Monday, May 17, 2010

A TALE OF LOVE

Hasna left us, rather unceremoniously, dressed in a fluorescent green salwar kameez embroidered in multi-coloured threads and my mother-in-law’s gold earrings and finger ring. While my mother-in-law cried silently and we went right up to the gate to see her off, she smiled brightly and even waved to her friend next door, as she sped off in the home jeep. Not a tear. Even her father who had come all the way from his village looked as if he would break down. We stood near the gate and pondered on what is to befall her. That was not the last we saw of her.
I remember coming back from work one day in the winter of 1997 to find a six year old girl, in an almost clean black polka dotted white frock and with the largest and brightest eyes I had ever seen, sitting on a low stool in the living room. She was to stay with us, help with the odd jobs around the house and also go to school. One look at her told me that she was partially petrified seeing so many people and then again this was her first visit out of her village.
Her father told us that he was too poor to sustain so many children, so he implored if Hasna could stay at our place. “Let her do everything, ma’am….the dishes, the dusting…she can even cook if you want her to. But please send her to school. I will never be able to afford it.” And he left, leaving a silently sniffing Hasna standing at our front door, while she wistfully looked at her father walk out of the gate, who visibly had a lump in his throat as he bade his daughter goodbye.
Hasna became a part of the family, more of a friend for me. She would hold onto my salwar like a kitten clawing its nails into a curtain or more still put her arms around me when I am reading a book in my favourite armchair. She endeared us with her actions, sometimes making us guffaw with her little village tales.
Soon, Hasna became the centre of all our activities at home. She would know exactly where to hunt for my father-in-law’s spectacles when he misplaced them. Even though she was lazy to the bones and woke up way after everyone had had their first cuppa, yet, she didn’t have to be told about what she had to do. Even when mahi, my mother-in-law’s sister made her regular visits to our home, Hasna knew that her milk tea had to be laced with a thick layer of butter milk. She knew that I loved milk tea only in the afternoon with an assortment of biscuits and she knew that I loved my egg curry cooked hot with a lot of chillies. She would be sure it was my car apart from the other cars when I honked at the gate. Hasna knew everyone by heart.
Soon Hasna grew up to be a fine young girl. It wasn’t only us who liked her but the neighbours too talked of her commendable work. My friends almost enviously commented on how lucky we were to have a girl like Hasna around the house.
Hasna started going to school from the very beginning. She fared pretty well in her class, with a lot of help from one of us or the other. I would make sure she worked at her English while someone would look after her maths. She was more of a family member than someone who had come to stay at our place a decade ago. We were all very happy, till one day Hasna fell in love! And headlong at it.
We couldn’t believe our ears when she told us that she has someone in the village who she really cared for and she would get married to him as soon as she completes (or doesn’t) her school leaving exams. Suddenly all of us became very concerned about her.
“Isn’t she just a little girl? How can she get married?” my concerned husband asked when I broke the news the next morning over a cup of bed tea.
What was the boy like? What is his family background? How much does he earn? More importantly, will he be able to look after her and shower her with the ‘undying love’ he now professes? To top it all, we were worried if she would be able to deliver a baby at all, which was most likely to happen soon, taking into account her frail body. We were all at our wits end.
I talked to her at length one evening about how important it was for her to complete her studies and earn on her own. God forbid, I told her, but if something was to befall her, she could at least be able to take care of herself, instead of being a burden on her already debt ridden father. But Hasna was adamant! She scowled at me and if looks could kill, then surely I would have turned to ashes where I was seated in my study room. I suddenly realized that there was no point in hammering on a nail which refused to budge into the wood. I left Hasna to fight the perilous sea of life!
One morning, she resolutely announced that she was not going to school anymore and that we were to call the ‘boy’ and get her married. This was the moment when we put our foot down and said that enough is enough. Hasna just cannot go on telling us what to do, as she had been after she had met her ‘one and only love’. And we were not going to partake in a marriage where both the persons were not even eighteen.
I again coaxed Hasna that she would have to face dire consequences of law if she were to get married now. I couldn’t believe my ears when she told me that the ‘boy’ had someone in the court who was capable of many things ‘at a price’. So be it, we said, but we will not partake of such a crime.
Soon Hasna’s father was called. He didn’t speak a word but gave his consent as he was made to understand by the ‘boy’ that he will not be taking any ‘gifts’ (dowry??) from him during the marriage. But he will get married only after a year, what with his financial constraint. Till then, Hasna was to stay with us.
My mother-in-law was in a fix. Hasna refused to go to school, stayed in her room, moping, didn’t answer when called, talked endlessly on the phone with her ‘love’ and tearfully sniffed when asked to help around the house. What was to be done? We just waited for a messiah to save us from this dire situation.
But wait! It was Hasna who fished us out of the trouble she had created herself. After all the moping around, the endless calls, she said that she has had enough. She could smell a rat! And the rat was dead and reeking!
Hasna could feel a ‘change’ in the version of the boy. He now ‘desired’ to marry after five years. Five years? Then where was the ‘desire’ gone?
One evening, she came home tearfully from her usual chat with her ‘love’ at the phone booth. No one dared ask her what had happened. She plopped herself on the bed and refused to move, talk or do anything for that matter. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she silently wiped, sniffing loudly now and then. We were scared lest the worst had befallen. Has the ‘boy’ deserted her?
Soon enough, she told us that her ‘love’ now wants fifteen thousand rupees in cash or he was not going to get married to her or else we have to arrange for some sort of a decent ‘job’ for him. The audacity of the boy, we thought. But who was going to tell Hasna that the boy had a devious mind and ‘other’ plans? None of us dared as we could well see the desperation in her eyes. She wanted to get married to him at any cost and that too immediately lest he changed his mind again.
So it was a fateful evening when we had to send Hasna off while we bade her goodbye with a heavy heart. It was a pity that Hasna was not able to decipher between the love and care we had showered on her for a decade and the falsity of the man who swore to ‘love’ her forever.
So the old adage that love is blind held true for Hasna. A couple of months back, Hasna called us to tell us that she was pregnant. With that frail body? Worry took the better of us. And who was going to take care of her? We heard from her mother that the ‘boy’ will not allow Hasna to go home until she gets the ‘fifteen thousand rupees’ or a befitting job from our end.
Quite like us, Hasna’s hapless parents are at their wits end, calling us occasionally on what is to be done. But we hardly have anything to say at a juncture where we know that anything we say or do might go a long way in hurting Hasna.
So, the least we can do now is to pray for her, hoping against hope that nothing goes wrong and that she remains happy. We will always love you Hasna.

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