Once Upon A Night

Have you ever tasted revenge? The most delicious thing one can have. Lust for revenge causes weird things to happen inside your body and mind. It germinates as a small knot deep inside your head. In time it drops down to your stomach where it gathers fuel and burns non-stop. There is no way to douse the flame. It feeds on itself as each day passes. It singes our vitals till the last flicker. If you do not believe this, listen to my story. A story of love, lust, betrayal, anger and revenge. Of what started as a fairy tale and could have gone on and on in the same vein but inexplicably went horribly awry somewhere midway. 

I first met Mukesh at the oddest of the places – outside the train compartment toilet. The last place one would prefer to meet, for the first time, one’s would-be life partner. It was around one at night. Not a soul stirred inside the air-conditioned coach. I had had a glass too many of water after the spicy dinner and that led to my midnight bleary-eyed venture to the toilet. 

I spotted him smoking. He had kept the door of the compartment open and was leaning, dangerously to me, against the door. The cool breeze of the Orissa plains swept into the coach. I shivered momentarily. He did not notice me, obviously enjoying every moment of the fresh air and the cigarette. The sound of my turning the knob of the toilet door must have shaken him from his reverie, for, before going in, I could notice from the corner of my eyes, a mildly shocked face turning towards me. 

When I came out, there was no cigarette, but the odour of tobacco lingered. The door was still ajar. He continued to lean on the door and I could detect a faint smile on his face. I felt mildly irritated on his nonchalance. I was undecided as to whether to go back to my berth or ask this moron a question or two. I opted for the second, but decided it will be only one question, asked and then forgotten, not waiting for the answer.

“ Don’t you know smoking is banned in trains?”

I waited for a split second for an angry retort or a stupid smile but neither came. As I was pushing the glass door to enter the cabin, I was halted by the words “please wait a minute”.

I froze and turned my head.

“I am Mukesh”.

“I did not ask for your name”. He did not seem to hear that. 

“I know smoking is not allowed. But it’s been twenty hours and I could not control. I am sorry”

“But where is the coach attendant? He is supposed to remain here throughout the journey!” I said.

“ Usko set kardiya”

I could not help conceal a twitch of my mouth. Bloody bugger has set kar diya.

Only much later did I admit to myself that he had me set kar diya as well.

If this was the first scene, the subsequent ones were set in more presentable surroundings. To cut a long courtship story short, (that spanned twenty four movies, five visits to Digha beach, seven to the Dakshineswar temple and sixteen kisses) we both finally managed to convince our parents for an “arranged” marriage. They saw the hopelessness of the situation when we proffered elopement as the alternative. They had to consent. That we both belonged to the same caste was minor consolation for them. Love marriage is love marriage, and respectable families would have none of it. 

Not that it was a marriage of unequal, so to speak. I had just completed by M.B.A in Bangalore and was undecided about the future when I returned to Calcutta to join my parents. My father, a soon-to-retire college principal, was itching to get me married off to tick off that one last pending chore in his ‘to do’ list. Mukesh worked in a foreign bank in Bangalore and his parents too were settled in Calcutta. We both were the only child for our parents. The college principal gentleman met the just retired Government servant gentleman and they both instantly hit it off with each other, after they came to know that both used to frequent the Coffee House in College Street and visit the Calcutta Book fair every year. 

The wedding itself was a lavish affair. Lasting two days, it was a typical, conservative South Indian marriage, complete with all the mandatory rituals, an army of guests, a mountain of gifts and the mandatory eyes-welled-up-in-tears kanyadhan. I felt a sense of relief when it all ended and we set off for the honeymoon to – where else – Darjeeling. 

Life was cruising along at a comfortable pace for the first few months. He had taken a month off from his work post the wedding, which time was spent in settling down in a newly rented flat in Bangalore. Furnishings were bought, indoor plants were raised, maid was successfully appointed, candle-light dinners were dutifully arranged, sex was plentiful and in short, life seemed one big carnival. After the month got over, he went back to work, and I was not having much to do at home. We had decided that we would not have a child for at least two years and that I would not take up a job in the immediate future. 

Slowly but surely, ennui began to set in. It had to. I am a movie buff and I had seen this situation in many a film. Life has a propensity to imitate films. Happily married, mushy-mushy moments at the beginning, slowly beginning to degenerate to dreary afternoons that never seemed to end and nights that were, at best, monotonous. His work made him leave office very late and when he returned well past mid night most of the times, I found myself half asleep on the bed. I could dreamily sense him slipping in beside me and reaching out a cold arm to hug me. I used to turn the other way and slide into a deep sleep. Even this predictable daily routine would have seemed alright with the passage of time until I discovered that he was cheating on me. 

I could not believe it at first. The late hours he kept, I naively assumed, were because of his work. That it could be because of another woman, I came to know much later. That slut, Priyanka. I should have guessed when I visited his office three months back. Something about her looks, dress and laughter just did not seem right to me then. She was reporting to him in work, Mukesh once mentioned. During the one hour that I was in his office, she barged into his cubicle at least thrice with some file or dossier or notes. Nothing seemed amiss then, though. The discovery of his cheating was to happen much later. 

