Vasu, Day 17
Standing on the road, Vasu feels the heat coming alive in the air. He turns back to the house, rubbing the sweat off his forehead. It's almost a hut, the edge of palm leaves hanging sharp. He knows this place despite the night. Something tells him it isn't his favourite place. And the heat, very familiar.
What am I doing here?
He walks into the veranda. Unlike in Dwaraka, this dark yellow veranda is made of mud and brick. A kerosene lamp hangs beside the door, its hook twice the size of the nail. Instead of knocking, he pushes the door. Although a locked door makes sense, a part of him nudges him to open it. After two trials, the door still doesn't budge, and he climbs onto the one-foot veranda and peers through the window. Nostalgia fills him. It is as if he is walking into a memory. It has one room inside, with kerosene lamps decorating the walls.
He sees a person, a girl, sleeping on the rope-weaved cot, her body lumped in the centre.
He knows her. He grew up with her.
Bhanu, he calls urgently. Bhanu. Bhanu. It's me.
The girl turns, passes him a glance and gets off the cot. She is wearing a plain saree, which seems blackish under the lamp's light.
What are you doing here? Where have you been?
She is thinner than he remembered, her feet dirty.
Are you hiding here? Open the door.
Bhanu stands facing the window and Vasu loses it. Tears tumble down his cheek. He doesn't remember how he got here, but he will figure it out. Now she is here. That is important. He wants to grab her and hug her and make sure she's safe.
You are late. The girl murmurs.
She walks further under the lamp and he notices the pimple on her left cheek and blackness under her eyes.
What do you mean I'm late? I'm here. Open the door.
She does no such thing. You remember this place, no? She says instead.
He looks around. He can't pinpoint this place. Yet he hunches as he has been here before. For a long part of his life.
Bhanu walks around aimlessly. Perhaps she doesn't want to be rescued. Nonsense, Vasu thinks. She loves me.
Come here, Bhanu. I'm sorry. His voice breaks for the first time in a while. He is about to look at the floor and freezes at the bump. His sister is pregnant now, and the father is a mystery. Vasu has to make peace with it. He cannot let the thought bother her.
Who did this to you? He yells. Who? Why are you here?
Bhanu stops and glances at him.
Open the door, Bhanu.
I can't. She cries. I will get hurt.
Her face, which used to be lively and full of love, now seems imploded. Cheeks have contracted, nose flattened. Teeth have become yellow. One of her eyes has dark mascara encircling it. Every part of her screams: It's a miracle she's still alive.
No one will hurt you, Vasu assures. I won't let it happen.
She bends, slides down the wooden pole that's standing like a pillar.
What are you doing, Bhanu?
She lifts a bottle and holds it in her hands. Her body is shaking and Vasu sees her loosening the cap.
What is it, Bhanu?
Do you remember this? Mother and father took this.
No. No. No. Vasu screams. That is not good.
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