The Delicate Straw Hut

Dawn. 

Tara walks to the well outside the village, a pot in her hand. Two years into adulthood, her green bangles clink as the pot bounces against the side of her thigh. Her saree is crudely worn, and a sliver of sunlight illuminates her tired eyes, which she promptly covers with her hand. Her toe rings, a sign of marriage, click against the hard, barren earth.

She reaches the well, and puts the pot down. A metal bucket tied to a string sits on the edge of the well. Tara knocks it over with her elbow, and it tumbles down until there’s a small splash, and the rope goes slack. 

She pulls up the bucket with the rope, only to see that it is half full. She looks down into the well, but sees only blackness, and the light quiver of dangerously little water. Not eager to deny her neighbours of water, Tara pours the paltry amount of water into her pot, and hoists it onto her head. Suddenly, she hears the distant sound of something foreign. Something recurring and rare. An engine.

A cloud of dust trembles on the horizon, a blemish on the rising run. Tara looks at it, squinting. The dust cloud grows in size, and Tara makes out the rectangular oblong shape of a sleeper coach within the dust. She walks back to her hut, a heavier pot on her head. 

—

Vasu looks out of the window of the coach as it hobbles through the dirt road. 

He’s struggled to sleep throughout the journey, but it doesn’t show on his face. He twirls his moustache, thinking of her. 

—

The village bus stop is small enough without fourteen people packed under it, sheltered from the morning sun. At the front of the small crowd is Susheela, a short and weary forty-five year old woman, waiting. The rest of her entourage, consisting of tall, dark and burly men, wait impatiently, talking amongst themselves. 

The coach rolls in, tossing up another cloud of dust. Everyone squints to avoid the dust except Susheela, who gazes at the bus. 

The bus stops, and after a short pause, the passengers begin to pour out of it, hauling bags, boxes and baskets. 

Susheela looks at the door of the coach in anticipation, and her face brightens as Vasu walks out of the door, bags in hand. Sunlight hits his face as he sees his mother and family, and he squints and smiles all at once. 

Vasu skips down the stairs and pushes through the people to embrace his mother, who hugs him tightly as he towers over her. He looks up at his uncles and cousins, and smiles at them. They smile back. Vasu lets go of Susheela.  

“How are you, Vasu?” Susheela asks. “Was the trip alright?”

“It could’ve been worse,” he replies. “We had to stop near Ramnagar because of a crash, but we didn’t end up losing much time. Shall we go?” He asks. 

Susheela nods. 

The entourage heads home, as Vasu’s older cousin Soma takes his bag from him to carry it himself. 

“Happy to be home, Vasu?” Soma asks.

“Of course. How’s your wife?”

“She’s good. You know; the same old fights.”

They laugh. Soma ponders for a moment, before leaning into Vasu’s ear.

“Your mother wants you to get married soon.”

“What?”

“Yeah, she wants to start looking for a bride in a few weeks. You don’t have anyone already in mind, do you?”

Vasu looks at Soma.

—

“So what is it that you study, exactly?” Uncle Deepak asks. 

Vasu is seated on the floor in front of a banana leaf full of food. His cousins sit next to him, also eating. His mouth is full of rice and curry. He chews his food, and swallows it. 

“Biomedicine. BES College.”

Uncle Deepak raises his eyebrows. “Biomedicine,” he repeats. “Couldn’t you get into medicine?”

Vasu chokes on his food, caught off guard. Some of his cousins chuckle. Deepak laughs. Susheela shakes her head. 

“Drink some water, Vasu, don’t choke,” she says. She turns to Deepak and adds, “you and your jokes! My son just arrived and you’re already trying to kill him?”

Deepak laughs once again. “I was only joking. How long are you here, Vasu?”

Vasu smiles. 

“2 months.” 

“I hope that village life doesn’t bore you…” Deepak mutters, adding: “not as many pretty girls here.”

“Deepak!” Susheela exclaims. 

The single light bulb illuminating the whole room flickers, shrouding Vasu’s reaction in darkness momentarily. 

