A Helpless Wife

Koushik Roy

   “Excuse me! I’m looking for a bank. Can you tell me where I’ll find it?” a black fat woman nervously asked a man who was watching the busy stream of people during the peak office-hours in the morning. The man was annoyed for such interruption, and vaguely raised his hand towards the left turn of the street and murmured, “There you can find one.” 

  “Thank you,” she muttered before taking the direction. After few minutes walk she found the bank. At the entrance a guard whose buckle could not fasten his mound like belly sat crossed legged on a chair humming some country tune. His old modelled gun idly rested on the backside wall.

  He used the butt of his gun to push the black glass door so that she could enter. It was just ten and the staff were not busy. Looking around she found one of the staff sitting behind ‘May I help you desk’. He was reading some stock exchange reports in The Economic Times.

   “Excuse me! I need a bank draft,” she told that man.

    “Do you have any accounts in this bank?” he asked her.

“No,”

“No?” he asked her in an irritating voice as if it was a crime on her part, “In that case we can’t give you any bank draft.” Immediately the man dived into the newspaper.

“Strange rule!” she whispered saving the ear of the man.  

  Coming outside the bank she thought “Where can I find another bank?”  She looked at the either side of the road. When she looked right she noticed a square board atop a building on which was written "SBI ATM". She read only SBI in hurry. When she reached the ground floor of the building she found it was only an ATM booth of SBI.

  “Bad luck!” she told herself. She was returning from the place dejectedly, but a woman who also entered the building along with her told, “There is a bank on the first floor.”

“Do they issue bank drafts? I’ve no account here,” she asked that woman nervously.

“I need a bank draft too, and like you I’ve no account,” answered that woman with a warm smile.

  Together they entered the bank. A man was giving slips to the customers at the reception desk. He gave the two women slips and asked them to fill up. She did not bring any pen. “May I borrow your pen?” she asked her new acquaintance with a shy smile.  When they gave their slips duly filled-in, the man gave them two tokens and advised them to wait till their token numbers appeared on the electronic display board.

   Some chairs were arrayed in the room for the customers. She   sat on a vacant chair. She looked for that woman who helped her with a pen. Her new acquaintance was standing few steps away from her. She called her to sit on a vacant chair beside her.

“How long will it take?” she asked that woman.

“At least an hour. Now token number 30 has been announced. Our numbers are 79 and 80.” 

“If I can go back home quickly…” she left the sentence incomplete and sighed.

“I’ve done cooking before coming to bank,” that woman said.

“We were not at home. We returned yesterday, late at night.”

“Where did you go? Of course if you’ve no problem to tell me…” asked the new friend with a smile.

“We went to visit my parents in Mumbai. I wanted to stay there for another week, but my husband did not allow. I was so sad; my parents requested him which is quiet natural since I’m their only child. My mom pleaded but he did not agree to stay a single day. Then I scolded her, ‘Why are you requesting since he’s a busy doctor?’”

“Where do you live?” asked the new friend.

“His father gave us a piece of land. There we’ve built a house.”

“Why do you need a bank draft?”

“For my son who is a student of class ii. But I’m so nervous because I’ve never made any draft before- I requested him to come with me but he was so annoyed! He asked angrily, ‘Can’t you do such a petty job without my help?’ But what can I do? I know nothing about bank- works, but I’ve to come because this draft is very important- it’s my child’s school fees. When we were absent from our home, the school authority sent us a letter to remind us of due fees.” She told embarrassingly.

“Is he very angry!” the new friend wanted to know about her husband.

“No, no! Rather I’m very lazy. When he comes back home he finds me before dressing-table. But what else can I do? I finish my household works before he comes home, but I want to finish the household work early so that I can bedeck myself for him.” The other woman noticed that she concealed a sigh.

  The electronic display board showed token number 65, but she was not looking at the board. “Today I could not prepare the breakfast. He went to chamber without breakfast. I don’t know what he will say coming back.” She was visibly very upset.

 “Don’t worry. He’ll forgive you,” her new friend wanted to assuage her.

“Yea, I know. My mom says that I’m very lucky that I’ve got him as my husband. His other brothers are drunkards and beat their wives. They are also great gamblers. But he has never beaten me.”

“Then you’re lucky,” said the new friend.

  Suddenly her mobile phone began ringing. She got busy at receiving the call. She was offering her thanks to someone. After the call she told her new friend- “My mom. She is wishing me. Actually today is my birthday. My dad will bring a birthday cake from Flury’s. Mom will decorate the house with chains of flowers and light. Some relatives are invited in the evening. Only I will not be present there."

"Certainly your husband will celebrate your birthday. Aha! Now I see together you’ll go to some restaurant…and a candlelight dinner," told her new friend.

While listening to her new friend’s imaginary description of such sumptuous dinner, her face was being flooded with sadness. Two drops of tear rolled down her cheeks and she mourned, "He won’t come before midnight, before meeting his kept."

"Oh, my God! Why do you allow him?"  her new friend was shocked.

"If I protest he’ll leave me," she cried in agony.  

                                 Plaits

                          Tania Hershman

Someone behind started plaiting my hair.

Hey, I said.

Sorry, he said. Just given up smoking... hands fidgety... hang on.

I sat there waiting for the lecture to start, feeling the gentle tug as he pulled one section of hair over the other. My knees said, Marry him. Don't turn round, just decide.


We married six months later. His face was as delicate as his hands were dextrous, his temper cool and his love eccentric. He washed my hair, made me pies with pastry messages on top, grew prize-winning roses, and said that the washing up was his meditation.

When I cut my hair, he said that it was fine, that he could tickle my scalp now, but his hands were disappointed, and soon I smelled tobacco.

Stress at work, he said.

I talked to a wise friend, who said, Grow it back. My knees said, He should love you any way. I saw him in a cafe with a woman I didn't know. His fingers were playing with her curls. I threw up in a rubbish bin and went home. I found a pack of his cigarettes and started one a day, even though my knees weren't pleased.


I love you, he said in bed, when my hair had reached my shoulders again.

I know, I said, and fought my knees' insistence that I go into the garden and dig up his rose bushes.