It was a beautiful starry night; the clouds were playing hide and seek with the moon. He stood on the terrace, puffing on his beedi and staring into oblivion. He leaned against the terrace wall and looked down at the empty streets. A few stray dogs were barking at a lone cyclewala who nervously maneuvered his way, trying to avoid being bitten by the strays. The cycle wobbled as the dogs angrily pawed at the wheels; the rider pedaled furiously and sped away in an energetic jiffy. Once again, the streets fell silent, and the dogs returned to licking their paws, waiting for their next target to arrive.
At the far end of the narrow street, a flickering bulb reminded him of how his life was full of unpredictable darkness and light. The trees cast eerie shadows on the walls, creating a sense of impending fear. The pleasant sound of anklets cut through the stone-cold silent air and reached his ears. His ears twitched, and his heart started beating loudly. Could it be her?
He took one last puff at his beedi and hastily extinguished it under his worn-out kolhapuri chappals. He turned, and there she was, dressed in white, as though the moonlight had bathed her in its opulence. Her lustrous black hair framed her beautiful oval-shaped face, and alluring silver jhumkis flashed at him. Her lotus lips broke into a beautiful smile as her brown doe-eyed gaze met his beady black eyes. She looked down and shyly shuffled her feet. He stood there, locked in time. She waited a few seconds and then hurriedly walked toward him.
“It’s over with him, Dattatreya. I have come back for you. I am yours and will be yours forever. I love you, Dattu…please…take me back.” As she hugged him tightly, he looked down at her beautiful face, and just as he opened his mouth to reply, a sharp sting ran through his back.
“Nalayak, aai ghaalya, Dattya—madarchod! You useless fellow! Napping at the job once again!!” It was his mother; she was furious and was showering him with kicks, boxes, and blows. Everyone in the village called her Ahilya Bai and respected her for the way she stood up to her abusive husband and created her own niche in the world of cruel men.
Ahilya Bai was a wheatish-complexioned, medium-built Maharashtrian matriarch who dressed in the traditional nine-yard sari. She loved all the signs that depicted her as a happily married woman and proudly flaunted her mangalsutra, dark green bangles, and big red bindi, even though she had gotten rid of her husband a long time ago. Everyone believed he was shunted to another village, whereas in reality, he was sleeping six feet below the ground in her backyard.
She ran a humble grocery store and tea stand at the center of their tiny village. It served as a watering hole for housewives, farmers, and other citizens. She was loved by everyone because she not only stocked the best items but also allowed delayed payments for those who couldn’t afford them. She stood up for the oppressed and helped the needy. Her only qualm in life was her useless son, Dattu, who at present was being beaten up by her at the back of the store.
She threw a glass full of water on his face, and he woke up with a start. She huffed and puffed and went outside to attend to a customer. Dattu brushed his clothes, took support of a rusty chair, and got up weakly. He rubbed his eyes and sauntered to the washbasin.
He splashed cold water on his hot face and looked into the mirror. For a moment, he just couldn’t recognize who he saw. His previously well-groomed mane was replaced by a disheveled tangle. His receding forehead was marked with wrinkles, and his dark, puffed eye bags gave him a haggard look. He looked at the dying reflection of himself in the mirror and sighed. On a sudden impulse, he placed his hands in his pockets and pulled out a small bottle of desi mooch. Several hasty mouthfuls later, he looked at himself in the mirror and smiled. He now liked what he saw.
Her beautiful face danced in the tears, and he quickly shut them just to hide her away from the world’s peering eyes. His body still hurt from the pain as he changed into his usual khaki shorts and worn-out dark blue shirt. There was a quiet knock at the door, followed by a hoarse whisper, “Datta, Dattya… oh Dattatreya… are you there?”
He was used to such unannounced arrivals from debtors and shuddered at the thought of his mother finding out. Nevertheless, he nervously opened the door. “Kaay re chutya, darwaza ughdayla evdha vel, kuthe gelelas aai ghalayla?” It was his friend, Pandya bhai, aka Pandurang, the local self-imposed messiah of the people. He used to organize local events for the politicians and gather crowds so that they could dispense their false promises onto the innocent people. Pandya was a pot-bellied stout man whose laughter made many happy and also sent shivers down the spines of many others. He was known to call a spade a spade, and that’s why people respected and feared him.
“Chal Dattya, I need your help to put up a few signs. Pintya Sheth has invited our MLA, Ganpatrao Kadam, for a huge event tomorrow. It will be a massive gathering, and we need to get the venue ready.” Pandya slapped Dattu on the back and urged him to come along.
Dattu looked at him and smiled mysteriously.
“Kaay re kutrya! You are like a dog whose tongue is always hanging out. Yes! I have got your hooch with me. And I will give it to you only if you agree to work on this job.” Pandya rebuked him as he handed over a big bottle of desi hooch to an eager Dattu.
Dattu sighed loudly, smiled, took a few hasty, loud gulps, and showed a thumbs-up to Pandya.
