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If only our lives could always be managed and controlled according to our wishes? Or in other words, if only we could celebrate life the way we thought it could? But alas! Nothing at all happens the way we think. There is a change of plot every moment, which occurs knowingly or unknowingly, and to which many stories - or a storyteller - are related. In front of us lie many ups and downs—hindrances that we all try to resist and chart our own path toward the light by controlling time to fit the circumstances.
My name is Ribrib, and my full name is Ribrib Arunav Duwarah. I am 23 years old. I live in a remote village in Golaghat. My present address is Rodali Apartment situated in Zoo Road, Guwahati. I am a female student of first semester of the Master of Journalism and Mass Communication programme under Gauhati University. -After writing till here, I carefully folded the letter, placed it on the study table and descended the stairs to the dining hall to fill my water bottle.
As was my habit, soon after descending downstairs, I looked at the large wall clock placed at the corner of the hall. It was thirty eight minutes past eleven at night. Suddenly, I became perturbed by the sound of someone’s footsteps, as I was not at all mentally ready or interested to face anyone at this moment. I have decided to alienate myself, lest the intrigue behind my visage be revealed to a stranger.
In front of me is Snigdhashikha ba who is two years senior to me. Her home is in Jorhat and therefore our closeness runs deeper. Ba is wearing headphones, probably busy in a conversation with someone. After filling water from the Aquaguard, she hastily retreats to her room. Although she looked at me and smiled, she appeared anxious and absent?minded. Ah! Thank God! She didn’t have her usual freshness in her soft and bright face. Perhaps there is some problem with the person she is conversing with, or maybe someone in her family is sick. Maybe that’s why her mind isn’t as free today as it is on other days. If it were some other day, we would both have by now occupied some chair at the dining with our favourite espresso in hand and would have unsatiably engaged in continuous adda until early morning. “Ribrib, tell me how you like the classes?” she might have asked, or, “Has any candidate of love appeared on the scene? Or is there a line of lovers waiting for our doll Ribrib?” Taking delight in her own words, she would have teased me, irritating me in the process!...Whatever the case, I felt relieved to see her go.
Holding the water bottle, I hurried up the stairs toward my room. God knows how many times I’ve climbed these steps in the past four years. Yet today, a sudden thought popped into my mind—there’s definitely a reason behind it. I reached my room, which has an attached balcony, opened the bottle, and poured the cool water down my parched throat. Only then could I finally heave a sigh of relief.
There, in the dark corner of the balcony, you can see a tulsi plant I planted with my own hands. Beside it stands a money plant. Every morning and evening the two come alive at the touch of my hands. Whenever I find time, I tend them with the utmost care. Who says plants and creepers have no life? I certainly don’t. Aren’t they my companions in every moment of joy and sadness? So why am I not able to approach them even in the dark today? Why can’t I lovingly caress them even as I stretch out my hands? No, I shouldn’t let discouragement take over. I won’t give myself a chance to feel weak today—not until I turn my plan into reality. But what is my plan? Then listen…
The city at night grows enchanting beneath a veil of whitish winter mist. Surrounded by tranquil stillness, I stand like a stony idol, reclined on the far side of the balcony wall and let my thoughts drift into the past. Fractured, broken images of the past flash bright behind my eyelids, layer by layer, clearing the grey, fungus-ridden pages of memory. Although I usually avoid revisiting those pages, yet necessity has forced me to open them today. My father was Kamalesh Duwarah. After his demise, my birthgiver did not have any qualms of leaving me behind to become someone else’s wife. I was then merely three years old. It was through the love and care and upbringing of my Bordeuta, Arunav Duwarah that I stepped into childhood, adolescence and into youth.
For me, my Bordeuta was my self?respect. Throughout his life he never left any of my demands unfulfilled—in other words, he never imposed any restrictions on any aspect of my life. The thought of “parents” brings his face straight to my mind. He was the one who surrendered every moment for my happiness; for my sake he never entered family life and remained unmarried his whole life. The pain that comes from his absence—leaving me with no one else on this earth—often disturbs me and makes me impatient. How much security he wrapped around me during his lifetime! Not even my grandmother’s pleas could compel him to consider marriage. His only argument was, “It’s just me and my adorable doll Rib Rib; there’s no place for anyone else. We’ll stay together come what may—happiness or sorrow.”
A few days later Grandma brought up the subject again, but Bordeuta’s final decision remained the same. Later, Grandma hung a big lock on her mouth.
I have no memories of my biological father, Kamalesh Duwarah. From the moment I became aware, I have known no one but Bordeuta as my father. His stories filled my childhood days; I must have waited till midnight countless times to hear his tale of the demon and the fairy. Memories of those moments still bring a smile to my face. It was when he came to my room and told those stories that I fell into the lap of the goddess Sleep.
And if Bordeuta were alive today, seeing the step I’ve decided to take, could he have accepted my deplorable act? The mere thought shakes my soul. Could he ever have forgiven me? I know this decision would never have been accepted by him. And for that, he would have immediately approached the police; if necessary, he would have enlisted the help of private investigative agencies and left no stone unturned to rescue me from anywhere on earth.
Now I’m only waiting for my moment of farewell. Just before dusk I will leave this place, but I’ll write about the person who led me to this final decision in my last letter—the person I hate most on earth.
My birthgiver was Rajlakshmi Hazarika—a name that still makes me laugh when I think about it. Her second husband, Nilutpal Hazarika, became an overnight industrial magnate in Assam thanks to his closeness with a minister, and his wife is, of course, Rajlakshmi Hazarika. Yet she has no heir to inherit her vast estate, which is why she once cleverly approached my Bordeuta with a plot to take possession of me. She seems to have forgotten the injustices she committed against me, or she assumed that the sight of her immense wealth would tempt me into submission. She should have known that I could never forgive her in this lifetime.
