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Hajar Churashir Ma (Mother of 1084) front cover, 1974.
The central event of the novel Hajar Churashir Ma (Mother of 1084) is an atrocity in which a youthful group of friends is attacked and killed by a gang of partisans from an opposing group. They were working to liberate poor people from domination and impoverishment by the wealthy strata of society.
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Naxalbari_uprising
The Naxalbari Uprising of 1967 led to a splintered future among multiple factions.
Naxalism and Naxalites were terms in use at the time, and spread to some cities, where violence took the form of killing persons in power and snatching rifles from armed policemen deployed to quell the violence on streets. Joe used to live at the time in the area named as relatively calm in the novel (Park Street and Camac Street) but it was common to see policemen holding rifles chained to their waist lest Naxaals attack them and wrest the weapons from their hands.
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Mahasweta Devi (1926 – 2016) was an eminent Indian writer and social activist. She is a prominent literary personality and best-selling Bengali author of short fiction and novels.
Mahasweta Devi may not have been violent herself, but her lifelong sympathies were with the tribals whom she worked to educate, uplift, and write about. Why she wrote this novella, at first a play, is no mystery. She wanted to depict the empty veneer of materialism that paraded as culture among educated upper-class urbanites, and contrast it with the idealism of those who revolted and led movements to bring justice to the poor. As she wrote:
“In the seventies, in the Naxalite movement, I saw exemplary integrity, selflessness, and the guts to die for a cause. I thought I saw history in the making, and decided that as a writer it would be my mission to document it. As a writer, I feel a commitment to my times, to mankind, and to myself. I did not consider the Naxalite movement an isolated happening.”
Nelson Mandela honours Mahasweta Devi with the Jnanpith Award in 1997.
The violence was not only by the government on the Naxal participants; it took place as bloody warfare between opposing groups of leftist partisans which Mahashweta Devi recounts:
“A bloody cycle of interminable assaults and counter-assaults, murders and vendetta, was initiated. The ranks of both the CPI(M) and CPI (M-L) dissipated their militancy in mutual fightings leading to the elimination of a large number of their activists, and leaving the field open to the police and the hoodlums. It was a senseless orgy of murders, misplaced fury, sadistic tortures, acted out with the vicious norms of the underworld, and dictated by the decadent and cunning values of the petit bourgeois leaders.”
In Mother of 1084 (published serially in a periodical in 1973, and later as a novella in 1974) Mahasweta re-enacts the senseless killings of the Naxalites. The author does it evoking the intense love of a mother (Sujata) for her son (Brati) whose motivations and struggles she does not understand. Much of the novel is given to the mother’s search for the secret life of her son with his comrades, including a lover (Nandini) who is tortured by the police to extract information about others in the movement. The third woman who suffers is the mother of Somu, a comrade of Brati, who is also killed in the internecine warfare; but she can wail her loss openly, in a way Sujata cannot.
The passage of time is referred to often in the pages of the novel by the women who bear the suffering of past grief, the unbearable grief of losing a beloved son, and the poignant loss of a comrade in arms at the flowering of his youth.
In the first simile on p.61 Time is likened to the flowing of a river, Grief is the bank of the river where sorrow accumulates. As the river flows, the alluvium carried by the river water is heaped on the accumulated grief on the bank, submerges it, and soon new shoots of hope grow to mitigate the sorrow.
In a second simile on p.77, Time is seen firstly as the compression of loss: the past is gone forever. Secondly time is seen (as above) through the same prism of flowing water carrying fresh alluvial soil to cover the mudbanks of grief heaped by the past. And that brings new hope.
In yet a third simile on p.79, Time is cast as an ‘arch fugitive, always on the run.’ It reminds one of the Latin maxim tempus fugit (time flies) which is shortened from Virgil's Georgics, where it appears as fugit inreparabile tempus: “it escapes, irretrievable time.” In the novel Sujata ‘would never be able to retrieve the moment when Brati in his blue shirt stood at the foot of the stairs.’ Will the two women, Sujata and Nandini, be always in search of lost time, like Swann in Proust’s novel Remembrance of Things Past?
Samik Bandyopadhyay, the translator, says he had the privilege of working with the author who contributed her own notes on the translation.
Author Bio by Devika
Mahasweta Devi was an Indian writer in Bengali and an activist. Her notable literary works include Hajar Churashir Maa, Rudali, and Aranyer Adhikar. She was a leftist who worked for the rights and empowerment of the tribal people. She was honoured with many literary awards such as the Sahitya Academy Award (in Bengali), Jnanpith Award, Ramon Magasaysay Award along with India’s civilian awards Padma Shri and Padma Vibhushan. She was nominated for the Man Booker in 2009.
Mahasweta Devi was born in a Brahmin family in Dhaka; she was the eldest of nine children. Her father Manish Ghatak was a novelist and mother Dharitri Devi a social worker. She started her schooling in Dhaka but the family soon moved to West Bengal. She finished her schooling partly at Shantiniketan and at Beltala Girls School. She completed her B. A. (Hons) English and M. A in English from the Vishwabharati University founded by Rabindranath Tagore.
Mahasweta Devi wrote over 100 novels and 20 collections of short stories. Her first novel Jhanshir Rani, based on the biography of the Rani of Jhansi was published in 1956. She toured the Jhansi region to record information and folk songs from the locals for the novel. She wrote about women and their place in the Indian society. Some of her characters are old women living in poverty, some exploited because of their lack of wealth; regardless of their status they all suffer some kind of mistreatment. But not all are willing to accept their fate. Her books offer a powerful experience for the reader.
Mahasweta Devi, 14th January 1926 – 28th July 2016
Mahasweta Devi's specialisation lay in the studies of Adivasi, Dalit and marginalised people with a focus on their women. They formed associations to protest in the face of British colonialism, the Mahajans and against upper-class corruption and injustice. Over a period of many years she lived in the Adivasi villages in West Bengal, Bihar, Madhya Pradesh, Chhattisgarh, befriending the tribals and learning from them. She has embodied their struggles and sacrifices in her words and characters. She said that her stories weren't always her imaginative creations, but the real-life stories of the people of her country. Such an example is her work Chotti Mundi Ebong Tar Tir.
Mahasweta was married twice, initially to Bijon Bhattacharya (theatre and film actor) in 1947. Her son Nabarun Bhattacharya grew up to be a Bengali writer and political commentator. She later married Asit Gupta (an author) in 1962 but the marriage ended in 1976.
Initially Mahasweta Devi worked in a Post Office but got fired because of her political views. Later on, she worked as a lecturer. During this period, she also worked as a journalist and a creative writer.
She supported the candidature of Mamata Banarjee in the 2011 West Bengal Legislative Assembly election which resulted in the end of the 34-year long rule of CPI(M). She had opposed the proposal to commercialise Santiniketan, the learning centre set up by Rabindranath Tagore, where she spent her formative years. Her lead in the Nandigram agitation resulted in a number of intellectuals, artists, writers and theatre workers joining in protest of the controversial policy and particularly its implementation in Singur and Nandigram as industrial hubs.
Mahasweta Devi died on the 23rd July 2016 from a heart attack and multiple organ failure. She was featured in a Google Doodle on her 92nd birthday.
Google Doodle on her 92nd birthday
Mahasweta’s nephew, Maitreesh Ghatak has a blog called Loose Leaves in which he writes about his memories of his aunt…..
“My father, Maitreya, was one of Mahasweta Devi’s youngest brothers. Maitreya accompanied his sister on many of her trips to tribal areas across the country. I’ve heard countless fascinating stories about these trips including one where they discovered a famous tribal leader, still a fugitive from the law, living in anonymity in a village in Madhya Pradesh under a pseudonym.
I fondly remember Boro Pishi’s wicked sense of humour, her children’s stories such as Nyadosh (the crazy non-vegetarian cow) and her being the grand matriarch of the extended family after her father Manish Ghatak passed away, always helping those in need.”
The following excerpt is written by her grandnephew, Arjun Puri:
“My grand-aunt, Mahasweta Devi, was and remains a household name in literary circles worldwide. My memories of her are primarily of being spoken to about finding what I am most passionate about and ensuring that I aimed to give my best to get what I want to do with what I love. I could tell that it was her philosophy on how to write and to live.
One significant memory is of her stepping in with my grandmother and other grand-aunts to apply ‘bhai-phonta’ on me. I have memories of sitting in drawing rooms of various sizes with family, and Boro Mashi (as I called her because my mother called her that) would regale us with stories and songs. She often sang when we were all together.
The most remarkable memory associated with her was when I was invited with my parents to a felicitation – honouring her life in Literature. At that time, we lived in a world without the Internet, but to see the reception she received was beyond my imagination. What also stood out from that evening was that Nelson Mandela gave her the award.
Her life will be honoured by those who read her works. She never had it easy, but she showed the way to many others by staying determined, passionate and diligent. She will always be one of India’s great writers to the world, but to me, she will be the grand-aunt who appreciated cheeky humour and a good laugh!”
Thomo
Thomo mentioned that at the time of the Singur agitation for getting back the land made over to the Tata company for a plant to make the Tata Nano car, it was Budhadev Bhattacharya who was the chief minister, not Jyoti Basu, as Priya supposed. Mamata started the agitation that ultimately saw the grant of land revoked.
Thomo also recounted the importance of land reform in bringing about a measure of justice and equality among the landless and the indentured workers. Only three states implemented the land reforms enacted by the Land Ceiling Act – they were Kerala, West Bengal and Tamil Nadu. But it was not properly implemented in Bengal. The land was not re-distributed there.
Today, almost everybody in Kerala has got apiece of land be it only three cents (1 cent = one-hundredth of an acre) in their name. That is the reason for a general level of prosperity and the lack of poverty in Kerala. Everybody had land and they were no longer serfs.
The Left came to power in West Bengal but those from the party like Charu Majumdar who supported the Naxalite uprising were expelled. These expelled communists later organised themselves into what eventually became the CPI(M-L). They remained at the centre of the Naxalite movement till 1975.
