“STRANGE WOMAN”

(A Story)

BY Prof. N. S. PHADKE, M.A.

Although he stood in the midst of a jostling crowd in the market-place, a strange sense of loneliness and embarrassment troubled Sakharam’s heart, as though he were a child that had lost its way. He looked all around him with a vacant gaze, and undecided as to where to go, stood in his place, puzzled and helpless.

It was Sunday evening and the market-place was filled with noise and dust and movement. Vegetables, vessels, old books, bottles, crockery and clothes were to be seen ‘Placed in heaps on both sides of the street, and men and women who sold these were shouted and shrieked at the customers. There was a sprinkling of respectable looking middle-class people in this motley crowd. But most of the marketers were rustic people who had come to the city from the villages nearby, and there was such a huge rush of these village folks that it was impossible to make way through the crowd without pushing somebody. A Muslim vendor of cheap Unani medicines, advertising his goods in a high-pitched fluent eloquence, had attracted quite a big circle of villagers around him. There was a pandemonium of voices. Young lads with hardly a moustache to adorn their lips, who had joined the Army, attracted mainly by the promise of a pay of sixteen rupees and free clothing and food, elbowed their way through this rush in groups, waving their little canes and dragging their heavy boots. It was difficult to drive a horse-cart or a motorcar through this bazar, and the shouts of drivers and the toots of horns fell on deaf ears. A screen of dust covered the whole scene.

Sakharam was not, really speaking, unfamiliar with this picture of the Sunday market, because, except for the last year and a half which he had spent in the War Service, he had lived for nearly thirty years in the Infantry Lines of this city. As a child he had come here with his uncle in uniform to buy a cheap bamboo flute. Then as a grown-up boy he had come again to this market and purchased some old tools which he required to repair his bicycle. And later on when he joined the Infantry and set up a house after his marriage, he had made in this very bazar a good bargain of a hurricane lantern, paying only ten annas. He knew this place by heart. But as he stood here today, he had many reasons to conclude that the face of this place had been enormously altered. Like boils making their appearance erratically on a human body, the actual fighting zones in the War were shifting from Burma to Russia and then to a desert in Libya. India was thousands of miles away from these lines of action. But only away, not safe! Because war seemed to affect even the lives of these thousands of village folks who jostled and shouted in this market-place. Take, for instance, the case of Sakharam himself. He had brought, with him not a pie less than five rupees, but after purchasing a little tea, and sugar, and soap and matches and vegetables, he found that there were only a few annas now left in his pocket. Looking at the men and women from the villages, brushing their shoulders with each other and drifting with the current of the crowd, Sakharam wondered how much money they had brought with them and whether there was now a penny left in their hands. Were there any people who found solace in the thought that there was no actual war in India? Well, if there were, Sakharam found it difficult to agree with them, because, however hard he tried, he couldn’t recognize in this place the market which he had known from his childhood.

This was not the only thought, however, which had made Sakharam suddenly sullen and sad. The bleak sense of loneliness which he experienced was also due to the fact that, although he had walked to and fro in the market-place for nearly two hours, he had not met a soul whom he knew. He felt like a lost child, with no one to greet and no one to talk to.

It was only two days ago that Sakharam had returned from the front, having with great difficulty succeeded in securing leave. He had spent the first day in sleeping and trying to overcome the effects of the tiring journey. On the second day he had done nothing but sit and talk with his wife and watch his little two-year old daughter playing in the house. And then today be had set out of the house in the hope that he might contact some of his old friends in the market place. But he met nobody. Sakharam had a special reason to wish to meet someone he knew. A friend of his named Khandu Pawar had joined the Army as soon as recruitment had started, and very soon after he had received his training, his battalion had been sent out to the line of action. Khandu had been reported killed, leaving behind him his young wife Tulsa. The poor girl must now be in a very pitiable condition, Sakharam thought, and he believed it was his duty to call on her and offer her all the help he could possibly give. He had returned from the front with these thoughts. His wife told him that Tulsa no more lived in the house where she formerly lived, and that some people even said that she had left the city altogether. Sakharam, therefore, had come to the Bazar hoping that if he met any of his old friends he would get some definite news of Tulsa’s whereabouts. When, therefore, he wandered through the Bazar for two hours and did not succeed in meeting any of his old acquaintances, he was very sorely disappointed, There were hundreds of people all round him, and yet there was not one in the crowd whom he knew. This filled his heart with a sadness and desolate loneliness. He stood in his place looking at the noisy crowd with vacant eyes.

But, however much preoccupied with his own sullen thoughts Sakharam might be, how long would he stand in the midst of that rush? He was pushed to this side and that by hurrying people, and when a stack of dried fodder which an old woman carried on her head brushed against his neck, he came to his senses. He then looked around. He saw a couple of hand-carts with cinema posters pasted on their side-boards pushed past him, and an urchin, distributing handbills, thrust one in his hand. Without caring to read it he let it go fluttering with the breeze; He looked at the basket he carried in his hand as if to be sure that the vegetables he had purchased were there all right, and then began to walk. But his mind was full with thoughts of Tulsa.

