Foundation of SAARC Writers and Literature

Marriage gives a woman a certain kind of stature in the household–she becomes a wife and becoming a wife means the beginning of a new chapter in her life. She has a world of her own made up of joys and sorrows and so many other things as well as control over the household–that is what Motijaan used to imagine. But she could not understand her position in this household. She did not even know if there was any need for her at all in this household. She had a mother-in-law over and above her who was really in charge , and Motijaan was no more than a superfluous addition to the family . Her heart was full of the frustration of being superfluous. The sharp words of her mother in law often scorched her soul. At such times Motijaan felt totally sick at heart of married life. She wished to become a widow.

The mother-in-law’s name was Gulnoor, her son’s name was Abul. She had lost her husband within eighteen months of the birth of her son and had been a widow for twenty-two years now. She had managed the house and whatever land her husband owned with an iron hand, looked after the family and brought her son up. She had never asked for help from either her husband’s family or her own parents. The people of the village said of her, “ She’s a very hard woman, mind you.” Gulnoor was proud of this. She felt that being hard was really a matter of pride and this hardness had a wide significance to her. As a result, whatever she herself thought or did was the right thing to her, it could not be anything else. Motijaan had expectations from her husband. But she found that her mother-in-law had totally ursurped her rights. Sometimes she thought that even Abul was superfluous in his mother's household. When she gave expression to her acute grievance at not being able to lead a contented family life with her husband. Abul simply escaped from the house . He told Motijaan in clear cut terms: Don’t tell me anything, I know nothing and can do nothing. Mother is all in all. She keeps my heart trampled under her feet.” While saying this, Abul waved his hands in the air, spoke out of twisted lips and gave vent to his feelings in vulgar invectives. But his words failed to indicate who the target of his obscenities might be. Motijaan looked at her husband with her eyes wide open. His appearance was always bewildered, eyes bloodshot and he was totally indifferent about family life. He had absolutely no interest in household affairs. He frequented a den for smoking ganja with his pals. He was a regular ruffian and thought nothing of spending money on a woman named Rosoi who had a place in the market area. Neither his mother nor his wife was of concern to him. Realising this truth Motijaan grew obstinate within herself. She wanted to be as hard as her mother-in-law. Her mother-in-law’s reproaches made her stubborn inside.

Nine months of marriage had completely opened her eyes, but no one could guess that. She pretended to look neither to the right nor to the left–neither below, nor above.

But she had eyes for everything around her , not even a tiny piece of straw could obstruct her vision. Did her life in this new household have a very good start, after all? In the beginning she hardly understood anything properly. Looking back upon the past few months now she realised that not even the first seven days after her marriage had passed well. Her mother-in-law never spoke to her properly. She did not understand her husband even. He too did not speak to her in a normal way. The sultry atmosphere in the house always made her feel scared. At mealtimes her fingers would suddenly become paralysed while picking the bones of a piece of ilish fish. Raising a ball of rice to her mouth she would glance surreptitiously at her mother-in-law and find her looking at her with eyes that made her tremble inside. Motijaan’s heart seemed to beat noisily , almost like the rumbling of the waters of Mahananda during the monsoon, as though she could feel the sound of the waves touching her body if she listened carefully. When her mother-in-law raised the topic of dowry on the eighth day ,she shrank in fear. She had just finished eating the aluminium plate still bore the marks of gravy. Gulnoor spoke through gritted teeth. “At the time of the marriage your father promised that he would give a wrist watch and a cycle to my Abul. Why hasn’t he sent them yet?”

Motijaan remained silent. She knew her father’s circumstances well, his household expenses were twice his income. He had made the promise without being sure of his ability to get the money for all those things. What was going to happen now? Gulnoor spoke harshly again : “ Why don’t you say anything?”

Gulnoor burst out : “ Why shouldn’t you know ? You must!” Motijaan began to tremble. She felt as though the rice she had already swallowed was choking her throat, any further shouting and she would simply vomit out all she had eaten.

The order to work relieved Motijaan. It gave her a wonderful chance to escape. She collected all the utensils and carried them to the pond. She realised that nothing was smouldering inside her, there was neither any burning feeling nor the pain of being scorched. She only felt like bursting into tears out of an acute sense of helpless anger against her father. Why did father have to make false promises? What harm there would be if she were not married off? All she wanted was to join Beli bua who was a worker of the village cooperative in making nakshi kantha or embroidered quilts. She was bent upon earning her own living. But her father ruled that out. He would lose face and be utterly humiliated if he could not get his daughter married off. So he had to find a husband for her by any means. Why ? Why ? Motijaan wanted to kick all the utensils into the water. What a mockery of a marriage! Where was the good life she was led to expect from it? What about her husband? Was this the prestige her father valued so much? The honour and prestige of the poor depended on the food and clothing they had.