The movement attracted a lot of young men from upper middle class homes. Thomo remembers that one of the Naxalites arrested was the Police Commissioner's son. His name was Indrajit, but not sure. When Thomo tried searching about it online he could find no mention of it anywhere. On Page 8, 2nd para we read, "Dibyanath had succeeded in his mission, his string pulling. The next day the newspapers reported the deaths of four young men. Their names were reported. Brati was not mentioned in any of the reports."
The Naxalite activity at present is concentrated in Chhattisgarh. When Thomo was on the Nano Drive (he toured all the state capitals in India in a Tata Nano car in 2012) many journalist friends suggested that he should avoid the Hyderabad Raipur stretch as it was infested by Naxalites. His route however did not feature that stretch although he drove to both Hyderabad and Raipur. But even if he had, he would not have faced any problem because the Naxalites operated deep in the countryside, in the forests where their tribal livelihoods were being threatened; it was not near the national highways. In West Bengal although the Naxalite news was datelined Calcutta, the activity was in the countryside, starting from the Naxalbari block of Siliguri in Darjeeling where it all began.
In the portion Thomo read Sujata considers what the response would have been if Brati had died in an accident, of an incurable disease, or because of some criminal activity.
Geetha
.Once the fever of righting the wrongs of society and exposing the spineless perpetrators of the evils of a generation got into them, nothing could stop the the Naxal agitators.
They did not belong to any category of offenders. Sujata failed to find a particular classification of criminals to put her son Brati into. With their actions they dared the authorities. She agonised over trying to understand her son and what had led to his death. They were the misfits of society and became the targets of bourgeois society which had usurped power and was determined to end the lives of those who threatened law and order. Life must go on undisturbed.
Geetha also voiced her thoughts on how youngsters took to agitation and revolution against the ills of society. Most of the youth grow up in a sheltered environment, unconcerned with what goes on around them in politics or society. They rejoiced at the call for a hartal since it gave a holiday from their boring lives in schools and colleges. Yet some got embroiled in the protests and riots, perhaps because they were subjected to unfairness or injustice at the hands of authorities or goondas.
They did not belong to any category of offenders. Sujata failed to find a particular classification of criminals to put her son Brati into. With their actions they dared the authorities. She agonised over trying to understand her son and what had led to his death. They were the misfits of society and became the targets of bourgeois society which had usurped power and was determined to end the lives of those who threatened law and order. Life must go on undisturbed.
Geetha also voiced her thoughts on how youngsters took to agitation and revolution against the ills of society. Most of the youth grow up in a sheltered environment, unconcerned with what goes on around them in politics or society. They rejoiced at the call for a hartal since it gave a holiday from their boring lives in schools and colleges. Yet some got embroiled in the protests and riots, perhaps because they were subjected to unfairness or injustice at the hands of authorities or goondas.
Geetha thought that history repeats itself and even now we have the issue of the state committing political atrocities that make people angry inside, especially the young. How is it that some of the young in Kerala are more passionate and involved than the others? Some are bolder and take forward their beliefs into action. Most of the children are protected from what is happening and they are not quite interested in reading or knowing what is going on around. Even if one grew up with such apathy, when one exposed to injustice the humanity in you should rebel.
The portion Geetha read makes one feel like crying for Sujata. We witness the relationship between the mother and the son, and the agony of the mother at losing her son who felt so fervently against all the atrocities that were happening around him.
The translator Samik Bandyopadhyay has done a good job of bringing in some literary devices which Geetha thought were unique, such as writing the answers and leaving the reader to surmise the questions that may have been asked.
Shoba chose a passage where Brati and Sujata, son and mother, are together for the last time and then he goes out of the house and gets killed – but before he goes they have a normal conversation. There's no hint of any danger; she doesn't suspect that anything bad is going to happen. Mother and son are playing Ludo and in between they stop the game and they have a conversation.
‘That day Brati had sat looking at her for a long time. Then he had said, Let’s stop the game. Why don’t we chat for a while?'
But that chat did not take place. The phone rang and Brati put on his blue shirt and combed his hair to leave home. He would never return. Sujata thought back to this day and this conversation many times. The fact that Brati knew her and questioned her life choices, might have influenced her actions after his death. She seemed to detach herself from her old life. It's very sad that this is the last time Sujata and Brati will sit together and talk. It is his birthday. Sujata recalls the way he looked up at her from the bottom of the staircase before he left.
Arundhathy began with a short narration of her personal experience with the Naxal movement. She spoke about two of her own first cousins studying in the Presidency College in Calcutta who were involved in the Naxal movement and how one of them had to take refuge in far away Bhopal and was later sent off to America to study to take him away from the dangerous scenario prevailing at that time.
In this passage of the book Mother of 1084, the author emphasises the tragic plight of a bereaved mother Sujata who is mourning the death of her son. As she gets more and more information about her son, she becomes isolated and alienated from her own family and the so called bhadralok (genteel society).
The majority of her children resembled Dibyanath, and all liked Dibyanath except Brati. Of her four children Brati was the only one who disagreed with his father's bourgeous ideology. He disliked his father's unscrupulous and dishonest ways and cut himself off from his father .
Brati was the only person who had a close relationship with Sujata. He was an empathetic young man who was concerned about the underprivileged.
The author skilfully portrays Brati 's character and describes how he related to his fellow comrades and created a company of friends outside his own family.
Sujata visits the house of Somu (one of Brati’s comrades who died with him) to meet his mother. They were very poor and Sujata realises that, despite having a lavish lifestyle herself, she cannot cry freely like Somu’s mother. She feels close to Somu 's mother and yet knows that she does not belong with them either.
This passage also tells us that those who go against the State are not only hunted down, but even their families are made to suffer as outcasts in society and cannot find jobs or ways to survive.
Kavita chose this passage as it was so sad to read that Sujata was not able to acknowledge to anyone that her son had died and he died in this revolution.
Pamela was struck by three thoughts in this passage. One is that Betrayal seems to be a characteristic of human beings – right through history we have seen events like the Ides of March, the Trojan Horse, Judas in Christ's story, etc.
There's a beautiful sharing between the two important women in Brati's life. Sujata and Nandini shared a silent understanding when one reached out with her hand and the other caressed it. At this point, Priya asked the question: why did Sujata move her hand away? Other readers responded with the reasoning that Sujata had always been subjugated by her husband and therefore hesitated in expressing herself overtly. Pamela mentioned the example of how Sujata's husband had reprimanded her when she ran towards the window to watch the raging storm. There was a general feeling that men can be like that, men even in elite families are not exempt from the desire to dominate women. Someone mentioned this thought - "....in these rain clouds and dark clouds, I'm seeing the darkness of your soul."
Mother of 1084, a novel by Mahasweta Devi written in 1974, with the background of the Naxal revolution in Bengal. It follows a day in the life of Sujata Chatterjee. The Naxalite movement, which was formed in the 1960s by a group of Indian communists who supported Maoist ideology, was gaining strength through the 1960s and 70s, especially among students. Leaders of the Naxalites declared that the Indian State needed to be overthrown and advocated violence not only against the government, but against all “class enemies.” In response, the authorities hounded and killed them. Sujata’s younger son Brati was killed two years earlier in one such “encounter.” She has no clue why he was killed. She only knows that her husband Dibyanath and elder son Jyoti had erased Brati’s name from all reports of the incident and seen to it that his name was not mentioned in the newspapers as it could have been a permanent blot on the family.
On Brati’s second death anniversary, Sujata escapes from the house as she does not want to be part of the preparations for the engagement party of her daughter Tuli to be held on the same day, and goes looking for answers. 1084 is the number assigned to Brati’s corpse at the morgue. During the course of the day, divided as Dawn, Afternoon, Evening and Night in the book, we see Sujata transform from a meek, subjugated person who is not given any respect in her house: her husband has numerous affairs with the tacit acceptance of his mother (the mother-in-law) who holds the power in the household, but Sujata is not allowed to have a say in the upbringing of her children, nor are her views on household matters taken into consideration. Despite having a college degree, she has to defend her decision to work at a bank. The children tend to side with her husband, showing her no respect.
The only person she feels close to is Brati who is also not much liked by the rest of his siblings; they feel he is being spoilt by his mother. However, as the novel progresses, Sujata realises that she didn’t know her son as well as she thought she did. She meets the mother of one of the three other boys who was killed in the same encounter as Brati, and from her learns that Brati had spent the last night before his death in their house. She is exposed to a life of poverty, squalor and degradation that she has so far been protected from by virtue of belonging to a conservative, affluent “Bhadralok” family.
Sujata meets Nandini, who was Brati's girlfriend and co-worker in the Naxal movement and from her, hears about the events leading to Brati’s betrayal along with his comrades and Nandini’s own torture at the hands of the police. This knowledge makes Sujata realise how little she knew her son; that adds to her guilt. It also makes her aware of her own neglect in her household, and the domination by her husband and the family. This realisation gives her strength to stand up for herself. However it is too late for Brati.
The portion Saras chose to read from was where Sujata finally stands up for herself against her husband and makes it clear to him that she is no longer going to be a doormat. She makes it clear to her husband that he has no right to question her about her going and coming, when she has kept silent all the while about his extramarital affairs, not wanting to disturb the status quo.
She seethes with a sense of injustice at the manner of her son’s death and the way the father and elder brother’s first thought was to obliterate Brati’s existence as if he was a dirty secret, removing even his name so that he is known only as ‘corpse number 1084.’ Contrast this with how Somu’s father tries to protect his son, offering to go out and meet the mob instead of the Naxal boys who took refuge in his little hut.
Saras felt that the inherent weakness of a translated novel did detract from the story. Conversations between characters seemed silly and childish in English. For e.g. in the passage Saras chose, the conversation between Dibyanath and Sujata
“….But I have never spent my time, like you, stealing away, slinking away
from your home, from your family, the way you have done all your life.
