The swayamvara concludes. Draupadi goes back to her room. The parting of her hair looks like a pale yellow path, through black prairies, the long leaves swaying on either side of it. There are no stains of vermilion. No resemblance of the path to a streak of blood.

Draupadi’s blood has frozen. The suitor has trampled on her dreams and walked away, once again.

***
A trickle of sweat ran down the right temple, entering my mouth. It tasted salty. "Better than the taste of smoke", I thought I rubbed my face against the front seat; the sweat made a thin trace, fading out over the edge of the green seat cover.

The salt and water from my body had 'stained' the seat. These salt particles had floated for eternity in the vast waters of some ocean. Then a human, fired by the spirit to conquer nature, had harvested it and added it to his diet. The particles might have flowed in the veins of an ancestor, or maybe a cat. Now, a piece of history lay smeared on a seat-cover of this taxi. I looked benignly at the driver. He was oblivious of the events that had occurred in his car. Missing a piece of history didn't matter to him anyway. Earning his 'salt' and roti certainly did.

The car crawled with the morning traffic. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.The heat was oppressive and my oily skin was working overtime to make me uncomfortable. A shroud of smoke hung over everything, filtering the sunlight but letting the heat pass through that hit my arms and scalp like needles from an acupunture machine.

Our black and yellow taxi came to rest in a large compound that had a dilapitated wall serving as the boundary. I eased out of my seat and stepped onto the green grass outside, just missing a fresh heap of cow dung.

My dust-laden shoes returned to their black colour as they brushed against the water droplets that clung with elastic determination to the ferns and grass. God had showered lightly this morning. I looked up in a moment of isolation and thanked him. The puddles had just stopped short of turning into ponds.

As we approached, the double storied building looked solemnly at us. Its walls portrayed an exquisite collection of mythical scenes, broken squares and trails of water forming an insignificantly important entity. Molecules of limestone had mated with the elements of Mother Nature to produce an incomprehensible congregation. Someday, sooner or later, a Babulal would come with a bucket in one hand and a thick brush in the other and merge all the art on this wall with his spotless sweeps, in between breaks for his favourite Mantu Bidi.

A narrow staircase stood connected to the building, winding up along a pole. It spiraled up, its colonial look betraying acquiescence to British footsteps in its adolescence. The imperial elegance enticed me to hate it with vehemence; a high society prostitute, I thought. It stood brazenly defiant-unwilling to rust away, serving the potbellied havildar and his constables- while it pined for its long lost British lover.

I walked with uncertain steps in a group of four along a narrow dark alley that looked like the only entrance into the box shaped, windowless building. A low, servile voice walked into us from behind as we entered a dimly lit room. A few wall hangings, like the ones Mainadi made in my childhood, hung on the walls. Gods and goddesses looked benignly from calendars proclaiming different brands of soap and garments. I sat on the edge of a bed that had a clean, faded bed sheet on it. The space in the room was efficiently used, so that I had to rise to let anyone pass. Rajeev bhaiya had been keen to 'see the house” to satisfy himself. A house told a lot about its occupants.

The fan stood still, not willing to budge an angle. Trays of laddoos and rasgullas made the rounds in quick succession followed by glasses of Coke. My hands strained to follow the memorized statutes of formality, putting the laddoo in my mouth bit by bit. Electrical impulses traveled from the cerebrum cerebellum to the heart explaining the need for dignity and control. I acquiesced. A momentary craving was not going to put a dot on someone’s perception of my group, and the healthy harvest that beckoned to us from the future.

…yes, a joint family. We live separately, in different towns. All of us are employed. But come Dussehra, and the whole family comes under one roof in the village. ..brothers? Yes, I have four of them…a cousin looks after the fields and the mango trees in the village…. A very trustworthy man…. No, English, she didn’t. She can understand though. I sent her to a Hindi school..She is of standard height..say 5-4…no, no graduation. She has just taken her inter exams. We are waiting for the results. Yes, this time it will be declared on the Internet…the cyber cafe is near the Mother diary, yes close by the road you came on. hmmmm...Internet is a growing business, but you see, rates are going down. Yes, standard height, as I told you…. Hey Babloo! listen.. call your didi!

***
Draupadi enters the room. She has no ornaments on, not even a new robe. She comes to the durbar, and bows slightly, straining not to look at those present. King Janak nods in approval.

'You called for me, father?”, she asks, her eyes darting furtively between the inanimate objects in the room. The gaze fixes on Janak, once in a while, then moves again. Janak is the only non-animate man in the room. The rest are a vile, living vulture.

'Yes beti. Come inside. Touch his feet”, Janak gestures to a figure seated before him.

Draupadi steps forward, bends and touches the air around the man's knee. The figure looks self-consciously at the king, hoping for divine intervention.
Janak looks at her and nods. Draupadi departs, with hurried grace.

…the animation blurs.
I look into the pair of eyes. The trick works, making him notice a shortage of water in the jug. He picks it up, pulls the curtain aside and disappears.

The voice is back. 'Do you study?” he fixes his eyes with decision.

'Yes I do, at ISM”

'Near Dumdum?”

'No”, I shake my head; 'It is in Dhanbad”

'Arre…mining college?” the man in full vests looks in awe, hoping for an assertion.

'Yes, I am on vacation now”. I explain.

'Beta, you have a good future. Work hard”.

'He is our prized check” Rajeev bhaiya announces. 'We will encash him soon after he passes out and gets a job”

'Ok Sharmaji”, full vest rises, I will come to Ranchi on the 20th. I have your address. And I have given you the horoscope.”

'Yes, let me talk to panditji first. Then we will take the matter forward.”

We follow full vest and his son through the dark alley. Outside, it is raining. A 'bullet' motorbike bathes alone in the drizzle. It is painted white, a metal plate marked ‘Police’ adoring the front.

A couple of minutes later, I find myself in a taxi, on our way home. Rajeev bhaiya leans back, beaming.

'What do you think about her” he quips. I look up, then sigh with relief. The glance is fixed at Manish.

'The father is too ego-centric. But I was impressed by her lack of artificiality. She didn’t put any makeup to impress us. Looks like a good, simple girl”.

'Yes, Ajay mama is going to get lost in her long black hair. And what a nice meek girl she is. But are they willing to pay?”

'Yes, the old man has got his provident fund. And being a policewallah, he must have other sources too”. He winks at me. I affect a smile.

I try to speak, but my throat is choked.

***
Draupadi’s wait is over. Full vest has one lesser burden on his chest. Rajeev bhaiya will bring the long planned airconditioner home.

I spit on the pavement, and walk on.



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Comments: Durga Prasad Pandey(dpsmiles at yahoo.com)