Days roll on, as is the nature of days. Motijaan’s days also rolled on. She came to realise that although she had to live with Abul, he was not really a part of her life. He spent at least half the days in a monta with Rosoi at her place. In the beginning Motijaan had tried to remonstrate with him and had been rewarded with beatings. Now she no longer raised the subject, neither did Gulnoor bother about whether her son returned home at night or not. She supported whatever her son did. Nowadays Gulnoor directly gave vent to her anger about dowry. She shouted loudly at Motijaan : “ Your father is a liar, a cheat. If he couldn’t manage to deliver the cycle and the wrist watch why did he promise?”

In her agitation Gulnoor was quite abusive and kept on shouting loudly. Abul also followed her mother’s example. The other day Motijaan could no longer remain silent although she felt like choking. In a trembling voice she said : “ My father is not a cheat, he’s poor. My father is not a liar. He doesn’t have any more money right now, that’s why its taking him all these days to buy cycle and the wrist watch."

Gulnoor dragged Motijaan by her hair and threw her to the ground. She put a rope round her neck and kept her tied to a post inside the room. She was not given anything to eat the whole day. In the evening Gulnoor dragged her by the rope to the pondside and said, “I can no longer feed rice to you. All you’ll get now is grass, go on, eat.”

Abul joined his mother in laughing at this terrible joke and then went off to Rosoi’s place in the market area. A little later Gulnoor brought Motijaan out on the verandah and gave her a plate of rice to eat. Motijaan ate the rice in stoic , dispirited silence. Then she went into her room and closed the door behind her to be alone in the darkness. She could not sleep for a moment the whole night. She tossed restlessly on her bed, rolled on the floor. She tried hard to remain calm but could not. She spoke to the darkness : “Tell me, O Darkness, how can I take revenge? How? How?” At this moment of ultimate silence she felt the need of a companion, someone very close to her, someone to whom she could open her heart. She craved for a little joy now. No more this tortured life for her. She felt no responsibility at all for a husband who was a drunkard, a gambler , infatuated with another man’s woman. She could visualise only one opponent before her, the one who was reputed to be a hard woman in the village. Motijaan’s fight was against her.

Silently she went out into the cowshed. She cleaned the shed and sat there late into the afternoon making cowdung cakes to be used as fuel. She kept at that task till the blazing sunlight outside grew dimmer. From that time Motijaan’s power to ignore anything became stronger within her heart.

Very late that afternoon when Motijaan felt ravenous with hunger she came back to the house to eat but her mother-in-law stopped her at the door of the kitchen. Motijaan understood that Gulnoor had sacrified her midday nap in order to guard over the food. She wanted to punish her for her impudent laughter earlier in the day. Finding her way blocked Motijaan said in a cold voice : ‘I want to eat. I’m hungry.’

Gulnoor said : ‘There’s no food.’
Motijaan shouted: ‘Why not?’
Gulnoor bared her teeth in a snarl and raised her hands threateningly : ‘ I won’t give you any rice. You can have nothing but grass.’
'I do my share of work in this household. I earn my food. I just don’t sit idle and eat. You have to give me food. Hasn’t a servant got the right to demand food?’

Motijaan stepped by her mother-in-law and entered the kitchen. she rummaged through the pots and pans but found no food. There was a covered plate in a rope shelf hanging from the ceiling. As soon as she reached for it her mother-in-law rushed up. ‘Don’t touch that. I tell you. That’s Abul’s food.’

Motijaan spoke through gritted teeth : ‘Rosoi has cooked for him. Why should you worry?’
“What did you say? How dare you?”
Motijaan made no reply. She held the plate of rice and curry close to her chest and started eating. She realised that she must not let go of the plate. Her mother-in-law would get the chance to jump upon her even if she sat down to eat. So she kept eating standing in such a way that if Gulnoor attempted to come closer she could throw the plate at her. A big piece of fish had been kept for Abul and now, what good luck, it was hers to eat! Or was it something she deserved after all? That’s what Beli apa used to say : "Claim your own rights." The thought brought a faint smile on Motijaan’s lips. Ravenously hungry, she kept on eating voraciously without even looking at her mother-in-law. Such defeat was utterly inconceivable to a hard woman like her. She felt within her heart a surge of victory, as though the waves of Mahananda were tearing a path through a curtain of thick mist.