Would you like to hear more?”
“You ... today...”
“Yes, why not? Why not today? Get out.”
“Who? Me?”
“Yes. Get out.”
Maybe in the original Bengali it sounded or read better, but in English it definitely sounds weak.
The translator Samik Bandyopadhyay has done a good job of bringing in some literary devices which Geetha thought were unique, such as writing the answers and leaving the reader to surmise the questions that may have been asked.
Kumkum
Mahasweta Devi's novella 'Mother of 1084' intricately weaves two simultaneous narratives. One narrative revolves around the dissonance in the relationship between Sujata and her husband, Dibyanath. The other narrative delves into the life and world of Brati, a committed Naxalite. Despite the turmoil surrounding them, there's a poignant resonance in the mother-son relationship.
Brati is keenly aware of his father's faults, such as his extramarital relationship with the typist of his company. He is aware of the shallow beliefs of his elder siblings. Among the family members, Sujata and her maid Hem stand out as outliers. Despite the facade of normalcy within the family, Sujata remains haunted by the death of her young son at the hands of a rival Naxalite group.
On the second death anniversary of Brati's passing, Sujata seeks solace by meeting with people who were once Brati's comrades in the Naxal movement in 1970s Calcutta. Among them is Nandini, with whom Sujata shares a poignant exchange. Mahasweta Devi masterfully captures this meeting, portraying Nandini's enigmatic persona with poignant imagery: "On her thin, dark, and weary face, Sujata could see a permanent shadow under her eyes, like shadows lingering on the slopes of hills or foothills. It felt as if Nandini could never be known or understood, evoking a sense of irreparable loss and void."
The passage Kumkum chose to read also highlights the strained relationship between Sujata and her husband, Dibyanath. In their old-fashioned household, Dibyanath's mother wields the power, relegating Sujata to the role of a mere appendage. However, Sujata, educated at Loreto College, rebels at one point and refuses to conform to such subservience. She silently opposes her mother-in-law's dominance and asserts her independence against her husband's bullying tactics, refusing to acquiesce in his extramarital affair or his expectations that she should abandon her career.
Dibyanath's bafflement at Sujata's stubbornness underscores the contrast between her quiet rebellion and the more overt actions of Brati and Nandini. Sujata epitomises the educated, liberated women depicted in Bengali novels of the time—women who, despite conforming to societal norms outwardly, carved out their own path with quiet determination.
Mahasweta Devi's novella 'Mother of 1084' intricately weaves two simultaneous narratives. One narrative revolves around the dissonance in the relationship between Sujata and her husband, Dibyanath. The other narrative delves into the life and world of Brati, a committed Naxalite. Despite the turmoil surrounding them, there's a poignant resonance in the mother-son relationship.
Brati is keenly aware of his father's faults, such as his extramarital relationship with the typist of his company. He is aware of the shallow beliefs of his elder siblings. Among the family members, Sujata and her maid Hem stand out as outliers. Despite the facade of normalcy within the family, Sujata remains haunted by the death of her young son at the hands of a rival Naxalite group.
On the second death anniversary of Brati's passing, Sujata seeks solace by meeting with people who were once Brati's comrades in the Naxal movement in 1970s Calcutta. Among them is Nandini, with whom Sujata shares a poignant exchange. Mahasweta Devi masterfully captures this meeting, portraying Nandini's enigmatic persona with poignant imagery: "On her thin, dark, and weary face, Sujata could see a permanent shadow under her eyes, like shadows lingering on the slopes of hills or foothills. It felt as if Nandini could never be known or understood, evoking a sense of irreparable loss and void."
The passage Kumkum chose to read also highlights the strained relationship between Sujata and her husband, Dibyanath. In their old-fashioned household, Dibyanath's mother wields the power, relegating Sujata to the role of a mere appendage. However, Sujata, educated at Loreto College, rebels at one point and refuses to conform to such subservience. She silently opposes her mother-in-law's dominance and asserts her independence against her husband's bullying tactics, refusing to acquiesce in his extramarital affair or his expectations that she should abandon her career.
Dibyanath's bafflement at Sujata's stubbornness underscores the contrast between her quiet rebellion and the more overt actions of Brati and Nandini. Sujata epitomises the educated, liberated women depicted in Bengali novels of the time—women who, despite conforming to societal norms outwardly, carved out their own path with quiet determination.
Sujata is not alone among women in Bengali literature of those times. One or two like her appear in Tagore's novels, and later in the novels of Mahashweta Devi and Tara Shankar Bhandyopadhyay also, where women had enough education to be conscious of their rights.
In the present case Sujata was well-educated. The two other women (Somu's mother and Nandini) were not that educated, but they had higher self-regard. Sujata knew what was wrong, and she tried to stand up to it in her own way, though not by walking out of the failing marriage with Dibyanath.
Sujata didn't live up to being a Loreto College girl. She had all the education, but she could not shake off the shackles of a traditional family. Loreto, then and even now, remains the premier girls' college in Calcutta for upper-class girls. Thomo’s younger sister studied there. She also taught there after taking her Master's degree.
Sujata’s children noticed she acted in a submissive role. They used the word ‘subsidiary’ in the book – it should have been submissive. That means she didn't stand up for her rights from the beginning of her marriage. It would have become unpleasant for the children if she had rebelled against her husband. She just opted to keep the peace and stability in the home. But gradually, she begins to rebel against her being completely ignored within the family. Then she gathers inner strength using her son's death and his own rebellion. Then she is able to stand apart from the family and assert herself. Thus, she gets her independent voice and part of her own self-worth back from Brati.
Why was she such a mouse early in her marriage, asked Saras? Her husband knew she could not be touched. He is different. He was a cad who just rode roughshod over her. The husband's mother was the queen in the house. But Sujata was proud enough to keep her job.
It's a beautifully translated book, according to KumKum.
In the passage KumKum read Dibyanath can’t understand why Sujata wants to continue working at a job when he can provide her with a comfortable middle-class life; he thinks he is being solicitous for her, but his marital infidelity is known to his children.
Shoba
Shoba chose a passage where Brati and Sujata, son and mother, are together for the last time and then he goes out of the house and gets killed – but before he goes they have a normal conversation. There's no hint of any danger; she doesn't suspect that anything bad is going to happen. Mother and son are playing Ludo and in between they stop the game and they have a conversation.
The passage deals with the last day of Brati’s life and the last conversation between mother and son. Brati had been home all day. When Sujata returned home from work, they had tea together, and played a game of Ludo. Sujatha questioned him about Nandini, and expressed a wish to see her. Then Brati asked Sujata if she was happy. He asked her why she was so passive. She replied that she was trained to be passive in the family. Her husband and mother in law had the power. Holding on to her job was the only act of rebellion she displayed.
‘That day Brati had sat looking at her for a long time. Then he had said, Let’s stop the game. Why don’t we chat for a while?'
But that chat did not take place. The phone rang and Brati put on his blue shirt and combed his hair to leave home. He would never return. Sujata thought back to this day and this conversation many times. The fact that Brati knew her and questioned her life choices, might have influenced her actions after his death. She seemed to detach herself from her old life. It's very sad that this is the last time Sujata and Brati will sit together and talk. It is his birthday. Sujata recalls the way he looked up at her from the bottom of the staircase before he left.
Arundhathy
In this passage of the book Mother of 1084, the author emphasises the tragic plight of a bereaved mother Sujata who is mourning the death of her son. As she gets more and more information about her son, she becomes isolated and alienated from her own family and the so called bhadralok (genteel society).
The majority of her children resembled Dibyanath, and all liked Dibyanath except Brati. Of her four children Brati was the only one who disagreed with his father's bourgeous ideology. He disliked his father's unscrupulous and dishonest ways and cut himself off from his father .
Brati was the only person who had a close relationship with Sujata. He was an empathetic young man who was concerned about the underprivileged.
The author skilfully portrays Brati 's character and describes how he related to his fellow comrades and created a company of friends outside his own family.
Sujata visits the house of Somu (one of Brati’s comrades who died with him) to meet his mother. They were very poor and Sujata realises that, despite having a lavish lifestyle herself, she cannot cry freely like Somu’s mother. She feels close to Somu 's mother and yet knows that she does not belong with them either.
This passage also tells us that those who go against the State are not only hunted down, but even their families are made to suffer as outcasts in society and cannot find jobs or ways to survive.
There were a lot of party conflicts CPI-M and CPI-ML besides the fact that the police were chasing the Naxalites.
During the reading when this part of the story was highlighted by Arundhathy, one of the readers pointed out that, it sometimes can work the other way too. One of her relatives who was a freedom fighter during the Independence struggle was now being acknowledged for his bravery and his children and family were rewarded with a lot of concessions from the government.
Arundhathy pointed out that freedom fighters were a different category who fought against a foreign occupation and not the same as citizens who protested against their own masters, now Indians governing the state and suppressing fellow Indians.
Arundhathy said that during the Naxal movement of the 1970s, many youth were from well-to-do families and were bright students, studying in prestigious colleges, like the Presidency College of Calcutta, who joined the movement on ideological grounds .
It was a wave, and they joined the revolution for justice. Arundhaty read this bit from the book where Sujata, two years after Brati died, goes to meet the mother of Somu, Brati's friend, who died with him.
Arundhathy pointed out that freedom fighters were a different category who fought against a foreign occupation and not the same as citizens who protested against their own masters, now Indians governing the state and suppressing fellow Indians.
Arundhathy said that during the Naxal movement of the 1970s, many youth were from well-to-do families and were bright students, studying in prestigious colleges, like the Presidency College of Calcutta, who joined the movement on ideological grounds .
It was a wave, and they joined the revolution for justice. Arundhaty read this bit from the book where Sujata, two years after Brati died, goes to meet the mother of Somu, Brati's friend, who died with him.
