Faith and Jealousy

1949

April-

"Write your thoughts, it will reduce your insomnia," said the doctor. Then each month they will read and report my progress. They said it will help learn what goes inside my head. I have been imprisoned for a crime I never committed. My trial has been continuing for years and they believe writing my thoughts would help me. They don't understand nor will they ever do so.

September-

I was scolded by the doctor for not being a regular diary keeper. I still wonder what should I put on these papers that shall provide me the freedom I've been eagerly waiting for, almost fifteen years of my life.

October-

So I was asked by the doctor to write about my life. The life which I had outside. The one which I want to go back to. 

Now that I think whom shall I ever get back to. I have no one left to welcome me back. The one brother I had, has not talked to me in years.

November-

The doctor seems to be a kind woman but too adamant to wring out that past I'm willing to forget. Those days which got me here. If only I'd once thought it through, my wife and child would have been alive and I'd've been happily enjoying my life in their company.

1950

January-

There is something unpleasant about these new years. Leaving in a cell, waking up to face the same wall over and over again with just a glimpse of light piercing through the small window atop. Doctor said I must observe the small details in my daily surroundings. Thus while walking round and round the prison cell I saw a small lizard crawling on the wall. As I looked towards it, the lizard shyly stopped at its place then soon paced along the edge of the wall escaping through the opening in between the bars. Even it couldn't spare a minute in this castle of mine.

February-

Doctor says I have a sense of humour. Well at least better that I am gaining something as I lose my patience counting my days for freedom or death, whichever comes sooner.

March-

I have been told to concentrate on my life yet again. It is very difficult to think of the time when I, as a young boy of sixteen, helped in my father's shop, dreaming of achieving everything in this world. We ran a shoe-making shop and it being the only one of our town, our business ran well. We had everything that we could dream of. 

Since Father was suffering from ill-health, I had to quit my school and start learning the art of shoe-making. It barely was easy for a sixteen year old to cut the leather, trim it precisely and sew the fine edges of the boots. My father believed we should always learn from the start. Thus he handed over to me the job of polishing those fine leather boots. I started polishing the boots; sometimes black, sometimes brown, but every time I made those boots have enough shine to see my face on it. 

April-

It has been so long that the memories are a bit dusky. I would try to write little of what I remember. 

My mother never went to school. Our religious book, wrapped in muslin cloth, was the only book she ever read and she recited that to me every morning. After the morning recital of the verses, I went to run around the town. My brother, who is three years younger to me, went with me and in nature we were able to find our freedom. 

We had few friends in the town, among them was the girl of my dreams. She lived on the other end of the town, near the pond and every day, just to see her, I took my brother fishing; both barely knowing how to fish. 

We sat there dipping our fishing rods up and down in the water expecting to catch at least one fish when she came along with her sister there to fetch water from the nearby well. Strategically, I sat beside the rock from where she wouldn't be able to see that I saw her, but ten years later, on the day of our marriage, I learnt that she had noticed me every single one of those days.

My wife soon got pregnant with our first child and I was overwhelmed. I ran around the town announcing our first child. On the day of birth, as I stood outside the door, with every possible emotion building inside of me, the nurse came out and looked at me wistfully, saying, "Sorry we lost the boy but we have been able to manage to save your wife."

I cannot explain what went through me but I ran beside my feeble wife and held her close to my heart. The tears in her eyes was the last thing I could imagine.

May-

Is there a reason for me to prolong this "exercise" anymore? The judgment has been pronounced by the Trial Court and they have held me to be guilty as there wasn't enough evidence for my acquittal. My lawyer said that they are preparing for appeal and the faster they are placed, the better. They can do whatever they wish, my hope for freedom is completely lost. I pray that my death comes sooner.

June-

"Don't worry unnecessarily with the Court matters," says the Doctor. My health has declined a good deal in the last month and she worries I am wilfully trying to die. So I should have on the day when my wife and child were lying dead in front of me and I stood there, unable to help them. 

I cannot go around thinking about them or anything whatsoever.

July-

I have been told to focus on remembering my "happy days". It was improving my mental health as the doctor says. I think even she agrees that I am getting mad. 

I've always been a bit crazy when it comes to my family. The day I got married, my father refused to accept me as his son. He had already arranged my marriage to someone else without my knowledge and he held his words sacrosanct above all. I left the house and with the skills learnt at his shop I opened my own shop. 

Everything was well. To me, we were the happiest couple in the whole world, till the day I got a big offer from the city and I prepared myself to leave. My wife was expecting just then with another child but I was reluctant to let this offer go out of our hand. She understood and I left gladly. 

Happiness in our lives stopped on that very day when I returned home. I came a few days early to surprise my wife, but was simply shocked to find her in the arms of another man. I've never been outrageous in my whole life; nor did I ever shout a word at anyone. But it was my wife that this man happened to be courting without any hint of shame.

Since then I haven't been able to sleep. Every single night the only thing I can imagine is that his hands were around my wife's shoulder, comforting her. How much patient I was with her even knowing that she had an illicit relationship. 

