A Sudden Cloudburst

Nikhil’s arms semaphored an enthusiastic farewell and his voice piped the affectionate message long after his father’s back had receded down the road. He clambered down from the gate upon which he had perched; a puff of dust arose from the little jump he gave. He looked down upon his new T-shirt with satisfaction; the Ninja Turtles swaggered across the front.

Nanni was perched upon the lowest branch of the spreading Gulmohur

a large flowering tree with blossoms of bright orange red, like gold ‘mohurs’ or coins.

tree that curved over the east wall of Nikhil’s compound. Her eyes had followed the little scene below her with a hunger that still lingered. She whistled a high sharp note that rose and fell, Nikhil turned his head upwards.

“Hey, why didn’t you come in? How long have you been there? Did you see the T-shirt Dad got me?” In the midst of the barrage of questions his feet found sure footholds carved by a myriad exploring feet. He wriggled to settle himself on the wide branch as Nanni hugged the bole to allow him enough space.

He prattled about his father’s dash home from his posting in the far reaches of Assam. He hadn’t been able to make time for any visits for the last month so he made a surprise appearance on his way to Pune

A city close to Mumbai, in India

for a conference. A few hours only could be snatched; a hurried meal, opening of gifts and the inevitable good-bye.

Even that last had been pleasurable, his Dad had hugged him hard and whispered in his ear, “be the man of the house for me, OK hero?” His nine-year-old heart had gamboled both at the thought that he was being given responsibility and at the sound of the endearment his father often used.

He was facing half away from his best friend and could not see the deepening agony upon her face as he went on extolling the events that had passed. All of a sudden, she gave him a rough shove to make room for herself and jumped in reckless haste. She landed in an awkward position and cried out in reflex agony as the impact scraped both knees.

He scrambled down in more conventional fashion just as she regained her feet. Tears welled over the edge of her lids; they slowly trickled down her cheeks. Her expression was more angry and defiant than wounded.

“I hate him!” she said in a low but vehement whisper.

Nikhil’s arm had been curved around thin hunched shoulders but they withdrew in automatic indignation. His stood bewildered, unsure why she would say such a thing. His father was the best of all people; he had always had a kind word for Nanni on the rare occasions they had met. Indeed she had even given him a shy smile from her perch. He was at a loss to account for the sudden revulsion, so he ventured a hesitant question.

“Um, Nanni – what is the matter? What did Dad do?” He was as concerned for the despair that had swelled in her exclamation as well as for the still and frozen attitude she had now assumed.

There was no answer, just a stricken look; a look that said I have passed my limit.

He raised an alarmed voice for the solution to all his problems, “Maaaaaaaaaaaa.”

His mother came out with an exasperated cluck and mock-scolding words. “I suppose whatever is so important couldn’t have brought you into …” her voice trailed off as she saw Nanni, stiff and miserable.

She knew the child well; quiet but intelligent, with observant eyes and a helpful attitude. Nikhil and she played together everyday, but she never came into the house or invited him to hers. Once she had handed over a card she had painted for DIwali

A festival celebrated all over India, to symbolise the triumph of Good over Evil, with lots of lights and firecrackers.

and had positively blossomed when told her gift showed thought and consideration.

“What is the matter, Nikhil? Apologise at once if you said anything rude.”

Her eyes fell on the red patches at both knees; a thin trickle of blood wound down one shin and made a thin red border to one ankle sock.

“Come in and let me bathe those wounds, dear.” The child's rigid body resisted the gentle arm trying to lead her into the house.

Tara went down on her knees to look into those forlorn eyes. Her hands clasped the shoulder with a touch so light it might not have been there; however, it assured help if needed. Her eyes showed only kind acceptance to the child who was the personification of distress.

Her head bent closer to Tara in slow surrender, thin arms winding around her neck in a desperate need for comfort. Hiccoughs of grief rent Nanni's frail body as she wept in a frenzy of relief.