Sujata realises now that Brati had a different life altogether with his comrades. He had built a community of like-minded justice-seeking friends. Sujata was not aware of that part of Brati’s makeup. She also finds herself unable to connect with Somu's mother on a personal level, though both have suffered the same loss of a son.
Kavita
Her husband using his connections prevented Brati ‘s name from appearing in the newspaper, in the list of the boys who were killed during the Naxal movement.
When Sujata goes to Somu's mom's place, Somu tells her that her son was not even mentioned in the newspaper and that she would not be tormented by the people and that she would not understand what they were going through. She continued that Sujata was from a well-to-do family, but they were poor, and disadvantaged and their daughter could not get a job.
Sujata felt sad that she could not openly mention Brati or cry for him and she would just be the mother of a corpse number 1084 of her son Brati.
Priya
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The Mother of 1084 deals with a mother (Sujata Chatterjee) who is suppressed within her own upper-class family. Her only attachment is to her youngest son, Brati, who happens to fall in with other young friends in the Naxalite movement. The movement started in India in the 1970s in the countryside of N Bengal and spread to cities like Calcutta. It was a violent rebellion by the oppressed section of society against the wealthy landlords; at that time it was confined to parts of Bengal. Strangely its young leaders were from the educated and well-off stratum of society.
Brati, the son of Sujata Chaterjee, was killed in the attack by a friend who betrayed their group. The night of the attack, Brati and his friends – Somu, Bijit and Partha – were hiding at Somu’s house. The attackers raised slogans and asked them to come out of hiding and surrender. Somu’s parents held the boys back from going out. Brati wished to go out first and negotiate, but Somu and the others said they would all go out together to face the enemy. All four were shot point blank when they emerged.
The shock and grief of the murder is negotiated differently by the families of Somu and Brati, a contrast between the two classes to which the families belonged. While Brati’s family hushes the matter up to prevent association with a disreputable son, Somu’s family sees the involvement of their son in a cause for social justice, as a matter of pride.
Brati’s mother, Sujata, cannot express her grief openly, the way she would have liked to, and Somu’s parents wonder why Sujata seems stoically unmoved by the tragedy.
This scene reminds one of the stories of the revolutionary hero, Veer Bhagat Singh and the young men, Sukhdev and Rajguru, who gave up their lives for the freedom of India. The scene also reminded Priya of the Hindi film, Rang De Basanti, about six young men, driven by a revolutionary zeal, to expose corruption in the government.
Though the Naxalite movement is under control in India, it is still present in Central India and Telangana where tribals and forest dwellers are often displaced from their land. Horrifying killings of the Central Reserve Police take place when they enter some of these disturbed areas.
The shock and grief of the murder is negotiated differently by the families of Somu and Brati, a contrast between the two classes to which the families belonged. While Brati’s family hushes the matter up to prevent association with a disreputable son, Somu’s family sees the involvement of their son in a cause for social justice, as a matter of pride.
Brati’s mother, Sujata, cannot express her grief openly, the way she would have liked to, and Somu’s parents wonder why Sujata seems stoically unmoved by the tragedy.
This scene reminds one of the stories of the revolutionary hero, Veer Bhagat Singh and the young men, Sukhdev and Rajguru, who gave up their lives for the freedom of India. The scene also reminded Priya of the Hindi film, Rang De Basanti, about six young men, driven by a revolutionary zeal, to expose corruption in the government.
Though the Naxalite movement is under control in India, it is still present in Central India and Telangana where tribals and forest dwellers are often displaced from their land. Horrifying killings of the Central Reserve Police take place when they enter some of these disturbed areas.
Priya said she chose this passage because she was traveling and didn't have too much time to select nuanced passages, of which the book is full. This passage is where the actual killing takes place, and Brati and his friends are shot. It is important to see is how they protect each other, even in this extreme moment. One wonders from where they got the courage to come out into the open and face the bullets of the threatening mob.
The contrast in the subsequent grief expressed by the two families is evident. Dibyanath attempts to airbrush the memory of his son, Brati, even as his wife remains mute with unspoken grief. Somu's family is devastated, but proud of their son, even though their breadwinner is dead.
There is also a good movie, Hazaar Chaurasi Ki Maa directed by Govind Nihalani with Jaya Bhaduri acting as Sujata and Nandita Das as Nandini. But the movie has a different ending.
One thing is clear in this, that it's not the police who killed Brati. At the time of the Naxal uprising there were a lot of inter-party rivalries between CPI-ML and CPI-M. We read in the book that there were some banned localities that young people could not go. What that meant is that if you belonged to one party, you couldn't go into an area dominated by the other party.
So it is not Saroj Pal, or some stupid inspector of police, who shot Brati. It was done by members of the rival party. The two gangs were fighting each other, about which was the more revolutionary. It was quite a messy situation. It's not as straightforward as saying, as Priya thought, that if some soldiers had been killed by the Naxalites, she would back the soldiers wholeheartedly.
It wasn't soldiers who killed him. There were all these parties who were fighting with each other. And they were throwing bombs at any local place or tea shop where the other party's people used to get together.
The CPI-M (Marxist-Leninist) of the Naxalites, was against the established CPI-M, the communist party, which was in power for seven terms from 1977 to 2011, the first five under Jyoti Basu and the last two under Buddhadev Bhattacharya.
Thommo said the CPI-ML never won power. The Naxal ideology started out being against the landowners, not against the state, so much as against the landowners. The first violent act they did was to snatch bags of rice from a zamindar’s property in Siliguri. The violence spilled over into Calcutta city, but it was a rural movement primarily.
Thomo’s cousins in Kerala used to see these reports of Naxal violence with a Calcutta dateline and assumed it was happening in Calcutta. Not so – it was in the suburbs of Calcutta and way beyond.
But Thomo remembers it did come to Calcutta, and there was a disturbance when he was riding a bus to go to the Indian Statistical Institute campus in Baranagar (the main campus was at 205 Barrackpore Trunk Road).
The recruiting area for Naxals was in colleges where it attracted a lot of the youngsters.
Zakia
As Zakia read this passage she felt the pain Sujata was going through. Her agony was losing Brati and regretting she had not taken the time to understand his motivation.
All that Brati could be charged with was his loss of faith in the social system; he had not been content with writing slogans on the wall, but committed himself to a radical idea of justice. Therein lay his offence. When his love for Nandini and his deep friendship and comfort with Somu became clear to Sujata, she felt a sense of estrangement and loss. As a mother how did she fail to understand? If only she had been observant and probed more she may have been able to stop the sequence of fateful events.
The vivid description of Nandini and Brati’s walk from one end of the city to the other portrays confidence and ecstasy and a sense of optimism. They had so many aspirations; they thought they would change the world. That's why only the youth become revolutionaries because they feel they can make an impact, they can change the world. Parents and elders play safe, they don't want to take the risk, they don't want to go against the established order.
All that Brati could be charged with was his loss of faith in the social system; he had not been content with writing slogans on the wall, but committed himself to a radical idea of justice. Therein lay his offence. When his love for Nandini and his deep friendship and comfort with Somu became clear to Sujata, she felt a sense of estrangement and loss. As a mother how did she fail to understand? If only she had been observant and probed more she may have been able to stop the sequence of fateful events.
The vivid description of Nandini and Brati’s walk from one end of the city to the other portrays confidence and ecstasy and a sense of optimism. They had so many aspirations; they thought they would change the world. That's why only the youth become revolutionaries because they feel they can make an impact, they can change the world. Parents and elders play safe, they don't want to take the risk, they don't want to go against the established order.
Sujata regrets that she didn't spend enough time; instead she was doing mundane things which didn't really matter.
There are some very nice images in those last paragraphs which were quite good. Joe said we are seeing two young persons walking all the way from Shyambazar to Bhowanipore. That's more than 10 kms, and it's a very noisy part of Calcutta, walking via the crowded footpaths of Chittaranjan Avenue, Esplanade, Chowringhee, skirting the Maidan, and then down to Ashutosh Mukherjee Road and so forth, until you come to Bhowanipore.
The friends are unaware of all the noise around them. They're noticing all the memorable things that strike them and beautiful images from their walk along this otherwise very crowded, very noisy city, full of sights that overwhelm the eye, the ears and the nostrils, but they seem to be floating on a vision:
“neon signs, red roses in a wayside florist's stall, festoons on the streets, newspapers pasted on boards near the bus stops, smiling faces, a beautiful image in a poem in a little magazine picked up at one of the stalls on the way, crowds clapping like mad at a political rally on the maidan, snatches of lilting tunes from Hindi films, everything spelt ecstasy… ”
The neon signs, the festoons and smiling faces radiate positivity and happiness. Nandini also feels the loss acutely, the promise of a new era snatched away from her.
Pamela
The passage chosen by Pamela was from pages 78 & 79, which deal with Sujata being moved to empathise with Brati's loved person, Nandini, who did not betray him in spite of torture. Nandini laments that a generation is being wiped out without a whisper in the news.
Pamela was struck by three thoughts in this passage. One is that Betrayal seems to be a characteristic of human beings – right through history we have seen events like the Ides of March, the Trojan Horse, Judas in Christ's story, etc.
Second is the thought on 'time' and time being described as 'a fugitive always on the run.' Time has been described in different ways in other parts of the book. 'Time' as a fugitive seems very interesting.
Thirdly, the thought on the fear of rejection that Sujata experiences. Sujata's fear of rejection by Nandini, is a kind of fear we all go through. We go through this when we feel strongly about our own convictions at a certain stage in life and then there is this fear of being rejected on the basis of what you believe, what you think and the values you hold. This passage brings out these feelings through these characters.
There's a beautiful sharing between the two important women in Brati's life. Sujata and Nandini shared a silent understanding when one reached out with her hand and the other caressed it. At this point, Priya asked the question: why did Sujata move her hand away? Other readers responded with the reasoning that Sujata had always been subjugated by her husband and therefore hesitated in expressing herself overtly. Pamela mentioned the example of how Sujata's husband had reprimanded her when she ran towards the window to watch the raging storm. There was a general feeling that men can be like that, men even in elite families are not exempt from the desire to dominate women. Someone mentioned this thought - "....in these rain clouds and dark clouds, I'm seeing the darkness of your soul."
