Backpack

Nowadays Piku hated to go to school. Ever since her father has taken up a job at the jute mill…Ever since her father has shifted to Berachampa, a small town, forty kilometres away from Kolkata…life has never been the same. But why should she blame her father? After all it was a better job beyond the Ganges. Baba had promised they would live in a bigger house go to a better English Medium…

Piku felt embarrassed with herself, ‘Perhaps, I am the real culprit! ’. The girl of fourteen , gnashed her teeth and thumped her fists. As she stood before the mirror, she was aware that the school shirt would refuse to button at her chest. She pulled up her loose socks as hard as she could to cover the black hair which grew over her legs. Thamma said, ‘People who had hair were kind and good people’. But Piku did not want to be kind. She would rather not have the hair.Ma would be very angry if she wanted a new shirt now. It is only a couple of months ago Baba got it tailored, when they moved to the new house and the new school.

Tears welled up in her eyes. She was already getting late. ‘Piku you would miss the 6.30 bus again, today’. She could hear Ma shouting from the kitchen. Piku quickly bent down and wiped her tears with the edge of her shirt. She squirmed at the sight of the unruly hair which brushed her fingers.

When the 6.30 a.m, 201 bus breezed over the bridge along the Ganges, Piku prayed in baited breath, ‘Ma, help me today’. Every day she watched the devout followers of ‘Ma Kinkori’ of Tetulia, saddled in the seats with odds and ends, their heads smeared with vermilion. They had matted oily locks, wore conch shell bangles. They beat their heads a hundred times against the walls and the seats of the morning bus, as it lurched along the bridge in prayers to ‘Ma Ganga’. It was commonly believed that ‘Ma’ listens to all and sundry.

Piku’s small heart thumped in anxiety as she joined the pilgrims in their prayers. Ma would be very annoyed, if she knew that Piku was involved in all this nonsense, she thought. She gazed far into the broad expanse of the muddy waters till her eyes stung. This time she prayed once more for Poppins- Poppins has been ill for a couple of days, a vengeful neighbour had beaten her up for straying into his kitchen and lapping off the milk. She has been refusing food and lay listless in the backyard vegetable garden yesterday. Piku had brought her into her room, nursed her wounds and pleaded to ma to allow her to stay for a day in their house. Poppins had a white shiny coat with black patches. Piku had put a bright red collar around her neck to make others understand that she was no stray cat. Ma has allowed Poppins to stay for a day.

As the bus dropped her at the foot of the bridge, Piku fixed her shirt buttons hurriedly. Her backpack hurt her today. It was unusually heavy. On her way to school, in the rickshaw she chatted excitedly about the upcoming school sports with Nazia and Shreya. ‘Rickshaw kaku’ as usual scolded them over their boisterous laughter, ‘You will fall of the rickshaw this way! What is there to laugh so much?’ Yet, Rickshaw kaku was a good person. He gave the girls ‘chawanprash chaatni’ everyday. ‘Poor man !’ Piku thought, ‘he must be spending half of what Baba gives him at the end of the month.’ But the girls relished the taste of the chaatni as they licked the plastic paper clean. Suddenly Nazia cried out ‘Ouch! it hurts‘, ‘what do you carry in that bag of yours Piku? It’s so heavy!’ Piku hurriedly lifted her bag which she had accidentally kept on Nazia’s feet. Nazia stayed at a colony which was about five minutes walk from Piku’s home. She too took the 6.30 bus and travelled with Piku. Nazia wore the traditional headscarf which fell over her shoulders and reached her waist. The school has made an exception for her because, Ma said, ‘She was a Muslim’. At times Piku had nagged to her mother for a headscarf like that, a white one with pretty flowers. It looked so cosy and safe! Ma just said, ‘We are Hindus. We can’t wear that!’After a day of severe beating, Piku had to give up the idea of a headscarf.

Piku was fidgety, but she managed to do the sums well today. The otherwise cross Mrs. Desouza patted her back at the end of the class, ‘You see you can do well if you want! Just pay more attention in class.’ Piku’s eyes gleamed with pride.

It was three o’clock in the afternoon when Piku, Nazia and Shreya were dropped at the paan shop on their way back home. Piku dreaded to look back, but ‘old’ Tapan was there, as every day, chewing pan and eyeing her with a cold stare. He rubbed his palms and smoothed his hair. It seemed ages before the bus came. At this time of the day, 201 came after every, fifteen minutes and Piku anticipated the inevitable. This route was taken by few girls, except Piku, Nazia and Shreya who had to cross the river. Nazia and Shreya were younger and their mothers trusted Piku for looking after them, to and fro school.

In the mellowed light of the afternoon, Piku could feel the stale,breath of old Tapan near her. ‘Not today again’ she sharply retorted. Shreya and Nazia sat at the rickety bench of the paan shop chatting away with Ratanda who allowed the children to wait at his shop. The seat could accommodate only two, so Piku stood alone for the bus. Tetulia had a deserted look this time – half the ‘paara’ took their afternoon siesta after a lunch of ‘bhaat and maach’.

Today, as she palms of the old demon cupped over her breasts from behind, Piku swerved and hit him hard on his head, her frail hands lifted the backpack with their might. Some of the stones spilled out of the bag, those which she had been collecting from the foot of the bridge where the bust left her every day. Tapan, groaned in pain, held his head together in his hands. Piku could see blood trailing down the temples, she hit him hard, harder, till he folded his hands and limped to ground begging mercy. Piku’s small body trembled, her shirt sodden with sweat, the unruly buttons had again been ripped apart. Old Tapan, limped away behind the dirty public toilet. The passersby looked away. Only Ratanda ran up to the scene and told the girl to stop, ‘Leave him Piku,’ ‘He is an old man. He is going to die soon.’ Piku could only blurt out in rasped whispers, ‘Ratanda! You know everything, yet...’ Once a while, Ratanda had told Tapan not to trouble the girl, but in vain.

Piku clutched her shirt together, straightened her hair, slung the backpack on her breast and called out for Nazia and Shreya… ‘I can see the bus.’ ‘Let’s go’. Both the girls were crying hysterically. On her way, Piku told them, ‘Don’t tell anything to Ma. She would scold me.’

Her thoughts speeded before her to Poppins. ‘She has to get better today’ Piku mused.