Tara gathered the slight form in her arms and got to her feet with difficulty. She clasped the burden close to her body and walked back inside the house. She lowered herself onto the rocking-chair, drawing Nanni onto her lap. The head nuzzled into her neck like an infant’s and the sobs grew quiet. The bleeding wounds on the knees seemed to have stemmed on their own, she saw at swift glance.

Tara’s eyes questioned her son; he had trailed after them in helpless indecision. He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head in a disclaimer of any knowledge. He brushed back the fringe of hair that always flopped onto his forehead; his eyes were screwed nearly shut as he thought hard.

“Ma,” he offered after much thought, “she did say she hates Dad." The hesitation to reveal this was inherent in his voice; he feared his mother might repulse his friend on hearing of this inexplicable animosity, but it was the only clue he had.

An indignant upraised head gave proof of Nanni’s revival; her scorn for Nikhil's poor comprehension showed in her retort.

“Not your Dad stupid, mine.” There was a frightened gasp at this revelation; it came from the girl whose eyes had opened wide in dismay. She had never intended to disclose her innermost secret; only the desire to correct her buddy had overcome a lifetime of silence.

Tara neither reproved nor commented; she just kept her arm enclosing the distraught figure. A slow relaxation and her head subsided on Tara’s shoulder and her thin voice whispered a horrifying tale. As the tale progressed it became more assured and later indignant.

“He never praises me for anything, Tara Auntie. He says my drawing is a waste of time and I should spend it revising my Math sums…”

Memories were jostling each other in a bid to rise to those hitherto closed lips. One memory crystallized in her mind but she struggled to portray her feelings....

As the voice detailed the miseries that bowed that little flower, they both were sucked into the whirlpool of her experiences….

Nanni pushed her crayons beneath the sofa with practiced ease and a deft grab brought pencil and Math book before her. She bent her head over the extra sums that had been given her. Hateful division sums of things that did not divide. How can you divide five oranges between seven children without making juice?

She had finished the sums with Nikhil’s help in five minutes flat; but had gained nothing from that exercise. It was just to satisfy the requirements set down by her father when he had left for the market half an hour ago. Disobeying or getting a sum wrong meant a sharp rap on the head with his knuckles.

She wished Mum did not have evening shifts every other fort-night; Papa scared her sometimes. His eyes would narrow and the lips would thin before drawing back in prelude to a soft but menacing accusation. The hand would hover in the air ready to descend in painful retribution; sometimes the sight would rob her of speech even if she knew the right answer.

The footsteps sounded up the steps, swift and firm. Thirteen sharp thumps, a halt for the landing, then thirteen more. She was at the door just as the buzz announced his arrival. He never carried the key, the door was never to be left open and yet he was angry if made to wait to be let in. Sometimes Nanni had to choose between his wrath and the inexorable urge of a full bladder.

She remembered once Mum napped in the hall rocking chair; just so sleep would not make her tardy in opening the door.. He was to arrive in the early morning and his train being delayed meant a stiff back for her mother.

He loomed over the young child,;her guilt made her feel threatened, she made a crab-like sideways retreat. She got a light shove and a growl of “shut the door.”

He had made his way to the side table and stretched out his arm for the lota

a steel vessel shaped like a small round bellied urn

of water that always stood there for him. His first act upon coming home was always to lift that jug of water and throw back his head before positioning the rim two inches above his mouth. A thin stream of water would make its noisy way down his throat. Nanni counted the ‘gul-gul’s , waiting for him to turn his attention to her. At last the half-empty receptacle was replaced.

Nanni had made a silent path to her books and brought out the Math sums – neatly solved. He was in no mood to inspect it and he thrust it back at her in a rough gesture that sent her staggering one step backward. She put out a hand as she staggered, knocking over the ‘lota’; the water streamed out onto his shoes.

Her cheek smarted from the blow before she even realized he had launched it. She clapped a hand to the reddening weals and squeezed back the unbidden tears. Tears only made him angrier. Her hair was seized in cruel fingers and her head forced down to within a few inches of those shoes.