Joe
Joe thanked Thomo and others for the interesting introduction to the novel. The movement did indeed start in Naxalbari near Siliguri in North Bengal and it was a rural movement, first and foremost. It had, of course, spread, as Thomo said, and Joe also happened to be in Calcutta in 1970-71, around the time there was an outbreak of violence.
But as the novel points out, there were some safe or calm areas, named in the novel as Park Street and Camac Street on p.113. Joe’s parents lived in that area, so he never felt much bad going on there.
Mahashweta Devi, was not a violent revolutionary herself, but her lifelong sympathies lay with the tribals with whom she worked, for their education and uplift. She wrote this novella in order to depict the idealism of those who revolted and led movements in order to bring justice to the poor, contrasting it with the veneer of materialism among the educated upper class elites who flaunted that veneer as ‘culture.’
The author seizes on the intense love of Sujata for her son, Brati, whose motivations and struggles she does not understand. Much of the novel is given to the mother's search for the secret life of her son with his comrades, which includes a woman, a lover, Nandini, who is tortured by the police in order to extract information about others in the movement. But she does not give in.
In Joe’s passage, there is a brief encounter between the two women, neither of whom could protect him, and neither of whom will find solace in their future lives.
Joe mentioned that the last sentence is the most ridiculous ending of a novel he has come across – ‘The appendix has burst.’
Devika agreed this was a bit disappointing, and opined that maybe when read in Bengali, in the original book, it sounds different, more acceptable. It could be symbolic also. But Joe said when it is translated into English the sensitivities of the target language have to be kept in mind. Yes, perhaps, said Devika.
Saras felt the translation was very simplistic. Devika agreed but said the content does not sound as strong when you read it in another language, whichever language you translate it into. That's true, said Saras. A translation can never be quite as genuine as the original. Priya remembers reading Satyajit Ray's Adventures of Feluda; the translation was something like this, too simple.
Even here Saras felt the translation was stilted at times; certain sentences that may have been okay probably in Bengali, representing conversations between people and things like that, but they don’t come across as conversational English.
Pamela said that the appendix bursting was not the last incident in the film version (Jaya Bachchan as Sujata, Nandita Das as Nandini).
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Hazaar Chaurasi ki Maa.
But a written word sounds different when you're watching it spoken in a movie. Saras thought in the film they tried in a weird way to carry the action further; but the appendix bursting, and all this injustice or whatever in society that's coming out, is kind of weird. There is no connection between the two things.
Pamela said there was something meaningful in the movie in the way Sujata demonstrates her rebellion and the ending therefore has a positive feeling in the film – she is shown as working for the uplift of people in a charitable society at the end.
Joe noted by the way that this sentence was uttered by her husband, Dibyanath, screaming “Oh, the Appendix has burst.” Saras laughed that they may never bothered to take her to the hospital or to see a doctor when she was having those pains earlier – which is symptomatic of their neglect of the mother.
Maybe they did after the Appendix burst? One assumption is that she dies with the event, but maybe not, because you can survive a burst appendix with prompt treatment. A ruptured appendix, spreads infection throughout the abdomen, a condition called peritonitis. It is life-threatening, and requires immediate surgery to remove the appendix and clean the abdominal cavity.
In the scene of Joe’s passage Nandini and Sujata are conversing. Sujata starts by stating a simple fact that Nandini loved Brati.
After the conversation it is clear there is an emotional impasse between two women, who have both suffered deeply from the death of Brati, but only one, the comrade in arms and lover, has participated in the suffering of that person. The mother has been a mute spectator, not understanding Brati, and trying to find out but failing.
And Sujata has still not understood what this whole revolt and rebellion was about and perhaps it will take more time for her; the two women are not on the same page yet. Nandini was tortured by the police during her interrogation, but she didn't disclose what the police wanted to find out: the names of the other people, in spite of the torture.
Of course, it is torture to be deprived of sleep, to have 1,000 watt lights shined constantly into your eyes; we hear about this, for instance in the Guantanamo Bay detention camp still being operated as a United States military prison with about 40 detainees out of the 780 or so brought there since 2002; or in Abu Ghraib in Iraq in 2003-2004. Endless noise, sleep deprivation under lights throughout the day and so on, were common practice. Of course, that is torture.
Saras
On Brati’s second death anniversary, Sujata escapes from the house as she does not want to be part of the preparations for the engagement party of her daughter Tuli to be held on the same day, and goes looking for answers. 1084 is the number assigned to Brati’s corpse at the morgue. During the course of the day, divided as Dawn, Afternoon, Evening and Night in the book, we see Sujata transform from a meek, subjugated person who is not given any respect in her house: her husband has numerous affairs with the tacit acceptance of his mother (the mother-in-law) who holds the power in the household, but Sujata is not allowed to have a say in the upbringing of her children, nor are her views on household matters taken into consideration. Despite having a college degree, she has to defend her decision to work at a bank. The children tend to side with her husband, showing her no respect.
The only person she feels close to is Brati who is also not much liked by the rest of his siblings; they feel he is being spoilt by his mother. However, as the novel progresses, Sujata realises that she didn’t know her son as well as she thought she did. She meets the mother of one of the three other boys who was killed in the same encounter as Brati, and from her learns that Brati had spent the last night before his death in their house. She is exposed to a life of poverty, squalor and degradation that she has so far been protected from by virtue of belonging to a conservative, affluent “Bhadralok” family.
Sujata meets Nandini, who was Brati's girlfriend and co-worker in the Naxal movement and from her, hears about the events leading to Brati’s betrayal along with his comrades and Nandini’s own torture at the hands of the police. This knowledge makes Sujata realise how little she knew her son; that adds to her guilt. It also makes her aware of her own neglect in her household, and the domination by her husband and the family. This realisation gives her strength to stand up for herself. However it is too late for Brati.
The portion Saras chose to read from was where Sujata finally stands up for herself against her husband and makes it clear to him that she is no longer going to be a doormat. She makes it clear to her husband that he has no right to question her about her going and coming, when she has kept silent all the while about his extramarital affairs, not wanting to disturb the status quo.
She seethes with a sense of injustice at the manner of her son’s death and the way the father and elder brother’s first thought was to obliterate Brati’s existence as if he was a dirty secret, removing even his name so that he is known only as ‘corpse number 1084.’ Contrast this with how Somu’s father tries to protect his son, offering to go out and meet the mob instead of the Naxal boys who took refuge in his little hut.
Saras felt that the inherent weakness of a translated novel did detract from the story. Conversations between characters seemed silly and childish in English. For e.g. in the passage Saras chose, the conversation between Dibyanath and Sujata
“….But I have never spent my time, like you, stealing away, slinking away
from your home, from your family, the way you have done all your life.
Would you like to hear more?”
“You ... today...”
“Yes, why not? Why not today? Get out.”
“Who? Me?”
“Yes. Get out.”
Maybe in the original Bengali it sounded or read better, but in English it definitely sounds weak.
Devika
Devika chose to read the ending of the novel. It is the wedding day of her daughter Tuli, but Sujata can only think of the one child she loved who is gone, while the rest of the family have long forgotten him and are given to merrymaking. It happens to be Brati's birthday.
Devika said she was the last in line to read this time. She was going to read the novel's ending, and of course, she has to end it with the burst appendix as well, which Joe pronounced as a ridiculous way of ending the novel.
After everything when Sujata had just become brave and come out, all fired up to stand up to her husband, Dibyanath, it's the nether part of her body that gives way – this appendix which had been bothering her. Her unhappiness at having the engagement on that day, the second birthday after Brati left, has put an emotional strain that must have caused the appendix to burst, just then.
It could happen, of course, but why, why end a story like this? Probably you need to read the Bengali version to find out what exactly took place. Yes, if you can find it somewhere, please let someone read and explain it to us.
The action all happens in the span of a day. Devika said ,“If you want, I can utter the last sentence, I know it is embarrassing.” But Joe volunteered to voice the last sentence and Devika let him do it.
Having granted Joe the ending sentence, he rendered it in freeform Bengali as uttered by Dibyanath:
“Ma go ma, thar appendix phetey geyeche.”
In English: “OMG her appendix has burst.”
In the original Bengali of the novel (available online from a link) the last sentence in the novel is:
দিব্যনাথ চেঁচিয়ে উঠলেন, তবে আপেন্ডিক্স ফেটে গেছে।
loosely. translated:
Dibyanath cried out, the appendix has burst. (তবে is a filler)
Joe set it as he saw fit in Bengali at the end of Devika’s reading when she permitted him to finish her reading, as:
দিব্যনাথ চেঁচিয়ে উঠলেন , মাগমা ! তার আপেন্ডিক্স ফেটে গেছে।
Dibyanath cried out, OMG! her appendix has burst.
Joe made the readers laugh at the end with his rendition in colloquial Bengali. But its was a serious story with a comic ending.
Devika said it's always a challenge choosing the first book of the year because it has to be short, easy to read, and within our budget. All put together Mother of 1084 worked out well. One wishes there were more lyrical passages like the walk form Shyambazar to Bhowanipore in Zakia’s passage.
Thomo said he enjoyed the book because it brought back a lot of memories. He lived about a kilometre away from Joe's place so they were in very safe areas in Calcutta, he said. Once Thomo remembers he was studying at the ISI, the Statistical Institute, in Baranagar which is on the outskirts of northwest Calcutta and there was an exchange of fire as the bus was travelling. Thomo doesn’t know what happened but that was as close as he got to the action.
There was an atrocity in Barasat, near DumDum, in which about 11 or 12 people died, Joe remembered. He had just returned from US a year before, in 1970.