“Kaku, I am taking Dattu with me. We will be back in the evening,” he shouted loudly so that Ahilya could hear clearly.
She shouted back, “Take him and don’t bring him back!”
The sun’s harsh rays blinded Dattu for a moment as they stepped out into the streets. Pandya bundled him into his Jeep, and they drove off to the venue. In the car, Pandya kept talking while Dattu stared into the sky; every time he saw her, he quickly shut his eyes so that she wouldn’t run away again.
The venue was in the vicinity of the biggest sugar mill, and loud desi songs blared through the acrid air. There were many local men helping set up, while others were playing cards at the back, puffing on a chillum brimming with ganja. A huge 40-foot by 20-foot stage was at the far end, with several chairs and a podium. The harsh ground was covered with carpets. There were no chairs; the villagers were supposed to sit down as though being condescended to forever was their destiny.
The harsh sun gave way to a gentle evening breeze, softening the day’s intensity as dusk quietly settled in. By now, Dattu had almost finished his work and three-quarters of his bottle. Suddenly, it started raining heavily. The workers and Pandya bhai rushed to take shelter, while those playing cards set aside their chillums and broke into a dance.
Before Pandya could call out, they dragged Dattu near the speaker and forced him to dance. When he refused, they took away his hooch and threatened to break the bottle. He looked at them helplessly and started moving his feet nervously.
The thin, dark-skinned fellow in a yellow dhoti growled loudly, “Not just your feet; your sexy waist must also move!”
His burly crony hurled abuses and ordered Dattu to dance, “Chal chutya, tujha thumka daakhav, halav gaand aai ghaalya nahi tar taakto bamboo tujhya gaandit.”
Dattu smiled, looked down, and started dancing. She entered his eyes once again, and this time, she just couldn’t wait; she flowed out hastily. The rain mercilessly came down on the earth, and its drops camouflaged her presence. The more it rained, the more tears flowed from his eyes. He helplessly watched her go away from him. The cronies jeered at him as he clumsily stumbled and awkwardly moved to the music to create dance moves.
A loud clash of thunder rang through the sky, followed by a flash of lightning. Something inside Dattu opened, and for the first time in many days, he spoke, “Aishu, Aishwarya… maajhi Aishu… don’t go… nako jaus…” Another loud sound of thunder masked his desperate shouts. He knelt to the ground and then stood up as the lightning flashed across the sky. He imagined her with him, right there beside him. He danced the best dance of his life, just like the peacock dances for the peahen.
He saw her in the rain, soaking wet, her heaving bosom hidden behind her dupatta. She rushed toward him and hugged him tightly. As soon as he hugged her back, he felt a sudden jolt of pain in his back., and he fell to the ground, wincing in pain.
They all gathered around him and started laughing and dancing to the raunchy tune that was blaring through the speakers. Pandya handed him back his hooch, and he took several satisfying mouthfuls to calm himself.
He looked up at them as they danced around him, his only companions, his friends who stood by him through everything. They knew he was hidden behind the hooch somewhere, but they preferred to be around him in an effort to keep him together.
The hooch infused a renewed energy within him, and he got up and started dancing with them. Every time it thundered, he would shout her name so that it would drown in her memories. But she kept coming inside his eyes and flowing down his cheeks.
They danced through the night, and Pandya dropped him home in the wee hours of dawn. As Dattu stepped into the quiet of his house, the echoes of laughter and the rhythm of the music still lingered in his heart, mingling with the bittersweet memories of Aishwarya, his secret love.
He made his way to his room, the dim light casting shadows on the walls. In a moment of quiet reflection, he retrieved a carefully folded photograph of Aishwarya from a hidden drawer, her smile radiant and eyes sparkling with life. He traced the outline of her face with his fingers, feeling the warmth of their shared moments wash over him.
“Maybe this is how it was meant to be,” he whispered to the stillness around him. “A love kept hidden, like this photograph—beautiful yet tucked away.” He returned it to its resting place, knowing it would always be a part of him.
Just then, the door swung open, and his mother burst into the room, her voice filled with frustration. “Dattu! Kutrya! Kuthe mut maarat hotas re? What are you doing up at this hour? You think you can keep living like this? Always drinking, wasting your life! Marsheel kadhitari!”
Her words echoed through the room, harsh and unrelenting, but for Dattu, they were oddly comforting. In her furious tirade, he found a strange solace, a familiar rhythm that drowned out Aishwarya’s gnawing absence.
As dawn broke outside, he poured himself a glass of hooch, the familiar warmth coursing through him, a comfort he had grown accustomed to. He sat by the window, watching the sun rise, its golden rays illuminating his surroundings. He realized that while the pain of loss still lingered, he had come to accept it as part of his destiny.
With a resigned smile, he took a sip and let the warmth fill him. It was a bittersweet existence, woven with memories and a secret love that would forever hold a place in his heart. Dattu was ready to embrace his life, however complex it might be, knowing that he would keep dancing through the storms, one step at a time.
Penned by:
Mayura Amarkant
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