“Good-for-nothing girl, do you see these shoes? They are barely three months old, my shoes last for a year at least. Dry them immediately and lay them in the sun. I will supervise your polishing them later. You can never do anything correctly; no wonder you are so miserable at Math.”

A final push left her sprawling at his feet, as he kicked off first one shoe then the other, in contemptuous disregard of her nearby figure.

Nanni cleaned and dried the shoes in stolid silence. She felt that a Just Power had punished her for wasting time on her beloved drawings, instead of trying harder to understand the extra sums. If only those pesky figures that danced and quivered on the page would stand still long enough for her to comprehend the exact nature of the problem.

Jaya always told her she loved her, but that is what mothers did, they loved even unworthy children. She even exclaimed over her use of colours and fine detail in her paintings; wasn’t she just trying to find something to praise? Good children did well in school and won medals in Math or stood first in class. No wonder Papa did not like her; she was surely a very disobedient and ungrateful child.

She tossed and turned in her bed that night; her sheet was twisted into a rope by the time her mother came in. She barely wakened from her troubled dreams as loving hands drew out the sheet, straightened it and tucked her in again. Her hair was tossed about her fore-head and Jaya smoothed it back and gave tNanni's inviting soft cheek a feather-light pat. Nanni stirred and turned toward her mother, half-asleep. She was just aware of a caring presence and yet her only response was a whisper – was it the word sorry?

The sobs had long quietened now; but much of the tale had been incoherent and garbled, punctuated by bouts of sniffles and hiccups. Tara contented herself with muttering soothing words and inane phrases of comfort.

Nanni allowed her knees to be tended; the sting of the antiseptic was a reentering into the real world. She bore the ministrations in a stoic silence; the confiding seemed to be at an end. She gazed upon two knees in adorned with neat white bandages and turned to Tara in sudden fear.

“Auntie, you won’t tell Papa I was climbing trees, will you? I am not supposed to do ‘boyish’ things.”

“My mother doesn’t tell lies,” was the indignant assertion from Nikhil.

Tara drew Nanni nearer, but her body remained stiff and unresponsive; the eyes were wide with the apprehension that she had done a lot of things that day that would not bear repeating.

“I will just say I found you had fallen down in our front yard. I don’t think he will ask from where you fell, but if he does, I cannot lie.”

“You won’t tell him I told, will you?”

“Told what?”

“Told …”, here her voice trailed off.

I guess she must have been exaggerating, thought Tara in relief.

“No, our conversation was between us only.”

Some of the tension was released and Nanni slumped against the wall in sudden relief. She wavered as she made her way out of the room and Nikhil, dependable as always, saw her home. She unlatched the side door and sneaked into the house, gobbling up the dinner her mother had laid out for her, before her father was due to come home. Thank God he has a meeting this evening. With luck, Mummy will be the first to see my injuries tomorrow.

She changed and got into bed, but in a penitent mood opened her Math textbook to see if more effort would conquer those demonic figures. The inevitable occurred, she was soon asleep with the book at her side, the covers clutched to her throat in instinctive comfort. Other demons plagued her rest.

[i}Papa would not like these nice people to think ill of him. I should not have betrayed him so. I am glad he need not know that I was disloyal as well as unworthy. The seven-year old girl had begun to despise herself.

Nanni kept her secrets well; even her mother was unaware of the abuse that tormented her daughter. Each kept their miseries to themselves and Nanni was only vaguely aware that her shortcomings resulted in sarcastic insinuations that Jaya was responsible for them. Jaya only knew that he was a strict and demanding parent but tried to make up by showering her child with more loving attention.

It was to be ten years of thralldom for Nanni before circumstances revealed reason enough for them to walk out and live separately. Society demanded cruelty before it countenanced a wife deserting a seemingly suitable spouse. He did not drink, smoke, gamble or womanize. Men deserved attention and respect and were justified in expecting high standards.