Devika said it's quite funny that Achu's younger brother was very involved in the Naxalite movement – Ashokan – don't know if folk have heard of him. Girish also, another brother, to some extent. Ashokan was most taken with Naxalism. He was really involved in the Naxalite movement in Kerala.
Devika had a cousin in the police force who told Achu's father that he should get Ashokan out of Kerala because his name was on some list to be interrogated. But guess where he was sent to after all this – to Calcutta! He was made to sit inside the house, don't know what he did. He didn't have any friends there.
What safer place than Calcutta for Malayali Naxalites, eh? Fortunately, he got over that phase – if you recall in those days, we were known as Madrasis, not Malayalis. Anybody down south was a Madrasi. All South Indians were considered Madrasi. Even in Delhi. They had no idea there were four states south of the Vindhyas.
Devika remembered one Punjabi college mate of hers, who asked which region Devika belonged to, and she answered, “I’m a Malayali.”
Oh, you're from Malaysia? – was the response! That was the extent of ignorance of South India in those days.
Readings
Thomo (p.15-17)
Though Sujata and Dibyanath are different they share the same conservative values, but Brati opposes those very values which end up oppressing the poor.
It took Sujata by surprise. Why should she tell Brati to be an enemy to his
father? Why should she? Was Dibyanath Sujata's enemy? Didn't Sujata share
Dibyanath's attachment to respectability, comfort, and security? She had never
even asked herself whether she shared these ideals or not. Surely she would
have, if she had ever had any doubts on these issues?
Sujata came from a rich family, from an orthodox family. She had been put
into Loreto College, made to do her graduation, only as a preparation for
marriage.
The bridegroom chosen was not rich, but he came from a well-known family.
Sujata's father knew that he would go far.
Sujata held unquestioningly to all those values, comfort, security, and all that
went with them. And therefore the allegations that Dibyanath brought against
her were unfounded.
If his allegations were false, all that it proved was that Sujata cannot have
asked Brati to be an enemy to Dibyanath. But it was not enough to prove that
Brati did not consider his father an enemy. Sujata knew that Brati could not
stand his father. She knew that quite well.
But why, Brati?
The individual who goes by the name of Dibyanath Chatterjee is not my
enemy.
Then?
All the things and values he holds on to. There are many others who swear by
the same things and values. The class that nurtures these values, we consider
it our enemy. He belongs to that class.
I can't understand you, Brati.
You needn't try to understand. Why don't you fix the button?
Brati, you are changing.
How?
You are changing.
How can I help changing?
Where do you roam about the whole day?
I sit and talk.
With whom?
With friends.
Here's your shirt. You needed to have your buttons fixed before you could
make a little time to talk to your mother.
Brati had not said a word. He had screwed up his eyes and smiled. There was
something new in his smile, in the manner he spoke. Tolerance, patience. As if
he knew even before Sujata spoke a word that she could not understand what
he said. He would treat Sujata like a child, would sound almost fatherly. Brati
seemed to be pampering her. Sujata could feel a distance yawning between
them, and Brati fast becoming a stranger. She suffered a lot. But how could she
remain unsuspecting?
How could she remain untouched by fear?
Why did it never strike her that when a son became a stranger to his mother,
and they lost touch with each other even while they lived under the same
roof, there could be a threat growing from it?
Sujata stood in Brati's room, screwed up her eyes, and brooded.
If Brati had died of some incurable sickness like Sujata's elder brother, there
could have been questions remaining to be answered after his death.
Questions like: Was the doctor to blame, or the people of the housé? Could a
different doctor have made a difference? Could a different drug have made a
difference? These are the questions that are asked when somebody dies of
sickness.
If Brati had died in an accident, then the questions would have been different.
People would have asked if Brati could have been a little more careful and
averted the accident, or if the circumstances could have been influenced in
any way. If Sujata had had Dibyanath's faith in horoscopes, the question
would have been: Was there any warning against death by accident? If there
had been the hint of a warning, was there no suggestion of a preventive? (598
words)
Geetha (p. 19)
Dibyanath recognises that the state can kills those who go against those holding power, the business interests.
Brati and his friends belong to a new generation.
They write slogans on the wall knowing full well that the slogans draw down
bullets. They are in a mad rush to reach Kantapukur.
Sujata had not been able to find a category of criminals to put Brati into.
Even as they cried for the dead Brati, Jyoti and Dibyanath had tried to make
her see that the killers in society, those who adulterated food, drugs and baby
food, had every right to live. The leaders who led the people to face the guns
of the police and found for themselves the safest shelters under police
protection, had every right to live. But Brati was a worse criminal than them.
Because he had lost faith in this society ruled by profit-mad businessmen and
leaders blinded by self-interest. Once this loss of faith assailed a boy, an
adolescent, or a youth, it does not matter whether he is twelve, sixteen or
twenty-two, death was his portion.
Death was the sentence reserved for every one of them, for all those who had
rejected a society of spineless, opportunist timeservers masquerading as
artists, writers and intellectuals.
They were all sentenced to death. Anybody was permitted to kill them. People
in all the Parties, people of all creeds had the unlimited, democratic right to
kill these young men who had rejected the Parties of the Establishment. To kill
them one did not need any special sanction from the law or the courts of
justice. (249 words)
KumKum (p.44-46)
Dibyanath can’t understand why Sujata wants to continue working at a job when he can provide her all the luxuries; he thinks he is solicitous for her, although his marital infidelity is known to his children.
Dibyanath had not allowed Sujata the most common rights that a mother has.
His mother held the reins.
Dibyanath never knew that one could honour one's mother without
humiliating one's wife. His wife under his feet, his mother held aloft. That was
his ethos.
With her pride and strong sense of dignity, Sujata had realized soon after her
marriage, that the more she kept herself aloof from the household, the more
satisfied the others were. Dibyanath and her mother-in-law were the others'.
Jyoti, Tuli and Neepa had always known their mother in a subsidiary role.
They had never had to take account of her. In Sujata's mind, one day they had
joined the ranks of the others.
Of course, Dibyanath never cared to probe into these deep wounds. He was
neither very attached nor indifferent to his wife. The way he saw it, a wife had
to love, respect, and obey her husband. A husband was not required to do
anything to win his wife's respect, love and loyalty. He thought—he had built
a house of his own, he kept servants, and that was enough. He never tried to
make a secret of his affairs with young girls outside the house. He felt it was
within his rights.
He was not inconsiderate, however. He had asked Sujata to give up her job the
moment he found his firm paying well.
Sujata had stuck to her job. That was the second occasion on which she
rebelled.
Dibyanath knew that his children were aware of his infidelities. It caused him
no embarrassment. For he knew that his first three children would never defy
him and that they considered all his actions part of his virility.
He had told Jyoti-Your mother is a bit puzzling.
Why won't she give up her job? She is not one of those women itching for
independence. She is not one of those who find it fashionable just to be
working. So why won't she give up her job? Strange!
Have you asked mother?
I told her, you needn't work any longer. Why don't you give up the job and
look after the household? Mother is dead. She told me, when the children
were younger and I'd have enjoyed looking after the household, I had nothing
to do. I was not permitted to take up any responsibilities. Now your children
have grown up. The household runs fine on its own. I don't think it needs
anything from me.
Dibyanath had never understood Sujata. She was not one of those radicals, the
independent woman conscious of her rights. She was not one of those
fashionable ladies with fashionable jobs driving their own cars through
Calcutta. (447 words)
Shoba (p. 47-48)
Brati goes out on a secret visit promising to return to have the special payesh his mother will make for his birthday.
The day before Brati's death she could have told all this to Brati. But she had
not. Now she knew that Brati knew everything and understood everything.
He watched his mother all the time. When he was only ten, he would rush
back home from his games, whenever Sujata was sick. He would offer, shall I
sit here and fan you?
Dibyanath called him a milksop. Mother's boy. No manliness. But in the
manner of his dying, Brati proved his indomitable strength and courage.
That day Brati had sat looking at her for a long time.
Then he had said – Let's stop the game. Why don't we chat for a while?
Just a minute. Let me run down to the kitchen and tell them what to cook.
Isn't chhot-di around?
No, Tuli's busy with Tony's exhibition. She'll just drop in to collect Bini.
Right.
What do you want for dinner tomorrow?
Why, suddenly?
Isn't it your birthday tomorrow?
Really! How do you remember birthdays?
How can I help it?
I never remember.
But I never make a mistake.
So you'll make special payesh for me.
That's all I do these days for birthdays, anyway Wait. Let's think. What can
you make for me?
Don't ask for meat.
Why? Is Boss dining at home?
Yes.
Make whatever you like.
The phone rang as Sujata went downstairs. She saw
Brati lifting the receiver as she left.
She came up. Looked. Brati had on a blue shirt and trousers, and was combing
his hair.
What's the matter?
I have to go out. Could you give me some money?
Where are you going?
Some business. Could I have the money?
Here's the money. When will you be back?
I'll be back... back soon ... Just a minute.
Brati dipped into the pockets of his trousers and rummaged through the
contents. A piece of paper he tore up into pieces.
Which way are you going?
There was no special fear at the back of her mind when Sujata asked the
natural question. For Calcutta was in a different state those days. For the older
people, for people over forty, any place in Calcutta was safe. But for the
younger people, Calcutta had too many banned localities. (198 words)
Arundhaty (p.56-59 )
Sujata realises after visiting the mother of Brati’s friend Somu, that these lads had a quite separate life of their own with different ideals. But her well-off background prevents her from participating in their grief.
Two colonies away. Laltu, Partha, Bijit, Somu, they were all one of a kind. As
long as they were around, no one in the locality could say or do anything evil.
It was Laltu who inspired and instigated them all into the movement, and the
unfortunate boy paid the price himself.
Sujata remembered having seen a number of dead bodies in the morgue. She
had seen men and women lamenting over their dead at the cremation ground.
At the time she had not understood how those corpses, those grief stricken
men and women, were connected, were one with her. Now she realized that
Brati had belonged with them not only in death, but also in life.