August-

Two months had passed since that day and in a few months my wife was about to give birth to our child. I thought our happiness would soon come. But one day, as I came back from my shop, I noticed a small piece of paper tucked underneath our doorway. I picked it up and kept it on the table to read it later. My wife was upstairs in the room, knitting little pairs of socks for the child. 

I went to freshen up. As I came down for dinner, I couldn't find the paper. I asked my wife if she had seen it. "I don't know what you are talking about," she replied. 

I didn't ask about the letter anymore but they kept coming; I didn't know from whom or why they were being sent but it was always my wife who first got them. It bothered me, but I kept myself busy with work, hoping she would tell me about them. Days went by but she did not and the sporadic correspondence went on.

September-

Three months went like that and then one day I received the biggest possible offer from the city. If I got that I would turn into a millionaire by night. I didn't care to tell my wife about it and packed up my belongings and went out at night with the sole intention of never returning.

Due to a big accident the previous week, trains were cancelled and I took the bus to the city. It took about one and half days for me to reach there and thus I lost the contract to someone else but I didn't return. I had already made up my mind.

I found the boarding house with meager rent, which my friend had informed about. I was glad to have finally come out of that life. I opened a grocery store and thought it would pay the bills. 

One day a telegram came to my address. I was shocked, as I still hadn't informed anyone of my place. I quickly teared it open. "Come. Home. Immediately." The telegram contained these three words, not even the name or address of the sender.

Thoughts clouded me as I went to pack my belongings. I don't know what possessed me then that I thought— I don't have any family anymore. I did not need to go. Whatever ever happened was not my business. 

Father died that month, I was not there. Since then my brother stopped talking to me. He learnt of my residence from the one who gave me the information to the boarding house. I couldn't explain anything. His ignorance was the last nail in the coffin.

October-

Everything is so blurred from there. Since the case started I cannot separate the facts from the made-up ones. 

The business started to fall day by day. I was unable to generate enough income to feed myself. The landlord handed me the notice as I could not pay my rent for the month and I had no other option but to return home.

As I came home, I could see a weak, failing body of my wife. She was excited to see me. She said she cried to sleep every single night. I wasn't interested to hear whatever she might have made up for all those free time she had. Evil thoughts shadowed my sanity and I could only think- Perhaps the man finally got what he was roaming around for.

Now I regret every one of those thoughts. If only I got one opportunity, I would run to her and hold her close. I was a fool then. 

November-

Everything in this world was taken away from me in the matter of an hour. I was sitting on the chair, reading the newspaper when there was a knock on the door. I stood up to open the door but my wife ran to the door saying "I got it." I watched at the door like an eagle, waiting for a single glimpse of the person behind such excitement of my wife.

It was none other than that bastard whom I saw the day I returned and he clung on to her at our doorway without any fear, as if I was dead. I got up and pounced at him. Punching him on his face. I was protecting my family; my wife, my child. He did not belong in my house. 

She kept on shouting, "Leave him! Leave him!" and I kept hitting him even harder, till he started to bleed. I would have murdered him then only. I did not care what might happen. I felt like a fiend as I saw her face, wrapped in fear. I left him bleeding on the ground. 

She stood there, shivering in terror of my presence. I tried to get close to her but she ran inside. "Get back from me," she shouted. 

I tried to explain but she wouldn't listen. Out of my darned fury I grabbed her hand and pulled her close. I asked- why did she care more about him than her own husband. She did not reply. I slapped her and she fell on the floor. 

"I love him," she said, weeping. "I've always loved him. He was the one I wished to marry." I stood there like a lifeless being. "If he wouldn't have been poor, my father would have accepted him. But unfortunately for me, you went to my father and asked for my hand. I was forced into marriage with you. Now look at us. How rich are we? Love is the greatest treasure which money can't buy. You are nothing but a deadbeat to me. You don't know the meaning of love.

"Wasn't I trying to be a good wife to you? I even told him not to visit us anymore. Wrote him letters to forget me. But he wouldn't," pointing at him, who stood there like a ghost behind me. "He said he cannot sleep without knowing that I am safe, healthy and happy," in tears her eyes had turned red. "Where were you all this time? Were you caring for me like that? Did you wonder— whether my wife had lived or died? I am bearing your child. Yet you could not have a bit of faith in me." She raised her ailing body up.

I was unable to fathom anything whatsoever and stood there like a statue. "Kill me, it is better to die than to live with a monster as you, and call him my husband," she scoffed, grasping my hands, pulling it to her throat. She started hitting me with her weak arm and before I could realise, she fell flat on her face. I was about to get to her but the man came running towards her. 

"What did you do?" he said, taking her in his arms, kneeling on the floor. I barely could move any muscle, I was terrified with my actions. 

"Paromita! Paromita!" he shouted at the lifeless body, shaking her as if eager to break her into pieces. "You murderer!" He jumped onto his feet and got hold of my throat. I struggled in this arms wrestling to get out. I groped around trying to save myself. Finding the nearby vase, I grabbed it and hit his head hard. 

He died with a single blow. His bleeding body lay before me. I should have died that day instead. 

Murderer. I am the murderer. I killed everyone; my wife, my child, that man. I did. I killed them. It was all my fault.