He looks up at the light, and back at Deepak. 

“I don’t think I’m going to be bored, Uncle,” Vasu says, and bites into a piece of chicken. 

—

Tara sits in the dimness of her small home, sifting rice. She sings a song to the rhythm of her sifting. 

Outside, the rush of a small village, muffled by concrete walls, is still ever so slightly audible. 

Tara continues singing even after she is done sifting rice. She pours the rice into a metal pot, and takes it over to a large canister filled with water. 

She tips the canister, pouring the water into the pot of rice, squatting, when she loses her balance and slips. Water spills all over the floor, along with grains of rice. She stops singing and gets up, wiping herself off. She looks at the clock in the house. 1:21. 

She begins singing again, cleaning the water off the floor with a cloth. The door opens. She stops. 

—

Vasu walks through the busy village street, alone. He takes a left into a residential street, and as he walks, the noise of traffic grows quieter and quieter. He makes a right turn, and then another. He climbs down a narrow staircase into a smaller neighbourhood situated on a downwards slope with smaller houses and less bikes. The houses are crammed together, congested, with no space to move. 

Vasu makes his way to one of the houses on the edge of this downwards neighbourhood. He stops in front of a house, covered in chipped away green paint. 

A man sits at the front of the house, smoking. His name is Prasad. He looks at Vasu, who is looking at the house, while slowly walking past it. The confusion on his face becomes recognition, and Prasad gets up. 

“I’m just passing through,” says Vasu sheepishly. 

Prasad runs at Vasu, pinning him against a wall by the collar. He towers over Vasu. 

“What the hell made you think you could come back here?” Prasad asks. 

“I wasn’t—”

“Yes you were. She’s not here, you dirty bastard.”

“Listen, let me- let me show you-”

Vasu reaches into his pocket and takes out his wallet. He opens it and shows Prasad a passport size photo. 

“My girlfriend! Ok? Why would I look for your sister if I already have someone?” He pauses. “I used to play cricket here as well, right? Do you own this neighbourhood?” 

Prasad thinks for a second, and loosens his grip on Vasu’s collar. Vasu pats his shirt down, getting rid of the wrinkles. He puts his wallet back in his pocket. Prasad looks away. 

“Don’t think you can come around here any time you want,” he says quietly, taking a drag of his cigarette. “Don’t let me catch you here again.” He lets the smoke out of his nose. The man turns around and walks back into his house. 

Vasu spits on the ground, and walks on. Children playing cricket with battered plastic equipment look at him as he shrinks into the distance. 

—

Tara dreams of her boat. She lies inside her boat, dry, untouched by the salty water. Her boat floats through the endless ocean. Tara looks up at the sky, with its soft, moving clouds. A single bird flies across the sky. She can’t tell what kind of bird it is. It flies away. Tara continues floating.

–

Vasu is on his phone in bed late at night. He is trying to access the internet, but it isn’t working. On the search bar on his phone is “hot porn.” He refreshes the page over and over, only for it to not load. Over and over again he tries unsuccessfully. He sighs, and turns his phone off, rolling over to sleep, when he feels a bump against his hip. In the darkness, he reaches for it. It’s his wallet. He pulls his wallet out and looks at it. Then, making sure everyone around him is asleep, he grabs his penis with one hand, and picks out the passport size photo he showed to the man earlier.

The photo is of an attractive young woman, smiling. On the back it reads, “Sara, XOXO.” He squints at the photo through the darkness. He begins. 

–

Tara is at the market, buying vegetables. She looks at the vendor, a young man. He avoids her gaze. 

“How much for the okra?” she asks. 

“Sorry, what, madam?”

“How much for the okra?”

“40 rupees for 250 grams, madam.”

Tara looks at the man, eyebrows raised. “Isn’t that a bit much?”

“No, madam, they’re very expensive this time-”

“I just saw you sell a whole box of okra to that man over there.”

“He’s a caterer, madam, he needs-”

“Make it 25.”