In that part of Brati's life which he had made by himself, where he was most
himself, these boys were closest to him. Not the family. My son, my brother—
these were just a set of dead definitions that Brati had carried with him
through his life.
But Brati had built another Brati with his beliefs, his ideals and his ideology.
This other Brati loved his mother, his mother loved him, but never really
knew him. These boys knew the other Brati, the Brati that Sujata did not
know. That was how they could be inseparable in both life and death. Just as
Sujata found herself bound inseparably to all those who carried in their hearts
the burden of their loss.
For a year after Brati's death, till she came down to see Somu's mother, Sujata
had remained imprisoned within a private grief.
It was after hearing Somu's mother's uninhibited, heart-rending lamentation,
her talk of the boys, that Sujata realized that Brati had not after all abandoned
her to the desolation of a private grief. He had bound her to others like her,
given her a new family.
But how could Sujata find her liberation in the midst of all those people? She
was rich and belonged to another class. Why should they accept her as one of
them?
Somu's mother looked paler and more crushed. She looked like someone who
had surrendered to destiny in sheer despair. .
But Somu's elder sister looked more determined, arrogant, angry. In the past
year she must have had to fight tooth and nail, and the struggle must have left
her seared and corroded. Sujata gazed hungrily, thirstily, at Somu's mother, at
their room. Her mind went on warning her that she would never come here
again. She would never again sit before Somu's mother and feel that she was
not alone. What would Sujata be doing on the next seventeenth of January?
From the last seventeenth of January to this, she knew that she had a place
where she could go and sit for a while and have company. But it did not
escape her that Somu’s sister had spurned her and walked out. Her attitude
conveyed to Sujata that she was unwanted here.
That was why she gazed around the room and at Somu's mother so avidly.
This was the room where Brati had spent the last few hours of his life, he had
lain there on the plain mattress laid out by Somu's mother. Somu's mother had
had Sujata's son with her till a few minutes before his death.
Somu's mother had said: You've felt the pain, and that's why you come. As for
me, didi, I have eyes, yet I'm blind, I have legs yet I'm lame. Didi, my
daughter tells me she'll never get a job because she's Somu's sister.
Can it be true, didi? (592 words)
Kavita (p.60-61)
Sujata finds it unnatural that everybody around her wills an amnesia about the wiping out of thousands of young idealistic people by labelling them terrorists. Her own family wants to forget Brati.
What terrified Sujata was that nobody found it abnormal that every one in the
state should deny them and join in a conspiracy of pretence, the pretence of
normalcy. Sujata had felt in the marrow of her bones how terrifying, brutal
and violent this normalcy was.
While the Bratis were being killed in the prisons, on the streets, were being
chased relentlessly by the black vans, were being torn to pieces by frenzied
mobs, the conscience-keepers of society had not a word to say about them.
They all maintained their silence on this one issue.
Sujata found this pretence of normality ominously frightening. She was
terrified when she saw how these silent witnesses were so complacent in their
presumption that they were all normal, conscientious and magnanimous
individuals. While their benevolence extended to the rest of the world, nearer
home their outlook became opaque, hazy, unclear.
Deny the existence of a few thousands of the country's youth. Deny them
altogether, and that would be enough to wipe them out of existence. The
prisons are overflowing. There's no information about thousands of the
country's young men. Ignore them.
That's the way to exterminate them.
But their families? Is there a policy to exterminate them too, by denying them?
Sujata did not know what to say. All that she could say was: But I'm working
still.
Don't compare yourself and my daughter, didi.
With all the contacts you have! Didn't you notice how all their names
appeared in the papers, but Brati's name never appeared? Didi, I have no
contacts, I don't have the money to hush things up or get things done.
Sujata knew that Somu's mother would feel the difference. A terrible, shocking
pain had brought them together at Kantapukur and at the crematorium, but it
was an affinity that could not last. Time was stronger than grief. Grief is the
bank, Time the flowing river, heaping earth upon earth on grief.
Then a time comes when nature, with its ruthless logic, throws up new shoots
out of the grief submerged under the alluvium of time.
Shoots of hope, sorrow, thought, and hate.
The shoots grow till they snatch at the sky.
Time works wonders. Sujata was struck with fear whenever she thought of the
omnipotence of time.
There may even come a time when Brati's face would be a faint dab in Sujata's
awareness, like a faded, old photograph. Some day maybe Sujata would
mention Brati casually to anybody and everybody, and shed tears openly. (416
words)
Priya (p.64-66)
Brati, Somu and friends are surrounded by a gang of goondas but come out unarmed, bravely shouting slogans. Later after their death Brati’s family disowns him, but not Somu’s mother and father.
It was still before midnight... a nightmare, the whole thing is like a
nightmare... it had not turned midnight yet when they had encircled Som's
house. As they gathered one by one, Somu's mother saw them and leapt up, a
hand clamped to her mouth. Som's father said in utter helplessness-What shall
we do now? Let's see if we can escape through the back door.
Somu said softly-It's no use, baba. They've surrounded the other side too. I
can hear them.
A hard cold voice hissed—Send them out to us.
Somu's father said—Isn't that Babu's voice?
The fierce voice again-Send them out.
Or we'll set the house on fire. Come out, Somu.
If you're your father's son, come out.
Somu turned round to the rest of his group If I go out first, they'll take me
first. Won't you, at least one of you, be able to make your escape?
Come on out!
Brati had told Somu – It's no use, Somu. Why should you go alone? We'll go
out together.
A nightmare ... a nightmare still.
Brati was the first to get up. He walked up to the window and called out—
Stop shouting. We're coming out. Wait for us.
The bastard's got a flunkey with him. It's one of those Calcutta boys. Come
out, you son of a bitch.
No Somu, don't go out! Somu re! Somu-u-u-u!
Don't cry, ma. Baba, take care of ma. We are going out. Or they'll set the house
on fire.
Bijit had tied his pyjama cords tight, smoothened his hair. Partha was the
quietest of them all. It was Partha who gave the first order-Let's go, Bijit.
Bijit and Partha had flick-knives with them, Somu and Brati were unarmed.
They stood up, linked hands and raised their slogans as they opened the door.
Somu’s father made an attempt to step before them – I’ll die before they get
you. But Somu pushed him aside, shouting slogans they stepped out,
darkness outside, a crowd of pitch-dark faces, loud laughter and yells, cries
scattering the laughter all around, lights going off one by one in the
neighbouring houses, doors and shutters slamming shut, scared faces
drawing back, over there wolf whistles flung at the sky, rending the sky, as
when Durga images are toppled over into the dark river, while slogans rose
from their throats. Bijit and Partha rushed straight at them, gripping their
knives firmly, a voice—They're attacking! A scream—Bastards, you dare flaunt
knives? Another voice – Kill the bastards! Three voices still shouting slogans,
someone has already skillfully manoeuvred a noose around Bijit's throat and
strangled him. Slogans still. Slogans. Slogans.
Zindabad! Long Live—! Long live! Wild confusion. The slogans stop abruptly.
The killers leave. Staccato sound of shots. Stench of gunpowder on the still
winter air— the stink of gunpowder-the dark faces receding-Somu's father
broke into a loud wail, beating his chest, as he fell down-Somu! Dada! The
sisters screamed.
Somu's mother knew no more. Unconscious. Darkness.
Darkness, darkness, darkness.
How could Somu's mother ever understand why Sujata could not weep? How
could she believe that they tried not to mention Brati in that house? How
could she see the point of Brati's father running around to ensure that Brati's
name did not appear in the Press?
Somu's father had never thought of saving his skin, never thought such
behaviour possible. Somu's father-the poor shop-keeper! who had no capital!
—had never come to know the kind of people who could think in such ways.
The two fathers, Somu's and Dibyanath, lived in the same country, but poles
apart. (594 words)
Zakia (p.76-77)
In her loss Sujata realises she can never recapture the memory of Brati with a better understanding now, nor share the loss of Nandini and Somu’s mother who fully understood the ideals the young men were pursuing.
It grieved Sujata that she would never know the girl Brati loved, that
Nandini's mind would remain unknown to her for ever. Pain. She would
never be able to go to Somu's mother again. She would never know Nandini
well. Deep pain and a sense of loss. Sujata had never shared in any of
Nandini's beliefs or experiences, she had never tried to know what the Bratis
and the Nandinis felt. Who can tell her how worthy or useless all the things
were which had kept her so preoccupied? Was this why Brati left home that
evening in his blue shirt—so that Sujata would recognize the defaults in her
nature and in her mind?
Was that why he had stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked back up at
her?
If Sujata got that moment back again she would rush down the stairs, and hug
him hard, body of her body. She would tell him, Brati, I have to know
everything, I'll begin to know everything. Just don't go out, Brati, please don't.
In Calcutta a young man of twenty cannot go from one part of the city to
another safely. Don't go, please.
But time past is time lost. Time is a ruthless killer, as cruel as destiny. Time is
the river Ganga, with grief for its banks. The tide of time carries alluvium in to
cover up grief. And then fresh sprouts of greenery break through, reaching
fingers to the sky, young shoots of hope and pain and joy and ecstasy.
Everything, everyone, seems part of the betrayal.
From across the wall of Sujata's thoughts, Nandini spoke.
Don't, Nandini. It'll bring you more unhappiness.
No, no. When I didn't know of the betrayal, I had tremendous self-confidence.
But that confidence was unfounded. Still, when I started doubting, when I
thought and thought over the facts, I began to feel much more sure. Now I
know where I stand.
Does it help you any?
Yes. Now when I think back, how naively we had assumed that an era was
coming to an end. You are bringing a new age in. Brati and I would walk all
the way from Shyambazar to Bhowanipur, just talking all the way. Whatever
we saw on the way-the people, the houses, the neon signs, red roses in a
wayside florist's stall, festoons on the streets, newspapers pasted on boards
near the bus stops, smiling faces, a beautiful image in a poem in a little
magazine picked up at one of the stalls on the way, crowds clapping like mad
at a political rally on the maidan, snatches of lilting tunes from Hindi films,
everything spelt ecstasy, we couldn't hold in the joy, we felt explosive.