Jaya had endured many physical assaults because he was clever to do it only when alone with her, also he never struck on exposed parts of the body. She did resist the assaults, but only with words; finally those puny words drove him to insatiable anger at being unable to fully control her.

That day the blow was to her face and in daytime, when others were near enough to hear and run in. The maid and the neighbour’s spinster aunt both saw the rapid swelling of the cheek and the trickle of blood from the nose.

Emboldened by the witnessing of her daily dose of misery, Jaya had promptly gathered up her purse and led a willing Nanni out of the house. She never went back, not even to collect her things, deeming it a small price to pay for freedom.

There were many to counsel reconciliation; others who condemned her ‘arrogance’ in not giving her repentant husband a second chance. Tara was one of those who thought remorse should wash away sin.

A chance meeting at the temple’s hundred and fiftieth anniversary saw an awkward exchange of ‘How are you’ between Jaya and Tara. The children promptly renewed old ties with the natural abandon of innocence; the adults hedged and skirted what they actually wanted to say. It had been more than a year since they met.

Tara looked at the simple cotton sari worn by Jaya, as her own hands played nervously with edge of her own rich silk.

“Where do you stay, Jaya?”

Jaya was wary of attempts to weasel out her address and just mentioned that she stayed beyond the city now.

“A large colony is it, or maybe an apartment complex?”

“No, it is a kind of communal housing; each family has two rooms and shares bathroom facilities. It is like one large family; we are surrounded by friends.”

“A real change from your own bungalow, eh Jaya?”

Jaya remained silent, a wry smile twisting her face.

Yes, a real change; it is for the better.

Tara finally blurted it out. “He is very miserable now; he even had a heart attack two months ago. Should you not be there when he needs you? He can provide for you very well you know; his business has now trebled. ”

Jaya looked down and drew in a long breath, trying to marshal her words. Her voice was devoid of emotion as she finally answered in a dull monotone.

“I blame people like you for all the years my poor child was battered both mentally and physically. She confided in you years ago and yet you never hinted a thing to me. I had endured the blows he rained upon me, but I would never heave let my child suffer such devastating hacking at her self-esteem. Could you not even hinted that she had begun to fear her father? Is there no standard for a father or husband? Is his only duty provision of goods? He needs me now, but where was he when Nanni needed him most? Isn't verbal abuse bad enough without having to produce evidence of physical harm? Yet there was enough of that too. Knowing the peace of a fond and caring existence, neither of us will set foot in that restrictive life again. We can make do with what I provide, now that we have the luxury of Love.”



Her words came to a soft but emphatic halt; she drew the pallav

the patterned end of the saree, worn loosely over the shoulder, like a semi-stole

of her saree

a traditional, but yet popular, indian dress, six yards of material elegantly draped and pleated around the body

around herself in an unconscious protective gesture as she called out to her still chattering daughter.

“Come, Nanni. We should leave now; otherwise we will not reach home before dark.”

She turned back to Tara and said with soft dignity, “We would be proud to welcome you to our home, please come not only as Nikhil’s mother and an old neighbour, but as a well-wisher. When you are ready to accept us as justified in our happiness, just ask the priest for my address.” She withdrew with a kind smile to Nikhil; he was looking bewildered at their early departure.

“The priest? Why would he be bothered?” This was the astonished query from Tara.

“Why, it was he who not only sheltered us for a while but who also recommended me for my present job.” Jaya said over her retreating shoulder.

This Parthian shot proved effective in keeping Tara speechless as Jaya made her way through the crowds still thronging the pavilion. Her back was straight and head held with new-found confidence.







This is loosely based on actual events. Of course names are changed, but chronological sequence is altered too, characters are merged from two or three entities, and cities jump actuality. Another story in this same folder talks of another incident and another walk-out. It took many such stories/incidents before the final resolution. Finally there was the happy end.