The vendor drops his facade of kindness. 

“25? Are you crazy?”

“25. Take it or leave it.”

“I’m the one that’s meant to say that! 30, take it or leave it.”

Tara is silent. She looks down, and back at the vendor, who smirks. 

Tara shakes her head, brushing her hair off her forehead. The vendor stops smirking as he looks at her, and begins to put the okra in Tara’s bag.

Tara takes the bag, and hands the man a 50. She looks at the rest of the market. It teems with activity and life.

“Madam?”

Tara turns around.

“Change.”

Tara takes the change, and counts it. 25 rupees. 

“You gave me 5 rupees extra,” she says. She hands the vendor back the 5 rupee coin.

He shakes his head, refusing to take it.

“Keep it, madam,” he says. He hesitates, then says, “for yourself.”

She looks at the vendor. He smiles. 

“Take care,” he says.

Tara nods, and walks away from the vegetable stall. She looks at herself in the reflection of a shop window, and sees that there is a purple bruise on her forehead.

–

Vasu does not wash his plate after eating dinner. He leaves it in the already crowded sink where his mother stands, washing dishes. 

After washing his hands, he goes around to the front of the house, where his cousins are playing rummy and smoking. Smoke hangs over them; self-made fog. A single tube light illuminates the verandah, casting deep shadows across their faces.

Vasu stands behind his cousins, watching them play. Soma turns around and sees him.

“Hey, someone give the city boy some space to sit down!” Soma calls out. Some of the cousins shift over, and Vasu sits down.

“How do you have so many cards this early into the game?” Vasu asks Soma cheekily. 

“They’re cheats,” Soma replies, shaking his head. “I’m glad we didn’t do this one for money-”

“You’d have to live on the outskirts!” another cousin calls out, resulting in everyone except Soma laughing.

“So how’s village life, Vasu?” one of the cousins asks.

“The girls here don’t give it up as easily, huh?” another cousin taunts. They laugh.

“I mean, it’s hard, you know?” Vasu says. “2 months without it is going to be tough.”

The cousins laugh.

“Yo, Sidda, it’s your turn,” someone says. They begin talking about the card game again.

Vasu looks out into the night.

“Vasu,” Soma says in a low voice, below the chatter of the others. 

“Yeah?” Vasu turns around. 

“I heard you went to Tara’s old house.”

Vasu looks at Soma wordlessly. 

“Who told you that?”

“Prasad told one of our boys.”

“It’s not true. I was just-”

“Save the bullshit.”

Vasu looks away. 

“Don’t you know what happened after you two got caught? Remember, you broke the walls of that straw hut going at it-”

“I remember. What happened?”

“You went to boarding school, right?”

“Yeah.”

“She got married off to a drunk.”

Vasu looks at Soma, hoping he’s joking.

“Where?” 

“They still live here. On the outskirts. Some of our boys have had to break up some of their fights.” Soma looks away, and turns back to Vasu. “Why do you want to meet her? It’s been six years. You’re just going to cause more pro-”

“I just wanted to apologise to her, Soma.”

Soma looks at Vasu, not believing him. 

“Honestly.”

“There’s brothels here too. She’s not the only woman on Earth-”

“Paying for it is no fun.”

“What?”

“I just want to apologise, okay?”

“I’ll see what-”

Someone smacks Soma on the shoulder.

“What are you two old ladies gossiping about? Soma, it’s your turn,” another cousin says.

Soma looks at his cards, and back at Vasu.

“Play your cards right, Vasu.”

–

Dawn.

A couple of days later, Soma and Vasu are walking together.. Vasu has neatly combed his hair, and is clean shaven.

They take a left into a residential street. They make a right turn, and then another right. They climb down a narrow staircase into a smaller neighbourhood situated on a downwards slope, with smaller houses and less bikes. The houses are crammed together, congested, with no space to move. They walk past the green house this time, however, and further down the slope. 

 Vasu and Soma reach the bottom of the slope, and take a left. 

