Short Stories of the Indian Subcontinent
A Short Story
by Abha Iyengar
A
Family of Beauties
By
Abha Iyengar
A
thick rope made of coir, rough and scratchy to touch. It was lying among the
other knick-knacks in the musty and damp room. These were remnants of a bygone
age, forgotten and unused. Sundari looked closely at it and found that it was
not so thick in some places where its strands had come loose. These poked out
like matchstick fingers, grasping at nothingness.
She
had stepped on it, as she made my way through the dark recesses of the room in
this house where no one lived now. Its thick roundness under her feet had
unsteadied her for a moment. She put her hand out against a wall to right
herself and met the gaze of the wooden rocking horse in the middle of the room.
This was her grandparents’ gift to her when they had come to stay and become a
part of her life.
She
had loved it as a child. It was chipped and discolored now, with a part of the
eye scratched out and the seat unsprung. She remembered how she had always
insisted on wearing a hat as she rode this horse. She would have coloured her
lips and cheeks and eyes using her mother’s make-up, if only her mother had
allowed. Instead, she had to be content with the wide brimmed hat which hid
most of her face.
She
knew where the hat had gone. From the time she lost the hat, she had had no
choice but to let the world see her for what she was, the plain Jane of the
family.
Her
parents, by naming her Sundari or the Beauteous One, and Fate, by ensuring that
she was not so, had combined to make her life a joke.
*
The
first time she became aware of her looks or the lack of them was when she met
her grandmother. Sundari had run towards her instinctively, her long brown hair
flying behind her. Racing on her skinny brown legs, with her long thin arms
outstretched to greet her, Sundari had expected to be picked up and hugged.
Instead, her grandmother had stepped back a bit and exclaimed, “Why, you are a
plain Jane, dear,” and turned away. Sundari had looked at her mother in wonder.
Who was a plain Jane? Was this some kind of being that was inside her that she
was supposed to acknowledge?
Her
mother, Sheila, had encircled Sundari within her arms and put her sweet
smelling face next to hers. “Don’t we look a pair, Mother?” she asked Granny,
but Granny snorted.
“Show
me your newborn, Sheila,” she said. “I hope she is an improvement.” Sundari
watched her mother leave her and follow her grandmother into the house. She
imagined them standing over the cot and admiring the newborn, Sundari’s lovely little
sister. She felt an urge to run in and pull her mother out of the room, but
kicked a stone instead.
Sundari
learnt what beauty was. Sheila, her mother, had always been beautiful for her,
but now she saw her from the world’s eyes. She recognized that her sister had
similar looks. These women were the beauties with their shining black hair,
pink cheeks and glowing black eyes, like heady red wine. She was different,
tall, lank, brown haired and insipid, champagne without the fizz.
Granny
was supposed to be a beauty as well. Sundari looked at her grandmother’s fair,
plump face, her fleshy arms and crumply powdered neck from which hung huge
stones that shone and glittered in the light. Sundari decided that she did not
like her grandmother’s looks or even her nature very much, and the feeling was
mutual.
Grandfather,
however, was different. He held Sundari’s hand and strode through fields of yellow
flowers that surrounded the house, showed her the birds, and told her stories
that made her laugh and forget that she somehow did not belong to this family
of beauties. He would put her on this very rocking horse and sing to her as she
rode the horse. Suddenly, he would pull her off the horse and they would both
watch it, without a rider, rocking, rocking….
*
It
was raining that day when Sundari and her grandfather had gone across to the
river and taken a boat to paddle in. As the rain fell, they got drenched, and
she found Grandfather looking at her in a strange way. She had just turned
twelve and her small breasts strained against her wet frock. The thin cloth
wrapped itself around her long slender limbs. Her face was covered with tiny
raindrops. He bent forward and kissed her full on the lips. Pulling her on to
him, he carefully put her hat on her head. He then put her on his lap and said,
“Feel the horse rocking, Sundari,” and sighed a deep sigh.
Sundari
pushed him away with such force that the boat toppled and they fell in the
water. He lay there, his eyes closed, and she waded out of the dirty waters.
She did not know how she would deal with this later, but just now she wanted to
get away. This was the man she had loved and trusted. She flung her hat down
and stamped on it hard, her rage driving it down into the mud. Holding herself hard, she looked back once through
the pelting rain that fell like a gray cloud between her and the river. She
could see the small brown boat, rocking, rocking….
She
ran all the way back and reached home drenched. It was surprising that not a
single sob escaped her. Her face was dry; the only wetness had been caused by
the raindrops that cooled her burning skin. No one was at home, they had gone
to a neighbour’s house for lunch and returned only when the rain subsided.