Felt loyal to all and everything. I'll never feel the same way again. It will never
come back. Total loss.
An era is really over for good. The person I was then is dead. (488 words)
Pamela (p.78-800
Sujata is moved to empathise with Brati’s loved person,Nandini, who did not betray him in spite of torture. Nandini laments that a generation is being wiped out without a whisper in the news.
Now I know how betrayal worked, how it works even now.
Even now, Nandini?
Sure. How else can one explain the walls raised higher around the prisons, the
watchtowers? Why doesn't a single person raise his voice when thousands of
young men are still rotting in the prisons? And when they do, they keep the
interests of their own political party in mind? How is it that we who would
like to carry on, cannot print a single bulletin? Why are we denied the simple
facilities of a printing press and newsprint, while innumerable journals come
out, continue to come out, and one hears that they are all sympathetic to the
cause?
Betrayal. There are all those who talk for the sake of talking, never realizing
even that in the process they are betraying us. Why do these poets have to cry
their hearts out over Bangladesh in the seventies and go on churning out
poems dripping with sentiment?
Betrayal. Why do the round-ups continue? The firings within the prisons? The
arrests? Betrayal.
Still?
Yes, even now. Do vou think there are no arrests because the newspapers don't
write about them?
Have the shootings stopped? Has anything stopped?
Why should it stop? What has ended? Nothing.
Nothing has ended. Only a generation between sixteen and twenty-four was
wiped out. Is being wiped out...
Suddenly, impulsively, Sujata did something she never did. It was not like her
to act on emotion alone.
She had never in her life dared to surrender to her normal impulses. When
she was younger, Dibyanath would reprimand her if she ran to the window to
watch a gathering storm. The lessons forcibly learned in the tender years of
life remain insurmountable. Yet Sujata allowed herself to touch Nandini's
hand. Even as she did, she knew it was a moment, an opportunity, that she
would never know again. Time was the arch fugitive, always on the run. She
would never be able to retrieve the moment when Brati in his blue shirt stood
at the foot of the stairs and looked up at her. She could feel within herself,
deep within lter mind, a limitless void, an inconsolable grief, because she
knew she would never have Nandini so close to her again.
So Sujata placed her hand on Nandini's. Would she push her hand away and
force her back to the barren existence that was her life? Would Nandini's eyes
bear the same rejection that she had seen in Somu's sister's?
The very thought chilled Sujata. Sujata could well envisage the solitary cell
that her existence would be from now on, with Dibyanath, Jyoti, Neepa, Tuli,
Bini and the colleagues in the bank, all outside; and within, Brati, only Brati,
but why just Brati, also Somu's mother, Nandini, the grief of separation from
every one of them held within her. From now on she would be alone, totally
alone. No one would again throw open the doors of her solitary cell, to bring
her out and ask: Are you Brati Chatterjee's mother?
But Nandini did not push her hand away.
For a while she remained silent and motionless.
Then, with fingers shy and hesitant and reluctant, she caressed Sujata's hand.
Sujata drew her hand away. (538 words)
Joe (p.85-87)
Two women of different generations, both affected by the tragedy, are having to find their own path forward.
You loved Brati very much, didn't you?
That's what I thought then. I still do. They say one forgets with time. Or that
his face will grow hazy in my mind. I'm scared when I think of it.
I know.
You too?
Yes.
I don't know whether I'll forget him or not. I don't know whether he'll fade
from my memory or not. But it's not Brati alone. When I think, so many died,
for what? Do you know what hurt me most when I came out of prison?
What?
When I saw how everything looked normal, wonderful, and there was the
general feeling that the dark days were over, that everything had quietened
down. That broke my heart.
But haven't things quietened down?
No!
Nandini screamed, leaving Sujata stunned.
Nothing has quietened down, it can't! It wasn't quiet then, it isn't now. Don't
say that it has all cooled down. After all you are Brati's mother. You of all
persons should never say or believe that all is quiet now. Where does such
complacency come from?
Has nothing changed?
No. Nothing has. Why did they die? What has changed? Are men now all
happy? Have the political games ended? Is it a better world?
No.
Thousands of young men still languish in the prisons without trial. And you
can say it's quiet now?
Nandini shook her head over and over again. Then she said, That's what
people try to tell me. My mother tells me, since you won't do anything else,
why don't you marry and raise a family?
Are you ...?
Medical grounds. Otherwise they wouldn't have let me out. I didn't want to
die. If I hadn't been let out, I wouldn't have got the medical treatment that I
needed. Even now I'm interned.
Treatment for what?
Oh, so you haven't guessed! My optical nerves were damaged from the
exposure to the glare of the lamp for forty-eight, seventy-two hours at a
stretch.
My right eye is totally blind. One can't tell by looking at me, though.
Well, I didn't.
I have lost an eye.
What will you do now?
I don't know. I know that I must have my eyes treated. But I don't know what
else I'll do. I know also that I won't marry Sandip to please my mother.
Who is Sandip?
A young man with a good job. Perhaps it's fashionable now to marry women
like us, as fashionable as the kind of poetry Dhiman Roy writes about us! For
otherwise I don't have a clue as to why he should want to marry me.
What will you do, Nandini?
I've told you I don't know. I still feel disturbed and confused about so many
things. Everything seems so strange, so unreal. I can't identify with anything.
My experiences over the last few years have made me unfit for this so-called
normalcy. All that you people find normal, I find abnormal. Can you tell me
what I should do?
I can't.
Almost none of my friends is alive. All the things I want to say, the people I
want to talk about, all that my mind is full of, I can't speak of to anyone. There
is no one I can talk to. (539 words)
Saras (p.93-95)
Sujata takes courage after years of being submissive in the home, and decides to stand up to her husband Dibyanath on the wedding day of their daughter Tuli.
What could you be thinking of? Didn't you know there'd be fifty guests
tonight?
Of course I knew.
What was the idea, then?
All the arrangements had been made. Neepa's already here. You were at
home. When everything's organized, don't make a fuss.
Make a fuss? Do you know what you're saying?
If... you ... don't leave ... this room ... at once, I'll ... leave ... this house ... and
never come back again.
Sujata spoke cuttingly, pausing before each word.
She hates, detests the man. Dibyanath and the typist.
Dibyanath and a distant cousin. Dibyanath and his cousin's wife.
For Dibyanath it was a slap on the face. In the thirty-four years of their
married life, Sujata had never spoken to him in that tone.
Don't I have the right to ask you where you've been all day?
No.
What?
Two years ago, for thirty-two years, I never asked you where you spent your
evenings, or who accompanied you on your tours for the last ten years, or
why you paid the house rent for your ex-typist. You are never to ask me a
thing. Never.
God!
When I was younger, I didn't understand. Then your mother covered up your
sins-yes, sins—and I didn't feel like raking things up. Then I had no interest to
know. But I have never spent my time, like you, stealing away, slinking away
from your home, from your family, the way you have done all your life.
Would you like to hear more?
You ... today...
Yes, why not? Why not today? Get out.
Who? Me?
Yes. Get out.
Her words hit him like a whiplash. Dibyanath went out tamely, wiping the
nape of his neck.
Sujata would not stay here after tonight. She would no longer stay in a house
where Brati was no more. If she had had the strength to come out with the
truth and challenge Dibyanath while Brati had still been alive! And leave the
house forever with Brati! Even then she might not have been able to affect the
course of events. But she might have come a little closer to Brati.
And Brati would have died with the knowledge that Sujata was not all that
submissive and unprotesting. Now Brati would never know. (372 words)
Devika (p.127-128)
On the wedding day of her daughter Tuli, Sujata can only think of the one child she loved who is gone, while the rest of the family have long forgotten him and are merrymaking.
This city—the Gangetic plains of Bengal—the forests and hills of north Bengal
—the snowy regions further up—the rocks, the dry beds and dams of central
Bengal—the salt water forests of the Sundarbans—the paddy fields, the
factories-the tea plantations, the coalfields—where will you run to, Brati?
Where will you lose yourself again? Don't run away, Brati. Come to me, Brati,
come back. Don't run any more.
Sujata had found him again after searching all day, he was in the midst of
everything, he was everywhere.
But if the vans sped out again and the threatening sirens pierced the sky, Brati
would be lost again. Come back home, Brati, come back home. Don't run any
more. Come back to your mother, Brati. Don't run like this, Brati. They won't
let you go, Brati, they'll drag you out from wherever you hide. Come to me,
Brati.
Ma! You're falling down!
Sujata pushed Bini away. She came running back.
She stood at the door to the room.
Everything rocked and swayed and spun. As if someone was making the
cadavers dance. Putrefying cadavers, all of them—Dhiman, Amit, Dibyanath,
Mr Kapadia, Tuli, Tony, Jishu Mitter, Molly Mitter, MrsKapadia-
Did Brati die so that these corpses with their putrefied lives could enjoy all the
images of all the poetry of the world, the red rose, the green grass, the neon
lights, the smiles of mothers, the cries of children
-for ever? Did he die for this? To leave the world to these corpses?
Never.
Brati ....
Sujata's long-drawn-out, heartrending, poignant cry burst, exploded like a
massive question, spread through all the houses of the city, crept underneath
the city, rose to the sky. The winds carried it from one end of the state to the
other, from one corner of the earth to another, to the dark piles and pillars that
stood witness to history, and beyond history into the foundations of faith that
underlie the scriptures. The cry set oblivion itself, the present and the future
atremble, reeling under its impact. All the contentment in every happy
existence cracked to pieces.
It was a cry that smelt of blood, protest, grief.
Then everything went dark. Sujata's body fell to the ground.
Dibyanath screamed: The appendix has burst. (379 words)
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