My first attempt at story-telling;)

Shanti winced as she scrubbed the utensils at Mrs. Radhika Saxena’s house. Her shoulder hurt where it had been banged into the iron gate by her husband last night. Yesterday had been ‘pay-day’ and her husband, Prakash, had not only beaten her up like every other night, but had also snatched all her wages to splurge at the nearby liquor vend. Shanti, having already anticipated this, had tied Rs. 100 separately in a knot in the pallu of her fraying sari. She needed this money badly – for herself, her three daughters and a baby son.

In the adjoining room, Shanti heard Mrs. and Mr. Saxena have a heated argument. She tiptoed to their daughter Sanaa’s room and closed the door so as not to disturb her sleep. She always felt guilty when Radhika Memsahib told her to do the cleaning of Sanaa’s room quietly so as not to wake her up because she herself woke her three daughters up very early in the morning. Her daughters too, like her, worked as maids. She loved her children dearly but was never able to express her love for them the way her memsahibs did.

As for her husband, she neither loved him, nor hated him. She had come to accept him as her fate. And as comes with all forms of acceptance, there came a feeling of detachment, a sense of withdrawal…

A week later , as Shanti mopped the drawing room floor at the Saxena household, she overheard her Radhika Memsahib talking to her best friend, Vaishali.
“It’s over now”, Radhika said. “I’m not going to compromise on my dignity. I’m leaving for my parents’ house today with Sanaa and I’ll send him the divorce papers after talking to my lawyer.”
“But Radhika, what’s wrong? Things have not been fine between you two for a couple of weeks now, I understand, but what prompted you to take this extreme decision?”, Vaishali pressed.
“Its as Marilyn Monroe once said – ‘If a man hits you once and you stay, you must be madly in love with him. But, if he hits you twice, you’ve got to be crazy to stay.’ Vaishali, I forgave him for hitting me once but I won’t forgive him this second time. I’m not a vegetable, I’m human and I have feelings. I am answerable to my soul and I can’t let anyone do this to me. Case closed.”

That evening, Shanti walked back to her chawl in a daze. She replayed Radhika Memsahib’s dialogues over and over again in her mind. Her husband used to beat her up almost everyday. So, was she to take that she should have left her husband long ago? Ram-Ram. She touched her ears. What was the matter with her? All her fellow migrants from Bihar had the same story to tell. Everybody’s husband beat them up – both privately and publicly. Nobody ever questioned it. Why, her own father used to beat her mother up. Her mother had never complained. So why should she?

That night, Shanti was beaten up by her drunken husband yet again.

Another week later, as Shanti returned home tired from work, her daughters ran up to her, “Mummy, Mummy… Bapu left home in the morning and hasn’t returned since.”
“What?” blurted Shanti, all weariness forgotten.

The next day, when her husband still did not return, Shanti enquired about road accidents in the neighbourhood. She came to know that there had been none yesterday. She went to report her missing husband at the police station but no good came of it. The police-wallahs refused to help and instead sniggered at some inside joke amongst themselves causing Shanti to run out of the police station in panic.

By now, the people in Shanti’s chawl had started talking. They said that her husband, Prakash was a drunkard who had left Shanti for another woman. The middle-aged men and teenage boys in Shanti’s chawl not only quoted these ‘facts’ loudly whenever Shanti passed by, but also made her the target of their lewd comments. However, instead of being shattered, Shanti discovered a strange feeling of liberation within herself. She noticed that as she worked tirelessly in her employers’ houses, there was an unconscious smile on her face.

Strange… Shanti tried to observe her behavioural pattern since her husband had left. She concurred that there was happiness within her because her husband had gone. He hadn’t been there to beat her up & her daughters hadn’t cried at her plight. In fact, come to think of it, her children too seemed happier. Maybe Radhika Memsahib was right – you truely ought to leave abusive husbands.

But in the heart of hearts, Shanti knew that she would never have had the guts to leave Prakash. She secretly thanked her stars that he himself had gone away.

Presently, Shanti started dreaming of getting a full salary to spend on herself and her children. She dreamed of educating her daughters and son. She estimated that if they got the full salary for running the household, then only she and her eldest daughter needed to work. Her two younger daughters could leave work and go to school. She decided that she would also get her son admitted in the nearby government school once he was three years old. She’d buy clothes from the nearby second-hand garments shop. Winters were fast approaching and their clothes were inadequate. Every year, she and her kids fell ill due to the bone-chilling cold weather. This year she would ensure none of that happened. And there would be three square meals everyday. Her kids would never have to skip a meal again, she promised herself. And all this would happen soon enough – because tomorrow was pay-day :-)

Pay-day arrived and as expected, Shanti got her wages. Shanti was again, out of habit, about to tie Rs. 100 separately in the pallu of her sari when she reminded herself—Prakash was gone… All this money was now hers to spend. Though it sounded like a cliché, she still said it to herself—‘All my dreams are going to come true now!’

Shanti walked back home jubiliant, a slight song on her lips. As she entered her chawl, the slight commotion and the hushed whispers all around remained wasted on her. She was on a different astral plane altogether, till a rude shock jolted her back to reality. With a start, she realized that her husband was standing in the doorway of their rented room like every other pay-day. In the few seconds that passed before Prakash lunged at her, moments from the past month flashed before her eyes.

You’ve got to be crazy to stay. Flash. Not going to compromise on my dignity. Flash. Younger daughters going to school. Flash. Three square meals for the children. Flash. All her wages snatched from her hands. Flash.

The next day, as Shanti went to work, nobody noticed the fresh black bruise on her left cheek…