Grandfather
did not appear till night time. On being questioned, Sundari said she did not
know where he was. A search party was
sent to look for him. They found him purple and swollen with the river waters. Sundari
did not shed any tears at his funeral, and people put it down to the shock of
his loss. They sung his praises and said what a wonderful man he had been.
From
then on, Sundari wore no hats and found she had no desire left to play with her
mother’s make-up either. She was already plain, and the years just added some
more lines and grayness to the picture. People were shocked if they saw her
with her beautiful mother Sheila or her lovely sister, Naina. She looked like
their poor country cousin.
When
she was eighteen, she left for the U.S. to find a new life and separate herself
from the fetters of a family.
*
Sundari
had Tom staying over at her place in New York. Tom was Naina’s boyfriend. He
was about ten years older than Sundari, fortyish, graying, with laughter lines around
his eyes and mouth. He had met Naina in Uganda while she was holidaying there.
Naina, still in Uganda, had said that Tom was coming to New York for a while,
and had requested that Sundari show him the city. Tom was special, and she
wanted Sundari to meet him.
So
he arrived and Sundari put him up and decided that she would have to put up
with him for a while. He was easy-going but she wasn’t. Sundari was possessive
about her space and hated having it invaded. She did it for her sister, whom
she loved very much. All her love now concentrated on women, leading people to
believe that she was into lesbian relationships, but that was not true. Sundari
was not into any relationships.
Tom
overstayed his visit. He was to leave in a couple of days for North Carolina
for some work but they got snowed in. She had to put up with him for longer
than she had expected.
Sundari
was getting uncomfortable with having Tom around all the time in the space with
her. The warmth in his eyes as he looked at her made her shiver and quake like
a wobbly egg -yellow. Sundari tried to avoid him as much as possible but it was
difficult since the space was small and cluttered and he and his things just
added to the mess. She found herself bumping into him without meaning to, and
then occasionally because she wanted to.
She
had no idea when it happened that he took her in his arms and rained kisses on
her as if the deluge would never end. They slithered and fell on the floor and
things poked her back and she thought it could be the sharpener she had lost,
or a fallen pencil. She pulled the string that tied her hair while he pulled
the one on her pajamas. It was sudden at first, and then a slow and gentle
warmth began to spread within her. Sundari forgave herself all those years of
deprivation in those moments.
Lying
in his arms after it all, she, who had never cried before, began to cry. He got
up, eyes twinkling with laughter and said, “What’s the matter… post-coital
blues?”
She
did not know what to say. He did not think he was cheating on anyone.
“You
are hers, and I have sinned,” she said. “I have taken what belongs to Naina.”
“Which
world are you living in? Sinned? Belongs? There is no sin in this. It is
something that was natural. And I don’t belong to Naina. I am a free bird.
Watch.” He put his arms out, spread them like wings.
“You
are Naina’s, you are special to her.”
“And
now special to you. She must have forgotten me, that young and flighty one.”
“She
is not flighty.”
“Ummm,
okay, too young for me actually, I like your type more, mature and undiscovered.”
He
grinned, his smile wicked. “One more time? Another roll?”
“Oh,
no,” she said, “I couldn’t.”
“Yes,
you can,” he said, “It is you I want, we’ll let her know, okay?”
“We
will?”
“I
will let her know how things stand, of course. Now come here.”
The
snow melted one day just like she had done. Tom left for North Carolina, saying
he would be back soon. She did not hear from him at all.
*
A
few days later, Sundari was sipping a cup of hot, strong coffee and looking out
of the window when she spotted a couple crossing the road. The girl was young
and beautiful, and the man older, but handsome in a rugged way. They looked
oddly familiar. She turned away from the window, not wanting to know them.
A
knock on the door and they were inside. Naina was flushed and happy, and Tom
tender as he looked at her.There was no trace of anything other than love for
Naina in his voice when he said that they had decided to get married. Sundari
was invited, of course.
“Isn’t
it wonderful, sis? He called me to North Carolina all the way from Uganda and
said that he was madly in love with me and wanted me in his arms immediately.
Of course I came. And isn’t it lucky that this has happened right after Granny
has left me all her property and jewellery in her will? I will be married and
rich.” Naina had a face that glowed as she talked. She was as transparent as
Dresden china, as fragile as an open flower.
“Wonderful,”
Sundari said, he back upright and stiff. She watched as Tom held Naina in his
arms and rocked her back and forth, back and forth. All the rocking, rocking…
Her
head swam and she wanted to throw up. Instead, she threw them out. Her hands
clenched at her side, she spoke.
“Wonderful,
isn’t it, that he was just taking me right here, Naina, where you are standing,
on the floor, making passionate love to me and saying that I was the one. He
said that you were flighty and would have most probably forgotten him. He is an
opportunist, Naina, he will leave you like father left mother. Look at him,
Naina, and see him. ” She began to point her finger at Tom, he body swaying
heavily like a half uprooted tree, waiting to be felled.
