Actually, there is a way to speak respectfully and politely to the children of one’s sister-in-law, whether nephew or niece. Even now, I address the children of my own sisters, cousins, and sister-in-laws as “aaho jao” (a respectful way of saying ‘come here’). But of course, I don’t nag them. Even their aunt (mami) spoke properly until now. After our marriage, we visited their house four or five times for various occasions, and they used to say, “Come, Dada, sit, stay for two days,” and would host us well. But after living with them for some time, who knows, she started acting superior.
Mama had five children, all with names starting with the letter ‘M.’ Mami’s name also started with ‘M.’ Among them, there were three daughters and two sons. Four of the children were already married. Mama had a good job, and after he passed away, Mami started receiving a pension. The fifth child was the youngest and was not yet married. He was younger than my husband in age. But after listening to his mother, he too started acting arrogant and disrespectful. That very evening, Mami made a plan and came to the farm the next morning.
Their only intention was to trouble me a lot and get me to leave this place. They wanted to keep Dada all alone, just like he had stayed alone working for them before. They only wanted a laborer for work; his wife, children, and family meant nothing to them. It took me five or six months to realize their true intentions.
Since that day, they started to mentally harass me. One day, both of them came to take the milk from the field. Navardev had gone to bathe at the water tank. Aunt (mami) looked at me and said, “Where has Dada gone? Haven’t you milked the buffalo yet?” I was surprised to hear her say “Dada” like that—she always used to call him “Dada” affectionately, but now her tone was sharp. Just then, Navardev was seen walking back home.
Mami’s son stood with his hands in his pockets, with a smug attitude, and began speaking exactly how his mother had taught him:
“From tomorrow onwards, before you come, the buffalo shed must be cleaned and the milking done properly in front of her. Then you can do your own work.”
He widened his eyes and said loudly, “Did you understand now?” His name was Mangu. Navardev quietly replied, “Okay.” Hearing what his mother said surprised me, but hearing this from him shocked me deeply. I couldn’t understand why they had started talking to me like this.
That morning, after waking up, they had cleaned the cattle shed, gone to the fields to use the toilet, and then bathed at the water tank, which caused them to be late for milking. After hearing their words, Navardev immediately started milking hurriedly without even having his tea.
Mami told Mangu, “Keep the milk at home and send the women during working hours. Send my lunch box with them, and come to pick me up by 5:30 in the evening.”
Mangu sat on the vehicle to take the milk home. Just then, Navardev said, “Mangu, should we get a bicycle? We’ll need it to bring the sour water and to go into the village.”
Hearing this, Mangu’s eyes widened again. He said, “Cars pass through the village every two minutes. Some even signal to cars to stop and go into the village, and do the same on the way back.”
Mami replied, “Why would you need to signal? Everyone in the village knows you. Seeing you walking, anyone will stop their vehicle. And then Mangu will say ‘no,’ the owner will say ‘yes.’”
Hearing this, Navardev made a face like he’d been slapped with a slipper.