THE WIFE.

Tinnu hated most things about himself, his name most of all, if they had named him something else he too could have been bigger, stronger and wiser. He was a fish trader, a small one at that, the bigger men bought off the bigger fishes and elbowed him to the small fishes, though he did not resent that totally, small fishes sold out easily as they were bought by poorer people and he would return home before noon to his wife, not that he looked forward to it, but he had few friends and most others mocked him sour. 

   He skirted his way across the back yard so as not to cross paths with his wife but fate had other plans. She was standing in the doorway, a sack of something held at her waist, he peeped and saw it was that half a quintal of coal he tried to drag home last evening, but that sack did not agree. “Food is on the kitchen shelf”, she said with her very raspy voice and continued to chat with the old next door lady about some saucy gossip. That half a quintal of coal held at her waist. 

Evenings were the only time Tinnu loved, he would count and then put away most of the money for business the next day. Yes his capital grew by days and now it took him longer to count his money. He had an iron box in which he put it back, and took out a little, he put some of it into his pocket and a little more he put on the kitchen shelf with a little noise to draw the attention of his wife who was engaged in some kitchen work in that very small room.

Tinnu was a struggling fish-seller, his home was half thatch, some temporary sheds that his wife converted to rooms, and one brick room that stored the little valuables he had and doubled up as his bedroom. He made sure he had locked his iron box and waded his way to his watering hole, a locally made spirit shop where a few like him gathered to forget all the shortcomings of life and drown themselves tipsy for a few hours. 

These few hours were the time he lived fully. He cursed the matchmaker, used the vilest expletives he knew, “only if I had as much money then as I do now, I could hire a better matchmaker and he would find me a wife not bigger, stronger and sharper than me”, sharpest being her tongue according to him. After his happy hours and long assertions he unsteadily treaded home and quickly fell asleep. 

But that peace was short-lived. There was a thud, then a small dragging noise then very suppressed whispers, he was a light sleeper so he woke up but was too scared to move. Someone sifted through his little belongings in the very room he was sleeping. The wife was still occupying the greater part of the bed and snoring away like a chainsaw. The robbers lost patience and pulled him off the bed as one of them switched on the light, one held a kitchen knife over his throat and asked him where his money was. 

He remembered the voice from the liquor shop and his rambling about his being rich now, this woke the wife up and they changed hostages. An expression escaped him, hard to determine it was relief or worry. She saw the knife close and remarked, ‘this is my kitchen knife!’, in return they threatened, ‘we will drive the knife in’ it was a suppressed roar, she reached for the blade of the knife and tugged it little and it came off the handle, now the robber had the wooden handle and the wife had the knife blade, all the three men looked at each other and the robber quickly pushed the wife away and returned to the safer hostage. 

And again they asked where the money was. “In the kitchen,” the wife added. So with a little pulling, pushing and jostling the whole entourage entered the very small kitchen, the pushing and shoving upsetting the lot of tins, cans and bottles. “Who will pick these up you cross eyed sons of illegitimate camels?” the wife asked in a rather polite tone, the robber tossed off the handle of a knife in exchange for a long handled pan and demanded, “Give it to us now,” the wife took a small jar of spices and poured out a few small denomination notes and coins from there. This added oil to the fire, they banged the pan on the head of Tinnu increasing his height by an inch or two in a minute. This bang had a different reaction, especially when the trickle of blood slowly made its way down. The wife lunged forward and held the man by the scruff of his neck with tight grip, the pan dangled free and fell on his foot, before he could yelp for help, his head had been banged against the wall, the shelf and the bamboo pole that held the roof, “not my idea”, he gave out a very small cry and pointed to the other man who she had thrown down in the process and was standing on him, Tinnu wiped his blood and asked his wife to let go, they would sure hang him if that dangling man died he tried to convince her, besides no wife ever kills a robber by standing on him. Before she could be convinced the hanging man shook himself free and made for the boundary wall. The other one was still under her feet groaning, whining and crying. The third robber across the wall heard some of the commotion and revved his engine, like a remote signal that either he was ready or– get away buddy while you can. The getting away man reached the wall and hurled a curse to Tinnu, that was the last straw, his wife dug her heels with force into the fallen man and picked up the stone pestle off the shelf and hurled it to the man scaling the wall. He yelled like a singed cat and the revving engine on the other side of the wall skedaddled away leaving a deep line of smoke leaving his partners at the mercy of a short, small and foolish man and his large, strong and sharp wife.