“How
can you lie like this? Don’t be jealous, Sundari. Not to this extent.” Naina
teetered on her high heels as she spoke, then she began to retch. It was a dry,
hopeless retching.
Tom,
the colour of his skin pale in disbelief, ran up to her. “My love, she is a
witch, your sister. Don’t listen to her lies.”
Naina
swayed into his arms. “Oh Tom, say that you love me.”
“Yes,
I do. I do. How can I not, my beautiful one. I will never let you go. You
belong to me.”
Belong?
Tom was talking about belong and belonging? Sundari watched and heard and knew
that she would soon fall, down onto the ground.
She
began to scream instead,” Get out, both of you!”
Naina,
at the door, looked back at Sundari with eyes full of hurt and reproach. “How
could you?” she said.
*
Sundari
was at work the next morning when the news flashed on television that a car had
collided with a truck, instantly killing the two drivers. The lady sitting next
to the man in the car was in hospital, seriously injured. They showed her face
on television and Sundari could just make out that it was Naina, totally
disfigured for life, if she did survive. They said that the lady’s mother was
the only other relative, and she was by her side. Sundari saw her
mother’s face and then she looked away from the cameras. She continued with her
work. She knew that she no longer belonged to her family; they did not want her
around.
Naina
survived, but the psychological trauma of disfigurement was too much for her to
bear, and she swallowed some pills to end her life. That is what Sundari read
in the newspaper.
Sundari called her mother. “Mother?”
“Who is this?
“Sundari…”
“Who? Who?” The line disconnected.
A few months later, Sundari’s mother
passed away. The lawyers arrived and informed her and that is how Sundari came
to know of her mother’s death.
*
The
house had no owner. Since she was the only member of the family left, it now
belonged to her. Sundari had come to clear up everything and pack her past
away. She hoped it would be for the last time.
The
rope was rough against her hands and her palms were red with holding it. She
looked up and found there was no fan, but a rusted iron hook hung in its place.
She climbed on to the rocking horse and as it teetered, she tied the rope to
the iron hook. The other end went around her neck quite easily. She stood and
rocked back and forth on the horse, holding the rope around her neck. It
loosened and then held. Realizing that
she was choking, and suddenly afraid, she tried to prise it loose and failed.
She was now trying to keep her balance on the horse and hold onto the rope as
well to prevent it from tightening. The horse rocked unsteadily and then her
foot caught in one of the seat springs. She tried to pull her foot up and
failing that, she began to scream.
*
Sundari
was found after a couple of weeks by a vagrant tramp who had wandered in
through the open door of the house to find someplace to sleep.
People
in the town who heard about her were surprised that she had committed suicide
just when she had come into all the property and wealth of her parents and
grandparents. “Poor dear,” they said, “she was so ordinary, our Sundari. Why go
now, though, with all the wealth…”
Perhaps
the rocking horse knew the secret but he was not telling.
*****
© ABHA IYENGAR.
First published in the Ripples Anthology, 2010.
End of Guest post
My greatest thanks to Dr. Iyengar for allowing me to share this wonderful story with my readers.
Author Biography
Abha Iyengar is an internationally published author and poet and a creative writing facilitator at Sri Aurobindo Centre for Arts and Communication. She does individual mentoring for short story and novel writing. She also writes poetry in Hindi. She has worked as fiction editor with Leadstart Publishing. Her work has appeared in Bewildering Stories,The Asian Writer, New Asian Writing, Arabesques Review, Muse India and others. She is a Kota Press Poetry Anthology Contest winner (2002). Her story, 'The High Stool ' was nominated for the Story South Million Writers Award (2007). She writes articles on health, spirituality and travel. She is also writing for the CAB (Conversations Across Borders) project. Her poem-film, "Parwaaz", has won a Special Jury prize in Patras, Greece (2008).Her book of poems, "Yearnings" has been published (Serene Woods, 2010). She received the Lavanya Sankaran Writing Fellowship(2009-2010). She was Featured Poet at the Prakriti Festival (2010) and invited Speaker at CEC (2011). Her collection of micro fiction, “Flash Bites” (2011) and her fantasy novel, “Shrayan” (2012) are available as ebooks on Amazon and Smashwords. She is from New Delhi.
Her website: www.abhaiyengar.com Her blog: http://www.abhaencounter.
I am so glad to have discovered her work and honored am honored that she is a follower of The Reading Life.
Her webpage and blog are both very interesting and I expect to learn a lot from them
I commend her work to anyone who enjoys a wonderfully written deeply felt story that can take you in a few pages to a world that might be very different on the surface from your own. Go a bit deeper and you may see your own life in Ivengar's marvelous work.
Mel u
1 comment:
What a sad, bold story! Thank you for sharing this short story with your readers, Mel.
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