The neighbourhood begins to grow sparser, with dirt roads, straw huts and lanterns. Vasu and Soma take a left into a laneway.

They reach the true edge of the village. Beyond the road is a small well and a vast, dry landscape, peppered with withering trees. A lone figure is walking towards the well in front of the sun.

“Is that her?” Vasu asks.

Soma nods.

“Every day she gets up at this time to get the water,” says Soma.

“Why?” Vasu asks.

 “That drunk husband of hers doesn’t wake up till at least noon. I’m waiting here.”

“Make sure no one sees,” Vasu says, looking around. 

“I’ll whistle if someone’s coming. Keep your ears peeled.”

“Ok.”

“Ok, hurry,” Soma says, and pushes Vasu away. 

–

Tara carries the pot of water on her head as she walks back.The sun has not risen yet, and the world is dark and warm. She feels the water rock from side to side in the pot. It won’t spill, though. She knows that.

There isn’t enough.

Slowly, she walks back home, her bare feet calloused to the sharpness of the dirt.

“Tara!” a voice hisses.

She stops, and looks straight into the dark mass of trees and houses in front of her. Something is moving.

It’s a person. She stands still, waiting for the person to come into sight. She does not know who it is.

–

Vasu briskly walks to Tara. He cannot see her properly, but he knows it’s her. Her stature, or the way she sways her hips lazily; it’s her.

–

It’s Vasu.

Tara lowers the pot from her head, and puts it on the ground. She looks around to make sure that no one is there.

“Vasu?” she asks.

Vasu walks towards her slowly. She walks backward. He keeps walking, and eventually, Tara stops, leaning against the trunk of a dead tree. He gets closer, and closer, and closer, until she can feel his breath on her.

“You smell the same,” he says.

Tara is paralysed. Whether it is with fear or shock, she doesn’t know.

“W-when did you come back?” she asks, her voice shaking.

“Doesn’t matter; I’m here now.” He wraps his hands around her waist.

Soma is turned away from the well, smoking a beedi.

“Vasu, stop.”

“I missed you so much.”

“Vasu, please, stop, I don’t want people to-”

“My-”

Tara slaps Vasu in the face, and pushes him away. 

“You bastard! Is this all you want from m-”

Vasu looks at her.

“I don’t know you anymore. You’ve changed.”

“What?”

“You’re not the-”

“Shut up!”

Soma turns around, but beyond some sound, he cannot say what is happening. 

“Shut up, you’ll wake the whole village up!” Vasu hisses.

“Go away!”

“I love you, Tara. I waited all these years for you.”

“I’m married!”

“No one has to know.”

For a moment, Tara is quiet, looking at Vasu.

“Eh?” Vasu says, smiling and coming closer. “At least for as long as I’m here, we can-”

“Fuck?”

Vasu pauses.

“You shouldn’t talk like that. That’s not how I-”

“If you thought it was wrong, you would’ve-” Tara begins to tear up. “You would’ve asked me something, Vasu! How are you, Tara? How’ve you been, Tara? Are you-” her voice breaks. “Are you happy, Tara?”

Vasu looks away.

“Please, Vasu.”

The sun has begun to rise. Dawn peeks in between the branches of the tree, and Tara sees Vasu’s face for what it is. Confused; opaque. She stops herself from sobbing.

“Are you going to come back for me?”

Vasu’s face lights up. He’s gotten through. He nods, getting closer, and closer.

“I didn’t want to leave you the first time, darling.” The last word is thrown as rancid bait.

He gets closer, until Tara can feel his breath on her once again. Then she smells his breath, and feels his chapped lips on her. His hands search her for something she doesn’t have anymore. Something foreign and distant. 

–

Tara dreams of her boat once again. She lies inside her boat, dry, untouched by the salty water. Her boat floats through the endless ocean. Tara gets up this time, however, and looks at herself in the reflection of the water. She looks at her skin, her hair, her eyes and nose, and doesn’t recognise them. She wishes she knew the face she wore.