Half a Rupee: Stories Read Online Free PDF

Matric tonight?’
    To comfort me, he added, ‘But I don’t think there’s any danger.’
    ‘Who’s going to become unconscious with all this shivering in this cold?’ I managed to say—but the restlessness remained.
    Taran said again, ‘Let’s keep the door a little ajar, shall we?’
    ‘All right!’
    When I opened the door, the cold air rushed in like a rogue. When I kept the door ajar, just a wee bit ajar, the wind began to whistle like hooligans. We were at our wits’ end: we just could not think of a way to stave off the cold and silence our fear. A solution did eventually flash through our minds—to prop a suitcase between the door panels and tie them together. But tie them how? We did not have any string. Finally, we pulled the drawstring out from a pair of pajamas. We stuck a suitcase between the two panels of the door and tied them together. Our fear was a little assuaged but the room once again started growing cold. All this had kept us fairly occupied, but time and again, our thoughts would wander to Bhushan—how was he faring in this gnawing cold? Was he warm enough? He was already holed up under a blanket and a quilt. We threw another quilt on top of him—just to make sure that he stayed warm.
    Taran turned on his side again and said, ‘The cold air is bouncing off the wall and is going straight in search of Bhushan.’
    And then a silence. After another quiet interval it was my turn to break the silence, to say something.‘Taran, as the night is deepening, it’s growing colder. I think I am going to throw even my mattress on top of him. God forbid if we find him in the morning like the weaver’s son-in-law with his body stiff and his smile frozen.’
    Taran kept quiet. I got up, pulled out my mattress and threw it atop Bhushan and made do with just a blanket. The fire in the
angeethi
was beginning to die. Taran got up to throw a handful of coal in the dying fire and also picked up his quilt and put it on top of Bhushan. And then he crept under his mattress and lay down. Somewhere along the way, exhausted as we were, we did not even realize when we fell asleep.
    It was obvious that we had slept till late. That morning, Bhushan woke up before us. I turned on my side and saw him stretching himself awake.
    ‘How are you?’ I ventured. ‘Did you sleep well?’
    He yawned and said, ‘Yes, I did sleep well. But tell me one thing: why did the two of you keep throwing your stuff on top of me all through the night?’
    Taran burst out laughing, ‘Hear hear! Hear the man! We stay up half the night worrying to death over him and this is what he says. Now, get out of your bed and fetch us some tea.’

    The khansama had prepared a fresh pot of tea and was laying it out in the lawns when he saw Santoshji coming out of Bhushan’s room and asked, ‘What happened, even you failed to wake him up?’
    Santoshji had her face hidden in the folds of her shawl. She sank into the chair and with a violent jerk, she shook her head and said, ‘No! He’s not going to wake up. Never again!’
    And then she stifled her sobs in the folds of her shawl.



II
     
Feet on the ground, water over your head—
This is the megalopolis
Of Mumbai—

The Stench
    ‘What all didn’t we do to get you people out of that squalor—out of the indignity of that ghetto! Nine years … for a full nine years we kept at it—we fought and bled to get these cement roofs over your heads … to get this place recognized as a civic colony … and you have the audacity to say that we have squeezed you into boxes …?’ A belligerent tone had crept into the voice of the man from the party.
    My husband would invariably pick an argument with him: ‘You call this place a colony? A civic colony? Looks more like a warehouse crammed to the roof with people … you have crated us into parcels …’
    I sat behind the door, curtained from their arguments. What did a woman like me have to do with their politics? But my husband was not one to cow