eccentricities. Their marriage was just an alliance for more real estate. While Mr. Das tried his best to maintain good relations with his wife,
her overbearing and narrow-minded personality led to the consensual decision of living blissfully apart.
But this wasn’t a typical day for the Das family. The ones arriving to the mansion weren’t Zamindarsor Generals. Inside the carriage was a woman dressed in a greyish white saree of delicate silk with intricate fractal borders against a black blouse. Despite the dress she wore, she still had her vermillion intact and a necklace of gold. This, the softness of her palms and her ever youthful face indicated her marriage in a well-off family, high in both economic prospects and societal rank. Her expressions were calm yet sombre as she
stared at the wilderness outside with nostalgia. Her thoughts went to her childhood in this village.How she would walk to the temple while collecting flowers on her way, how she spent all afternoon
playing with slingshots and gilli danda till evening with her friends, how she and Charuki would….
Her thoughts blanked out completely. “Charuki….”. Her memories of her sister Charuki were faint. For some reason, she had always associated them to be unpleasant. Then a poem struck her. A
poem that her sister always muttered under her breath while strolling aimlessly around the house:
“A dollhouse is what I desire,
I will not settle for less,
I will have a doll
In beautiful jewels and a beautiful dress.
I will have my dollhouse,
Perfect and nice,
Adorned with a lovely life,
Anything less will never suffice.
A dollhouse is what I desire,
I will not settle for less,
I will have a doll
In beautiful jewels…………”
The voice slowly faded as it was replaced by the voice of a man gently calling her name. “Uma? Uma!”. She quickly flinched as she snapped out of thought and faced the man who was none other than her husband sitting beside. “You were lost in deep thought. We have almost reached. Although who can blame you; visiting your childhood home after 8 years.” She nodded and smiled slightly as
she tucked her head with the drape of her saree. This was Uma Das, the elder daughter of the Das
family. Her beauty and delicate features before made her the most beautiful maiden of Gobindpur. After being married, she had to go to her in-laws’ place in Calcutta from where she never looked
back at her previous life. She never thought of ever coming to visit, and now here she was, riding all the way from Calcutta to attend her now late sister Charuki Das’ funeral.
Charuki Das was the youngest member of the family. At the age of 10, it became evident that she
was mentally disabled and would continue to be so. Mohini, who was already disappointed at
Charuki for being a girl was even more outraged to learn about her mental disability. At 13 years, the
beatings to the poor girl became so much that her father made separate arrangements for her to
live out in the garden. As he yelled at his wife for beating the apple of his eye, the wife would then wail exclaiming how horrible her fate was and would sometimes even make a scene in the village.
This attitude of hers refrained him from being verbal and rather invested all of his energy in protecting his daughter. He had built a small brick house with a full-sized bed, furniture and polished floors. It even had another floor from where one can see the river. Besides, she didn’t mind living in
the garden where she could stroll around and play in the mud. She maintained no contact with people outside the mansion as the children were too frightened to play with her. Regardless, Mr. Das loved her the most as he saw many of his qualities in her; mostly being her benevolence and
eccentricity. During lunch, she saved almost half of her meal of rice for the sparrow. When a curious staff would ask why she did so, she would simply say- "I want to see them fly. They need energy for that."
Some found her endearing, whereas some others found her revolting.
One of the staffs- Karavi would often rat out staff members who tried to...