Bordeuta was then bedridden. When incurable cancer attacked his body, I consulted our family physician, Upen Kakoty, and promptly took him outside Assam for treatment. After fighting cancer for almost two years, he gradually lost his invincible hope of living. Rajlakshmi Hazarika saw this as an opportunity—as if she had been waiting for such a golden moment. She tried to convince Bordeuta that, in his absence, I would have no one else on this earth.
Her visits to our home became more frequent. She tried to persuade me repeatedly, cloaking her attempts in dreams of my future while plotting to take possession of me—perhaps driven by her own interests. Although Bordeuta did not wish to hand over the responsibility of protecting me to her, his health was deteriorating day by day, forcing him to urge me in whatever way he could. I, however, remained firm: I would never become part of her life. Bordeuta was hurt at my decision. Meanwhile, I secured admission to university. In spite of my unwillingness, following Bordeuta’s advice, I moved to Guwahati. Even though I was about 280 km from home, I felt a storm raging inside me.
This was as if Time were mocking me. What kind of enmity did Time have with me! My whole world revolved around Bordeuta. He was my revered person; without him I felt alone in this world. On 28 February he left me forever on a path of no return, leaving me alone. When the news reached me, I rushed back desperately, hoping it wasn’t true. I had tried to fulfill every duty of a daughter to the best of my ability. At dawn, after completing the mukhagni, Roma kai handed me the last letter he had written to me. It read:
“Majoni, I promised you that I would perform your kanyadan, but fate had other plans and denied me that. Please forgive Rajlakshmi. She repents her deeds. Take this as my final request.”
For the first time in my life I felt a wound in my self?respect. To me, that was a blow harder than death. In that instant I resolved never to forgive her. Carrying a heart full of pride for Bordeuta, I returned again. But Rajlakshmi Baruah suddenly showed up at my hostel that day. She asked for five minutes to speak with me, and I agreed. Many of my seniors and juniors were in the hostel at the time, but I kept her identity hidden from everyone. She came upstairs with me, handed me a sealed envelope, and then quickly descended the stairs. Thinking about how I remained calm and patient then only fuels my anger.
Entering my room, I had a quick wash?up, and, taking a cup of coffee, I stepped out onto the balcony. I couldn’t explain why my mind felt no urge to open the letter, yet I picked up the envelope lying on the study table, returned to the balcony, and began to read.
“?Majoni, I know you cannot pardon me. My offense is unpardonable. But we sometimes make hasty decisions in life, controlled by circumstances, and we lose everything as a consequence. Yes, I admit that I have lost you because of my wrong decision. Still, I have never been able to erase you from my mind. Will you, just once, call me ‘Ma’? Will you allow me to shower you with affection, whole?heartedly? Then perhaps I can forgive myself.”
“Impossible.” Just one word slipped through my mouth spontaneously. Were these matters supposed to be so easy? Had I not spent countless nights and days mastering the art of swallowing my agony? I never learned to accept such selfishness in the name of blood ties. Why does she appear now, out of the blue? I crushed the letter and tossed it into the nearby dustbin. Where was her motherly love for the past twenty years? And out of what necessity does she hope to get me back? I don’t need her care or love. At least, forgiving her would be impossible in this lifetime.
In the meantime, the sound of the midnight train’s whistle pulled me back to the present. I hurried back to my room and added a few more lines to the half?written letter. Finally, standing before the framed portrait of Bordeuta hanging on the wall, I begged his forgiveness for my act. May he forgive me for not fulfilling his wish in life! A wave of guilt seemed to wash over my entire being.
I walked over to the wardrobe. Meanwhile, things were unfolding just as I’d imagined. Still, I wasn’t sure if I would ever come back after leaving this city. At that moment I needed solitude to sort through my thoughts and arrive at some personal decisions. Rather than spend the rest of my life haunted by the regret of failing Bordeuta’s wish—Bordeuta, who was like a father to me—perhaps self?exile was the wiser path for me.
Opening the almirah, I pulled a bold-orange coloured dupatta from the heap of clothes. Instantly, a small diary fell out. It belonged to Bordeuta. I recalled that during my last visit home, Roma kai had handed me this diary, which he had found while cleaning Bordeuta’s room. However, I could not find time to read it until today.
While flipping through the pages hastily, I suddenly came across a folded letter, and for a moment I began to open it. As soon as the words caught my eye, I felt as if the handwriting was familiar to me. I slumped onto the bed and began to read the letter:
“You have done me a terrible wrong by snatching my child from me, and for this act you have been punished by the Almighty in this life itself. You may attain the status of a father in her eyes for the rest of your life by snatching my child from my embrace, but what will happen the day she learns of this unpardonable offense? I understood your true character that very day when, under the cover of darkness, you knocked on the door of your sister?in?law, who had recently lost her husband. Since you could not violate my chastity, you defamed me as an immoral woman. Since you could not possess me, you instead took possession of my child by deceit, an act for which you shall surely face the consequences.”
I began to shake feverishly, clutching the letter tightly in my hand. A torrent of agitating thoughts and unsteady feelings surged through me, razing every nerve in my body and stirring a tempest within my mind. Yet, I forced myself up from the bed and attempted to compare the handwriting with that of the other letter I had discarded into the dustbin just days before. In that instant, the world around me seemed to grind to a halt, as if everything had come to a sudden, complete standstill.
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