Empty hands

Raza was walking home after a strenuous day's work. He had been working for the past 20 years, twelve hours per day, as a coolie in a railway station in the interior Vidharba. His red dress was dappled with sweat. He never wasted any time before he went home after his day's work. Nine in the night was the moment he waited for all through the day. That was when he always felt happy to be alive.

The air was cool and dusty. The night revelers were relaxing in groups of threes and fours talking and laughing often too loudly than they would have had it been day. Some of them seemed to have been intoxicated with the local liquor and some, it seemed, by the pleasant night. The Ajanta express brought a little drove of villagers who usually came from the town nearby, from their work. As they were overtaking Raza, Raza noticed no one. He was dreaming of something. This dream of his had been his constant companion since he saw the face of Fathima, his first and only child and his dream today was accompanied by a fear of that of empty hands.

He could see the door of his house at the far end of the lane he just turned. It was open. His wife Rubila should be home he thought, singing, in chaste Marathi the rural folklore. As he approached his door his ears were searching for the voice which was so sweet and fresh that he never could get bored of it. He wondered what it was that made her voice so very pleasing to hear everytime.

"So, did you see the shahukar ?", said his wife. She was not singing today. Her voice was dour as if in an anticipation of a nagative answer.

"Yes, I did.", whined Raza as he lied on the floor. The one room dwelling they had was more than enough for both of them. They had a kerosene stove which painted the walls with dark color all around it and an array of kitchen equipment scattered in the two shelves beneath the platform that, in addition to the stove had two steel containers. Rubila carried water in them from a well five kilometers away daily in the evening.

Raza felt too tired to speak. He was looking at Rubila, with half closed eyes. After gulping two mouthfulls of not-so-sweat water he got enough energy to utter a few sentences.

"Our old debt is cleared now. ", he said in his husky voice.

"Allah had his grace upon us. It feels good that we owe no one a paisa now.". Relief was evident in her voice. She had a faint smile on her face a rear sight now-a-days.

Rubila was normally talkative. She spoke with a childish enthusiasm tying the listeners with her eagerness to dwell deep into whatever she spoke. Raza liked to listen her speak of myriad things of which he most liked, the tales of local women and their plights. She had a great gift of making a compelling drama out of the lives of her friends and neighbours. The local mela was approaching fast. That is where she would fill her stock of stories and tales, when she got a chance to meet all of her friends from her and the neighboring villages.

She looked at the trunk above the shelf with anticipation and joy. It had the four bangles which her mother gave her when she got married to Raza. They were made of gold and were the only gold ornaments she possessed. She wanted to try them on now but hesitated assuming Raza would be too tired to fetch the trunk at this time of the night.

Raza was hungry and Rubila served him his rotis and the dal. He always ate his food with great appetite. Rubila took enough care that his plate was always full of helping of his favorite curry. One thing Rubila did not quite like much about Raza is his habit of slipping into deep sleep as soon as he is done with his dinner. She always longed to talk to him late into the night. But he seldom stayed late.

She slept pretty late that night, and she dreamt of the mela and the crowd. She also fancied hearing stories about people of her village. It also reminded her of her daughter who is now staying with her grandmother in a neighboring village, Gondi. It was for the sake of her wedding that Raza went to meet the Shahukar. The Nikah was planned to take place two months from now and mela was to be held the next friday.

It was thursday. Raza did not go to his duty that day as he was feeling ill and of late he stopped working as hard as he used to in his younger days. He said "What should I work for ? Our daughter is going to get married and we are going to get out of our debts soon. We need to earn just to survive." Rubila liked to hear him say that. She never wanted him to work hard and earn more money than they needed to spend. She was waiting for the next day. Raza promised to come home early and take her to the Mela.

Raza came home early the next friday. Rubila was beautiful in her new saree that Raza gave her for the last Ramzan.

"Fetch my bangles from the trunk.", asked Rubila looking at Raza in the mirror. She was impressed with her own beauty despite her age. She was quite a picture to be held in a mirror.

"I gave them to the Shahukar. I was short of six thousand rupees. I took a fresh loan from him for the wedding.", said Raza.

Rubila's heart sank as she listened to Raza. Tears trickled down her powdered face. She tried to hide her face from Raza even though he was not looking at her. He was looking abstractedly outside the window. Rubila hurriedly washed her face again.

A few minutes later, her bare hands without her bangles were in the palms of Raza. She was talking to him about her neighbour Urmila and was narrating how she was smiling wickedly when the Shahukar threatened that he would send Raza to the dock if he did not pay his money as soon as the next day. Raza was listening to her intently. He was also able to feel the empty hands he was holding devoid of the beautiful bangles.

While realizing his dream of marrying his daughter off was two months away, his fear of empty hands vanished in the childish banter of his wife.

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