The first bombshell fell like this. During my endless hours of boredom at home, I began to develop some friendship with Ram, who lived two floors above. He was a research scholar or something and I did not care what he did. He had a fixed routine of going out at eleven every day and returning at six in the evening. He pretty much kept to himself and never had any visitors. In the evenings, he used to stroll in the terrace and since I too had to kill time, I used to strike conversations with him in the evenings. Gradually I began to develop a liking for him, his scholarly demeanour, complete with thick spectacles and a stubble, his ability to discuss any topic under the sun, from Kovind to Kollywood, Leone to les Miserable’s. I may emphasise here that beyond those conversations, there was nothing in our relationship, in case your mind wandered. You might even call our relationship, platonic. In any case, his was a personality that seemed way too above any craving for carnal pleasures. As for me, it was more of boredom that was killing me rather than any short supply of physical intimacy. 

One such evening, he casually mentioned that he spotted Mukesh in that Chinese restaurant downtown the evening before. I quickly remembered Mukesh returning at ten that night, mumbling something incoherent about a Board meeting that was impending. “Was anyone with him?” I blurted out the question and immediately felt stupid. Thankfully Ram did not seem to notice anything odd in my question and calmly replied that yes, there was one lady, sharing the table with Mukesh. 

I felt odd even though my heart told me that a casual dinner meeting my husband might have had with a girl should not cause much concern to me. Bloody, I was not even sure if the girl in the hotel was the one I thought she were. I quickly dismissed any anxiety that day. But rumours, once they start, they keep pouring in torrents. After Ram, two days later, the newspaper boy spotted my husband (again with a lady in tow) in a department store. Not to be outdone, the balding uncle living in the flat a floor below spotted him in a cinema. Suddenly everyone in our neighbourhood seemed to be in a spotting contest of my husband. 

I was beginning to go crazy. I could take loneliness, a few angry words, a lot of physical discomforts but adultery from the husband? I felt humiliated. My immediate urge was to confront him and give him an earful. Then I realised that he would flatly deny. Or worse, he would dare me to go separate ways, which would be a blow to my ego. After all, it took some convincing on my part to get my parents agree to the marriage. I could not bear to go back to them defeated. ‘I will handle this myself’, I told myself. For a brief period, I was feeling strangely helpless and vulnerable. I cried a lot. Despair and despondency completely engulfed me. I had no clue what course I should chart to see this through.

And then the flash struck. I shook off the crying and sobbing. ‘I would not take things lying down. Am not I made of sterner stuff?’ I told myself. ‘Mukesh had to pay for this’. He betrayed my unconditional trust on him. True, the initial romance of the marriage had long evaporated but at least we were getting along with each other without much ado? I had forsaken my career and sundry personal longings just to be with him? And this is what he gives me in return? Infidelity? Anger seethed inside me. The fire of revenge burned. ‘He should get it back’, I reminded myself. ‘He should feel the same pain. Like a stab into his vitals. I would ensure that’. An outline of a plan had formed inside my head and I proceeded to smoothen out the rough edges to give it a final shape. I was aware of the perils involved but I could not care less. 

I distinctly remember the date – July 29th. The day he said he would return from his Singapore trip. Of course, an official trip. The liar, for all I know, would surely have taken the bitch along in his trip. I fumed. This time I would have my retribution ready when he returned from the trip. Yes I forgot to mention, for all his deceit, one thing he never lied about was his date and time of return from outstation trips. July 29th it will be this time. I would make sure he remembered the date.

The day arrived. The time of his return was approaching fast. The flight from Singapore arrived at nine at night. An hour at immigration and customs, another hour in commute, he would be home by about eleven. I prayed to God that nothing go amiss. I don’t want any delayed flight. I have very little time.

The mood of the night too was perfect. It started with a drizzle and then the rain poured. A sharp lightning struck, accompanied by a roaring thunder. Sheets of rain hit the glass window panes and the outside view was just a blur. Heavy winds whooshed. The curtains swayed wildly. ‘How perfectly the night is in sync with my mood,’ I thought. Presently the rain began to abate and stop. There was absolute silence on the streets. The shrill hoot of the metro train pierced the night air. ‘Was that the last train?’ I wondered. ‘That means it should be ten now’. A mild panic gripped me. ‘Where the hell he has disappeared?’ I began to wonder. I began pacing the hall restlessly. The lights went off suddenly. ‘Damn’ I thought. ‘Now, of all times?’ Did I hear a car? I again went to the balcony to check. It was all quiet in the street down. No car. I returned to the sofa. Minutes were ticking away. 

It was getting late enough to be worried. I once again stepped into the balcony and looked down. Except for a drenched street dog that was lying down miserably near the gate, there was not a soul to be seen anywhere. Rain water had puddled under the lamp post. A breeze ruffled the mango tree in the courtyard and a few twigs fell down and broke. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Did I hear a soft knock at the door? I turned back....

.....It was him! He had come down barefooted from the flat above so that there was not a bit of sound. A big feeling of relief engulfed me. Quickly I pulled him inside and closed the door, ensuring to leave it unlocked. It was still pitch dark inside the room but I did not bother to search for the emergency lamp. Without wasting any further time, I dragged him inside the bedroom and started removing my clothes. Ram was panting heavily and sweating. For him it would be a new experience. As for me, it had not taken much time and effort to seduce him during the course of the last one week. I had promised him that it would be July 28th night when there would be consummation. He was moaning in anticipation. I took a quick glance at my mobile. It was 10.30. Enough time at my hands. Enough time for some fun in bed with Ram . . . . . . 

. . . . . . Sure enough the cab arrived promptly at 11 p.m. Mukesh got out, saw that there was no power, proceeded to wearily climb the two flight of stairs, reached our door and turned the knob and entered.