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A Long Evening

By Mrinmoyee Goswami from Canada

Santanu has been in an elated mood since this morning. The Pujas had started. He, along with Ma and Aita had gone out to all the nearby pandals in the past two days. And today, Deuta had promised that he would come home early, and the three of them would go out together.

It had been four years now, since Deuta had brought Ma and Aita and him from their village to this place. The festivities here are much more elaborate than his childish mind could comprehend, the milieu festooned with innumerable lights, shopkeepers displaying balloons, whistles, pistols, toys, that seemed to stretch forever. Why even the asoor in the Railway Colony Puja is so huge that small children are even afraid to look at it.

Santanu had not seen the asoor, of course. It was his friend Ranjan, who had told him about it, for his little sister had hidden her face in their mother's sari, not daring to look up at it again.

Santanu had never gone so far. Deuta is in the police, and therefore, always had to work late, especially during these days. Back then, when they were in their village, Deuta visited them on his leave, and those days were so fun-filled.
Things changed when he had to be admitted to school and they came here, for Ma was eager to get him admitted only in an English medium school.


Thus, with textbooks came the added burden of tuition.
Slowly, he stopped missing his childhood friends, but it was during the Pujas that he felt awful. After all these years, since they came here, Deuta had not taken them out on any Puja evening.

But today Deuta had promised. "I will come home at five o'clock, and take you and your mother out in the evening. And we will eat in the new hotel near the cinema hall."

After Deuta left, Santanu, Ma and Aita went to the nearby Puja to offer their obeisance. Normally, he likes to loiter in the pandal, often meeting someone from school. But today, he was impatient, his restlessness escalating with every passing minute.


He looked around, to see if any of his friends were present.
But nothing could hold him, he kept on envisaging all the while of when it would be five o'clock and Deuta would come.

The priest started handing flowers to the devotees. So, soon it would be time to go home then. But Ma just lingered on, talking to the people. Suddenly, she seemed to be concerned about the time. "Ai, Santanu. It's already twelve o'clock. Let's go home."

Twelve o'clock. Santanu calculated, "One, two, three, four, five."


Coming home, Ma slipped into the bedroom, changed into a different sari, washed her hands and face. He looked at the clock. The small hand is between twelve and one, and the big hand is between four and five.


Ma made some tea for herself and Aita, took out a few pita and laroos, and the trio sat down on the dining table. She had not cooked anything yet.


His eyes kept on going towards the clock. The big hand is now between seven and eight. Simultaneously, Ma's eyes too fell on the clock. "Oh, I did not realize it's so late." Hurriedly, she goes into the kitchen. Aita rose too.

Santanu opens a story book, but is hardly able to concentrate. In his mind, he tries to bridge the duration between now and the time when his father would reach home. But child as he was, the complexity of the calculation collapsed, without arriving at anything definite. He fastened his eyes on the road.
"Santanu. Come, food is ready." Ma called him.
Only, sitting on the table, he realized how hungry he had been.
"Now, sleep for a while." Aita said. "Otherwise, you will be too tired to go out with your father in the evening."
"Aita, why don't you come with us." He argued.
"I am too old. You go with your Ma and Deuta." "Santanu, why don't you go to bed." Ma cried from the kitchen. Hastily, he climbed on the bed, closing his eyes, feigning sleep.

Ma washed the utensils, and lay on the bed to nap. Only sleep eluded Santanu. He stealthily climbed down, tiptoed into the drawing room, and gazed into the clock. Again, he could not guess the time. How he wished to grow up, to be able to read the clock.

He climbed onto the window sill, awaiting his father's return.

He doesn't know how long he stood there. When would Deuta come? But for sure, he would not be happy to find Ma sleeping. If only he could somehow know the time. Why do Ma have to sleep so late? Yet, he is afraid of waking her up.
Deuta had said that he would come at five. No doubt, he is always late. But at least they should be ready when he reaches home.
He stands by the bedside, and with his fingers, slowly opens his mother's eyelids. "Hmmmmmmmmm, Santanu, what are you doing?"

"Wake up Ma. We have to get ready soon."
"What, it's only three." She said looking at her watch by her bedside. "Deuta will come soon."
"Is your father ever on time?" She replied angrily. "And you, don't give me a moment's rest either." Murmuring, she goes out to collect the clothes left to dry. In the kitchen, she puts on the water for tea, hands him a cup of Bournvita.
Normally, he doesn't like Bournvita, but today, he could not afford to offend Ma. "When is he coming?" Aita asked.
"Told it would be around five. But Santanu's father is never on time." Ma replied.
"Well, he is in the Police after all." Aita replied with pride in her voice. "No one knows what would happen at any moment. Now Santanu, get ready. When your father arrives, he would not want to wait."

Ma ironed his new pair of trousers and shirt. However, Santanu was in no mood to wear those same clothes. He had worn it on the previous two days. Not today.
Ma could not understand why he was refusing to put it on. The full sleeved shirt and trousers would offer respite in the cool October night. But Santanu was adamant.

Santanu's behaviour irritated his mother. But no amount of persuasion could persuade him to wear those clothes. Irritated, she slapped him. He let out a loud wail. Aita came in, and as if she could assess the complexity of the situation.
"He wants to wear the dress that his father brought from Guwahati." Aita said.

Ma was somewhat hesitant to dress him up in that T-shirt dotted with lots of small Mickey-mouse all over it and the matching shorts with a large embroidered Mickey. Finally, she had to relent. She dressed him up, powdered his face and even squirted some of her perfume on him.
"Now, don't play and get your clothes dirty." She said.
He was in no mood to play, of course, his excitement hardly finding a greater adversary.


The day is waning now. Santanu stands at the gate, his eyes ever alert for every passing scooter, fervently wishing it to be his father's, his excitement quashing as soon as it is discernible.

People have started to go out now. His friends Sunny and Ronny waved at him from their beautiful red Maruti car. He wondered when his father too would buy a car. The three of them would then go out, and he would wave at his friends. Then, it occurred to him that his father had never taken him and Ma out on one single Puja or Bihu function. But today, he felt an assurance that they would go out. He found the thought strangely pleasing.

**

Ratan looked at his watch. Nearly six o'clock. He had promised to be at home by five. Poor Santanu. He must be all dressed up, awaiting his return.

Sarala by now had grown used to all this. And why not? His initial elation at the pride of his own achievement had dismantled long ago. And yet, he remembers the day when seeing him dressed up in a police uniform his mother was unable to take off her eyes, the initial envy of his village friends that now he is an Assistant Sub- Inspector of Police, he himself could surmise his accomplishment. However, the initial elation turned to an odd-sadness at times; it did not take him long to realize that his job came with certain indiscretions. Like, on his sister's wedding, he reached only on the day of the juroon, overhearing some of the villagers' curt remarks, "Only brother comes to his younger sister's marriage like a guest," he vividly felt the ache.
"Not today." He decides.

He had asked permission to leave early today, and it was granted. He would linger for a few more minutes, show his face to his seniors, and quietly sneak by.

The face of his son gazing at the road for him, floated before his eyes.
"Oiiii Hemen," he called a constable, handing him a ten rupee note. "Get some jalepis. Ek dom, gorom."
How fond Santanu is of jalepis. He won't be upset with his father after all. By the time he reaches home, gets ready, and has his cup of tea, there would still be plenty of time.
Hemen handed him the jalepis, the packet weighing more than the money he had given. Ratan felt a strange satisfaction. 


He would leave in just a few minutes but just then, Mohan, the head constable came running,
"Sir, Sir, O Sir……..


The Short story continued here....