Later in the afternoon she came to the bamboo grove beside the pond. It was a secluded shady spot. Sunlight failed to reach the ground through the thick foliage as though a solid layer of glue across the tops of the trees kept it trapped there. The ground was damp and wet, soft and pleasantly cool. Motijaan’s mother-in-law had perhaps fallen asleep in her room after her defeat, there was no sound from her. she always had to have a nap in the middle of the day, it was a favourate habit with her. Motijaan sat down beneath the bamboos and hummed softly to herself. This was the first time after her marriage that she was feeling so happy.

Leaving the bamboo grove as Motijaan approached the house, she met Lokman before the front door. Seeing her Lokman smiled. He had a tall, slender figure. Motijaan trembled when she looked at his eyes. He was Abul’s friend and came to this house every so often. When Abul did not return home for several days, he sent some purchases through him. Lokman also travelled by the house on his way to and from the market. Motijaan never had the opportunity to speak to him, neither did she have the courage to do so. Today Lokman looked surprised to see her at the front door.
“How are you Bhabhi?”
“Well.” Motijaan smiled easily. Her teeth glittered like pearls and Lokman looked somewhat bemused.
“Here– your shopping.”

Motijaan reached for the bundle. She spoke with an easy manner : "Come, sit in the shade. Would you like to have a paan?”

The lilting tone of her voice startled Lokman. He wanted to sit for a while. Yet he hesitated and said, “I have to go now.”
“Do come again, won’t you?”
“Yes, I’ll come again.” Lokman’s face brightened as he spoke. Motijaan went into the house, walking with a natural grace and looking back once at him over his shoulder. The rhythm of her movements startled Lokman once more. Was this the same woman he had seen so many times before? It took him a while to get out of his bemused state.

Since her defeat the other day Gulnoor had been playing a different tune. She tried to provoke Motijaan every now and then by her sarcastic remarks and asked her point blank: “Why can’t you have a baby?”

Motijaan looked stupidly at her. What could she say in reply to a question like that? Once she felt like asking : "Why don’t you ask your son?” But the next moment she desisted and turning her head went off to attend her household chores. Behind her back, her mother-in-law raised her voice to complain loudly : “How can my family lines be kept alive, O Allah ?”

The tone of her voice made Motijaan feel irritated all over. She stopped abruptly and turned back but saw her mother-in-law passing through the side door into their neighbour’s house. She came back and sat down on the verandah. Her mother-in-law would now start accusing her of being a sterile woman. Her whole body felt numb.

Gulnoor was telling Noor’s mother next door : "Sister, that daughter-in-law of mine is barren. Otherwise why doesn’t she bear a child?”

Noor’s mother giggled : “What if she’s barren? Get your son married again. Be sure to ask for a lot of money this time.”

Gulnoor smiled happily and did not waste any time in telling all that to Motijaan. She also declared that her life would be meaningless without a child to keep the family line going. Motijaan made no reply at all. The word marriage was spinning round and round within her head. When Abul returned home after two hours, she mentioned the need for keeping the family line going. But Abul reacted to that simply by snarling at her : “I’ll kick the family’s behind!”
“But your mother wants it.”
“Go and tell mother –”

He stopped abruptly and swore under his breath. Motijaan was stupefied on hearing the vicious swearing. As she breathed the stench of ganja coming from Abul’s mouth, she wanted to kick Abul off the top of his body. But she could just bide her time. When the stench of ganja hardened inside her chest she could feel Lokman’s tall, slender figure coming within her reach. She stretched her hand trying to touch him, and his body seemed to curl into a small bundle and crawl into her fist.

One day at noon the sky darkened with clouds and a strong wind began to blow, sudden gusts of stormy wind. Gulnoor had gone to Kansat in the morning to visit the family of her husband’s elder brother. Before starting she had said that she would return in the evening. Abul was away from the house for two days. Motijaan sat on the verandah with her legs stretched out, embroidering flowers on a handkerchief. She had to do the work on the sly, keeping it a secret from her mother-in-law. She wanted to give the handkerchief to Lokman as a present. She had developed a natural relationship with Lokman. He knew when Gulnoor would be sleeping, when the sunlight would be filtering through the shadows of the bamboo grove. At such times Motijaan had endless leisure on her hands, she could travel across the seven seas and thirteen rivers.

