“Just move up a little,” said the woman from Vadakkiruppu.
“That’s someone’s seat. They’ll come now,” said Priyanka. “When they come, I’ll get up. Now move up.” “They’ve gone to the shop. Be back now.”
“Is this bus your family property or what?” “It’s the government’s.”
“Then what’s the problem? Move up.”
“It’s someone’s seat, they’ll be coming – how many times do I have to tell you? Find another seat.”
“Let them come. You move up. Or move out of the way!” The woman spoke with some force. She was from the cluster of huts to the north of Priyanka’s own village.
Priyanka was sitting in a space meant for two people. A handbag lay on the seat next to the window. When the northerner told her to move, she had at once taken hold of the bar above the seat in front with both hands. Only if she removed her arms could anyone go past her. The woman tried to push away those arms. It was no use. Priyanka wasn’t loosening her grip even a little.
“You’re going to which place?” demanded the woman. “Aaladi.” Priyanka was curt.
“All the way to Vadakkiruppu I have to go! Can’t keep on standing so long. In this whole crowd it’s only you who’s just four stops from your place, isn’t it? So why can’t you shift a bit and sit over there?” said the woman.
“Is there no other place in the bus?”
“If there was, why would I come and hang on you?”
The Vadakkiruppu woman’s angry question fell on deaf ears. Deliberately looking away from her, Priyanka stared out of the bus. Her eyes searched for Teacher. She was the one who had asked her to keep her seat, and left her handbag on it. People were crowding towards the bus from all directions and milling around waiting to get in. No sign of Teacher. Besides the Vadakkiruppu woman, eight or nine others had already enquired, “Anybody coming?”
“Anyone coming?” Who knew how many more would ask? Enough of it, Priyanka thought. Teacher had better come soon…
It was always only after the eighth of the month that she got her period, but this time it came sooner. If she’d known, she would have stayed home. It was only after two that afternoon that it happened. At once she had gone to the boss and told him she had to go home in a hurry.
“What for?” he kept asking. Seemed like a hundred times he asked that question.
“Just like that, saar,” she said, glossing over it. After much pleading, this boss of the Xerox shop where she worked said, “Go at six o’clock.”
She could barely contain the fury she felt. It was only at nine every night that he ever let her leave. Knowing what the man was like, she rarely took a day off. When she did have to go home early, she didn’t usually inform him beforehand. It was only because she had a problem today that she had asked to be allowed to go home. Even so, he had delayed it by four whole hours … For some reason, this month there was more bleeding. Maybe it was because she had been standing continuously, she thought.
The woman from Vadakkiruppu set down the two bags she had been carrying and pushed them behind Priyanka’s feet. One tilted forward and fell on Priyanka’s foot. Abruptly pulling back her leg and shoving the bag away, she demanded, “You’ll bring your bags here and put them down only on top of my feet, is it?” Glowering at her, the woman retorted, “Why are you kicking the bag with your foot?” and put the bag back where it had been.
Just then, a woman who had got on from the back entrance looked about for a seat. People were standing in a row and holding on to the overhead bar. At last, her eyes fell on the seat next to Priyanka’s. Jostling and pushing, shouting, “Move, ’nga! Make way!” and stamping on numerous feet, she reached the spot after a formidable struggle. “Is anybody coming?” she demanded urgently.
Priyanka nodded a “yes” but did not open her mouth to speak. Nor did she look at the woman.
“Can I sit until they come?” the woman beseeched. “I just can’t stand here! Such a tight squeeze! Head is going round and round.” But Priyanka kept gazing outside the window as if she had nothing to do with what the woman was saying.
Her eyes searched among the people swarming back and forth. Not a sign of the teacher who had left her handbag on the window seat. Her temper rose. How many more people must she fob off? And that too, in the condition she was in? It burned her up just to think about it.
“No respect for age, no sense of what’s right!” the woman declared. Then she asked abruptly, “Are you married?”
‘Why’re you asking?”
“Just like that.”
“What for do you want to know that? What are you going to do?”
“Just to ask you when you’re going to invite me to your marriage feast!” As though she knew what she was insinuating, Priyanka sharply averted her face.
At that, the Vadakkiruppu woman added, “Just look at that face! Would this little pet ever invite the whole town for a meal? See if that happens, or it turns out the way I am telling you!”
Wretched period, plus a headache, and now this! Already in a torment, Priyanka lost her temper. She said fiercely, “So what if I don’t get married! No need for you to roam about looking for a bridegroom for me!”
“Each and every word of yours is like a coconut being cracked open! Why do you talk like that?” The Vadakkiruppu woman confronting Priyanka could not contain her rage. Twisting her face in a grimace of contempt, she went on, “Just now only she has got on this bus, and see what a fancy act she puts on! How’ll she act if she really owned the bus!” Hardly had she finished when Priyanka cut in angrily, “What do you mean, “fancy act”? Ever since you came, I’ve been watching how you act. Talking as though you’re very great! Supposing you had taken this seat before me, and I asked you for it, would you ever have given it to me?”
“Yes, I would,” said the Vadakkiruppu woman proudly.
“One look at her, and you’ll see how true that is!” jeered Priyanka.
“What do you see, here under this saree?” said the Vadakkiruppu woman provocatively.
“What do I care what is showing? Just don’t push me, stay back. You are keeping on pushing and shoving – just like these men, these dogs!” fumed Priyanka. She went on in an exasperated, fed-up tone, “That teacher who gave me her bag and told me to keep her seat, who knows where she’s gone and got lost! I myself am in a bad state. A huge headache it’s giving me, and yet I’m forced to quarrel with all the devils in town and listen to their talk.”
At once, the Vadakkiruppu woman pounced: “Watch your tongue! Who are you calling a devil?”
“Why would I call you a devil? Here you go talking away, with no idea what state I am in.” As she spoke, she was consumed by worry about whether there was a bloodstain on the seat. She was very angry with her boss. If it had been a day like any other, she would have been the first to say, “Sit down,” and yield her seat to any old woman, or one carrying an infant.
She couldn’t do it today. If she stood up, something awkward might happen, and then what would she do? Beset by anxiety, she sat there wondering when the bus would leave the terminus and begin its journey, and when she would at last reach home.
“You said somebody is coming, but nobody has come yet. Supposing I sit there until they come? Will it cost you a lot of money or what? Is that why you are sitting there blocking that seat? The way you’re acting and talking, it looks as though you’ve dropped down from the sky or something.”
“You’re coming from the sky, is it? Born and brought up there?”
“No.”
“Then what’s all this about? Stop laying down the law, and keep your mouth shut,” burst out Priyanka. Vexed with her own predicament, she was saying a little too much.
Excerpted with permission from Bus to Aaladi from An Order from the Sky and Other Stories, Imayam, translated from the Tamil by Vasantha Surya, HarperCollins.
