Our Mindset Episode 29
That night, there was a big fight at my father’s house. My younger brother—whom we all called Bapurao—had a fiery temper. He never liked being told what to do, and whatever he decided was final. Holding onto his anger all night, he left home at seven in the morning—on a bicycle. By noon, everyone had started worrying. Calls were made everywhere, but no one knew where he was.
I got a call at four in the afternoon. No one had imagined he would cycle such a long distance to my house. My husband came to fetch me. “Your brother is here. He’s asking for you.”
I didn’t believe it. My husband always kept the phone with him, so I assumed he and my sister-in-law had made up an excuse to bring me home.
I tied up some grass for the goats and went home. There he was—lying on the floor, unconscious from exhaustion. My husband had already informed my father, who had left immediately with my other brother on a scooter.
When I tried to wake him up, I realized he had a high fever. He had cycled seventy kilometers. I quickly served him some food. After just two bites, he said, “My stomach hurts too much.” I told him to rest and started cooking dinner, knowing my father would arrive soon.
Two hours later, my father came in and broke down in tears upon seeing him. “I’ll never ask you to come back home,” he said, “but please, just come with me now.”
“I don’t want to go,” my brother replied. “I want to stay with Tai.”
He always called me “Tai”—elder sister.
“Come home now,” my father insisted. “You can visit her again whenever you want.”
After everyone had eaten, they left—taking my brother with them but leaving the bicycle behind.
That bicycle turned out to be more useful to our neighbor, Mangu, than to us. He saved months’ worth of fuel by using it. When it was time to plant cotton, he cleared the sugarcane in front of his house. Since the field had no bathroom, he had to cross the road to relieve himself in the neighbor’s sugarcane fields.
Meanwhile, I worked at my sister-in-law’s place for a week. Just when I thought I’d earn something, Mami had another scheme. She had been giving me ₹100 every Sunday, but now she stopped, saying she had no money. My husband didn’t say a word about it.
I was angrier at him than at Mami. How could I let my children go hungry? Firewood was running out, so I cut a fresh babul tree from the roadside. I borrowed money and fodder from my sister-in-law and decided that since we had the bicycle, I’d take the kids to the market.
I got their hair cut, did some shopping, bought mutton—and just like that, all the money was gone. But the kids were happy. They got to roam around the market, eat what they liked, get their hair trimmed, and have their favorite meal. I didn’t regret spending the money.
On the way home, we ran into Balu. He smirked, “Out shopping together today, huh?”
My husband thought I’d forgiven him for everything. But my anger toward him was only growing. As usual, Balu sat beside me, chatting away, while my husband took the milk and went into the village.
A little while later, a vehicle approached. But this time, there was no loud music blaring from it. Balu walked toward the road and picked up a bundle wrapped in newspaper. He handed it to me.
I opened it. Inside was a red saree. The label read “Kumkum.”