She was only a child when both her parents died. Her uncle had brought her up. When she grew up and became a sort of liability he had decided to marry her away. Khandu Pawar was then working as a driver in a transport company earning eighteen rupees. Here was an excellent bridegroom, Tulsa’s uncle had thought, and he had married her to Khandu. Only a fortnight after the marriage Khandu had lost his job. He was one of those young men whose heads are swollen with strange ideas of self-respect. So he always found it difficult to pull on with people. His friends were by now used to hear two types of news, about him, alternately: Khandu has got a job, Khandu has lost his job. After he lost his job in the transport company he remained jobless for a few days. Then he got another job. But he could never settle in any place owing to his strange nature. He went on getting jobs and losing them. He did not seem to regret this. People found him perfectly jolly even when he was jobless: in fact, he used to seem more happy when he didn’t have a job. People thought that Khandu’s wayward nature would improve after his marriage, that he would begin to understand his responsibilities, and would stick to one place But these expectations proved wrong, because after his marriage Khandu became even more wayward and whimsical. And it was Tulsa who thus spoiled him. She loved him so deeply that she was prepared to admire even his faults as though they were great virtues. It’s true that a woman’s love is likely to make a man better. But this happens only when the woman is ambitious enough to feel that the man she loves mustn’t have a fault in him which the world may disapprove. But if on the contrary the woman is blind and simple-hearted, she drifts with the current young love, and doesn’t have the strength to improve a man. Tulsa so drifted, and Khandu became even more self-conceited and irresponsible. People began to be worried about him. How would he make Tulsa happy, they thought. And yet there was one thing which everyone saw clearly. Khandu and Tulsa were terribly fond of each other.

People were, therefore, surprised when they learnt that Khandu had joined the Army. Is Khandu going to leave Tulsa alone! How’s that possible? Did Tulsa permit him to go away? No. That’s incredible–This is what everybody thought. But later on Khandu’s friends came to know that he was in heavy debts and had caught at this chance of going away honourably and thus avoiding his creditors. “I don’t think this war will last very long,” Khandu used to tell them. “I’ll make enough money to pay my creditors and within a years time I’ll return to my darling Tulsa.” But poor dear! His hopes had been shattered and, instead of returning to his darling Tulsa, he had suddenly gone by the way towards the unknown by which all mortals have to go.

These recollections were painful and whenever they crowded into Sakharam’s mind his intention to call on Tulsa faltered. He had better not go and see her, he thought. He wouldn’t be able to bear the sight of Tulsa as a widow. She would cry wildly, beat her breast and tear her hair and wail at the loss of her darling Khandu, and, Sakharam feared, he wouldn’t have the strength to witness a scene like this. Tulsa would talk of the love she had showered on Khandu and, ‘“How could my precious beloved Khandu go away and leave me behind!” she would ask. This would be enough to melt any one’s heart. Tulsa had given Khandu a great love which he had deserved and now Khandu was gone...Sakharam tried to imagine what sort of Tulsa he would see when he now called on her. Would he find her struggling in poverty? What would she say to him? And what should he say to her?….And every time he tried to visualize the poor, pitiable, widowed Tulsa he almost decided that he had better give up his idea of meeting her.

In his heart, however, he knew that he was not going to avoid seeing Tulsa. On the contrary he had told himself that the best way for him would be to meet Tulsa as soon as possible, so that in the rest of his leave he would be able to give her whatever help she needed. That is why he had today come to the market-place, hoping that he would run into some of his old acquaintances who would tell him Tulsa’s whereabouts, and when he met no one he thought that a day had been wasted, and this filled him with disappointment and sadness...

He heard the shrill whistle of the mill to the east of the town, piercing through the noise of the market. He must now hurry home, he thought. Tomorrow he would get up early, come into the town, and try to find out where Tulsa lived. So he changed the basket from one hand to another, and pushed his way through the crowd. He would have hurried on out of the Bazar street, but at the turning where a little lane branched off from the main street, he found a big crowd. He slowed down his pace and heard comments of men and women: “Hang the bastard! He must be ashamed to insult a woman”, “He had almost run away with the chain on her neck”, “A fellow like this must be whipped”, “If I were here I would have handed him to the police”. Sakharam stopped and made enquiries as to what had happened. It appeared that a fellow had tried to catch hold of a woman and pick her ornaments. She had raised a cry. People had run to her assistance, but the fellow had bolted away. Such incidents were common in a market-place, so Sakharam decided not to pay more attention to it. But just as he was about to hurry on, the little crowd dispersed, discussing what had happened, and a knot of half a dozen people came towards him. There was a woman with them; and they were talking to her. “Would you like us to take you home? There’s, of Course, no reason to fear now. Nobody will molest you. But in case you are still afraid, we won’t mind coming with you. Or shall we put you in a tonga?……” they were asking her. And the woman was telling them, “You needn’t worry. I don’t need a tonga. I’ll go alone. Who will dare touch me…..?”