Dust blown from the courtyard into Motijaan’s face by gusts of stormy wind blinded her eyes and dishevelled her hair. As she jumped to her feet to take over, she saw Lokman running across the courtyard to the protection of the verandah. The rains came just at that moment falling in torrents in a few minutes. Inside the room Lokman pressed Motijaan to his chest in a tight embrace. For the first time, the very first time in her life, Motijaan experienced the intense sensation of a man’s touch on her body. She realised that there was a great deal of difference between Abul and Lokman.

Days pass, as they always will, following their course. Motijaan’s days, however passed differently now. She was going to be a mother. After that day’s incident when Motijaan first missed her monthly period she cried out in astonishment alone in her room she tried to come to an understanding with her own self – to come to terms with the surge of emotions throbbing all over her being, as though all the doors that had so far remained closed were now opening before her.

On hearing the news, Abul looked at her with crooked eyes : “So the family line is saved, after all !” But Motijaan’s mother-in-law was not happy at first. She remained ominously quiet. It was her defeat. She had never imagined that it would come so soon. Then she looked obliquely at Motijaan and said in a stern voice. “You must not give birth to a girl child, mind you.
Motijaan said, “What makes you hanker after a boy child? Your own son does care for you.”
“What if he doesn’t, you slut! You must bear a boy, or you’ll suffer the consequences, I tell you.”

Her mother-in-law’s hot breath scared Motijaan’s face. She knew that it was a year of acute drought – crops were withering fields were cracking up. Her whole body was heavy with fatigue that was trying to tear at and devour her entire being. She tried to ignore her physical weakness with the help of the strength of her mind.

In course of time Motijaan gave birth to a daughter. Abul laughed loudly and mockingly. “So the family line is going to be saved, after all!”

Gulnoor was grave, she even refused to see her grandchild. But Motijaan found a release to all her pent up emotions within her by pressing her daughter to her breast and showering her with love and caresses. Even in the midst of all the indifference and neglectm she was subjected to the ecstasy she felt as the birth of her daughter billowed all around her like the surging waves of Mahananda. Motijaan danced and swung her daughter before her mother in law’s eyes and sang her to sleep. Gulnoor could not bear Motijaan’s joy, she became ferocious and threatening. But Motijaan grew stronger than before within herself and said, “If I could, I would give birth to a hundred daughters.” Of late Abul had practically stopped coming home. Motijaan heard that he had left Rosoi and taken up with another woman. He was too busy to bother about anything else. All that made Motijaan stubborn.

In about a year Motijaan was with a child again by Lokman and gave birth to another girl. This time Gulnoor remained silent for seven days, then she declared that she was no longer prepared to tolerate a daughter-in-law who bore nothing but a girl child every year. When her son returned home , she would make him divorce this useless wife of his and send her off to her father’s house.

Motijaan silently listened to her mother-in-law’s announcement. She had no time to think of anything else now. She was busy throughout the day with her kids. On top of that she had all the household chores to take care of too. She was nearly always overcome with fatigue and exhaustion.

When Abul returned home after about a month or so, Gulnoor wasted no time in loudly announcing her decisions to him. At that moment, Abul was very much under the influence of ganja. Her mother’s words startled him,, he stared blankly at her for a few seconds, then went out of the house again. Gulnoor filled the house with her angry shouts. “I’ll throw that wretched woman out right now.”

Quite a few of the neighbours gathered in the courtyard. Motijaan appeared before the crowd with her two daughters pressed to her breast. Gulnoor was still shouting. Curses flew out of her mouth like fireworks. Motijaan stood her ground and flared up : “Don’t you dare to swear at me, I warn you!”

Gulnoor screamed, “You’ll get no food at my house from today, I’ll get my son married again. My family line must be kept going.”

Suddenly Motijaan burst into mocking laughter, startling everyone, “Your family line?” she said. “Faugh! If I had left it to your son, I wouldn’t have got these girls even.”

Gulnoor with her reputation of being a hard woman in the village, kept staring at Motijaan with dilated unbelieving eyes. A barely audible muttering spread among the crowd.

Motijaan stood there, pressing her two daughters to her breast with her two arms. From the safety of their mother’s breast Motijaan’s daughters glared at everyone before them.


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