Sakharam started when he caught a good look of the woman. “By God, isn’t that Tulsa?” he cried. But the next moment he thought what a fool he was to mistake this woman for Tulsa! How could this be Tulsa! She was a widow and this woman had on her all the ornaments which only women, with their husbands living, could wear. This woman was smiling, happy. No, she wasn’t Tulsa.

Sakharam, therefore, felt very much embarrassed. He started to walk.

But he heard somebody calling him. So he stopped and when he turned he found that woman standing very close to him and asking him, “Well, brother Sakharam, how could you walk away even after seeing me? Don’t you know me? Forgotten poor me?”

Poor me?

Sakharam looked at the gold ornaments round her neck and on her bosom “How could anyone call you poor?” He wanted to say…It was impossible to recognize in her the widow of Khandu Pawar who had died in action…..Thinking like this, Sakharam stood in his place speechless.

“When did you come? Tell me,” she was asking him. Then Sakharam came out of his thoughts. He told her that he had come on leave and that he had come to the market today with the purpose of meeting somebody from whom he could know her whereabouts.

“Then you ought to come to my house, now,” Tulsa said. “It is near. We live only a few streets away. Come. It doesn’t matter even if you’re a little late in reaching your home. I’ll have you sent in a tonga.”

Sakharam began to walk with her, but said nothing. It was evident that she had married and her face and her gay talk was clear evidence that she was happy in this new marriage. So Sakharam was not asking himself, “Has she married somebody?” another question whit which his mind played: She was terribly fond of Khandu. How could she then marry again so soon after Khandu’s death? She had said, ‘We live in a house only a few streets away.’ ‘We’ that is who? Sakharam tried to decide. She and her new husband, or has she taken a lover.....Sakharam didn’t have to wait long for an answer to these questions. After a few minutes when they had turned in a small lane and gone past a dozen houses, she stopped in front of a little house, and, taking a key tied to a silken thread round her neck she bent down to unlock the door.

She and her husband must be living here, Sakharam decided, and it appeared that her husband was at the moment not at home.

There were a few chairs in the front room in the house. “Sit here,” she pointed to a chair, “I’ll make some tea for you. I’m so happy that you’ve come at this time. You will get to meet my husband. He goes on a bus every Saturday and makes the return trip on Sunday. He may come home any moment. He prefers to drive the bus himself, because it is difficult to get honest drivers. But we’ll talk later. Let me give you tea first.”

And she went into the house.

So, Tulsa’s new husband wag also in the motor business? It looked like that, Sakharam thought. And this fellow was not a mere petty driver like Khandu, but the owner of a bus. Looking at the things in the room, Sakharam had to admit that it was fairly well furnished. It was certainly not the room of a bus driver earning thirty or forty rupees….Had Tulsa married one of the owners of the buses on which her first husband Khandu had served?......

Sakharam discovered that he had guessed correctly when Tulsa came out with the tea, and sat in a chair telling about herself. Her new husband was the owner of the Royal Mail Service in which Khandu had worked for some time as a driver. This fellow had run his business cleverly and made a little fortune. Tulsa waxed eloquent as she talked of him, of his business that, the money he earned, and this thing and that. When her husband failed to return even after Sakharam had waited for a long time, she became restless. “I wonder why he hasn’t come back yet,” she said repeatedly. “I’m terribly worried whenever he is late like this.”

“Strange woman!” Sakharam thought as he gazed at Tulsa, her face shadowed with genuine anxiety. She must have someone to love with all her heart. Someone to worry about. Someone to give all to. Someone to spoil…..This was the key to her nature, Sakharam was about to conclude.

“I believe I ought to be going now,” he said at last, getting up. I’ll come again, and meet your husband.”

“Are you really going?” Tulsa asked, and her voice was pleading “Won’t you stay a little longer? Not because you’ll meet my husband, but because I’ve to talk to you about something else.”

Sakharam resumed his seat. He looked at her as though to ask, ‘what is it?’

Tulsa turned her face and kept silent. When Sakharam looked at her he found her crying. She began to sob.

“Tulsa, what’s the matter?” he asked softly. “What were you going to tell me?”

She lifted her face. Her eyes were wet, tears trickled down her cheeks, her nostrils moved with her breath, and her lips quivered. She remained without speech for a moment. Then she sobbed freely, and in a very pitiful voice murmured, “I miss Khandu terribly. How could he, my own dear Khandu, die leaving me! When going he had said to me, ‘I’ll come soon. Don’t you worry.” And now he has gone! And I’m still alive, cursed me.” She sobbed loudly and last covered her face with both her hands, her whole body quivering with the agony of grief.

Sakharam gazed at her. He wanted to cry but couldn’t. He only felt a thick choking in his throat, and his eyes hurt. He was terribly puzzled and only dimly aware that he was face to face with something that was a part of this queer human life but was beyond comprehension!

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