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26
FICTION
SOLAPUR By Benyamin Translated from Malayalam by Murali J. Nair They locked up the house and left at six in the morning. If they could reach the main road before seven they could catch the first bus to Solapur. They wanted to get to Pune before noon. That was what Gopal had them agree to do. For lunch on the way, Shobhi had packed some chapatis and subzi. To prepare those items, she had woken up at four in the morning. She was condemned to listen to the abuses hurled at her by Chandamayi for getting up late. Chandamayi would not understand Shobhi’s sickness or her need to take medications. With an angry face, she would keep on scolding Shobhi with words such as “lazy bum” and “daughter of that stray bitch”. “You have taken the mobile phone, right?” Though she had asked it several times before, Shobhi repeated the question to Hanumanta as they were crossing the dried-up canal in the middle of the fields. “Yes,” he replied, running his hand over his pocket. “Be careful!” said Shobhi. “The bus is filled with pickpockets from Barshi. You know how much it costs.” “I know. I will be careful with it. I won’t fall asleep,” Hanumanta promised, clutching his pocket. They had to wait for the bus under the tree on which bats were practising sleeping yoga. People were already crowding for their morning tea at Ram Bapu’s dhaba across the road. Though they prayed not to be seen by anyone known to them, they were spotted by Lakhu Bappa, who wandered around to tell people’s fortune by having his parrot pick the card. “Where are you two headed to so early in the morning?” he shouted at them. “To Solapur, to buy some clothes.” That was the lie that came to Hanumanta’s mind instantaneously. “To buy clothes? In these bad times? Did you hit the lottery? Or did someone help you with their undeclared money?” Hanumanta did not have to reply because the bus arrived, raising a haze of dust, and stopped between them, blocking the view. The morning bus was not crowded. Both of them got seats. Hanumanta sat gazing outside. It was misty. The mist hung above the drought-hit fields like a blanket of fear. These were the fields where wheat and lentils grew once upon a time. The fields where Hanumanta and Shobhi had worked throughout the year. The fields that had brought them fun and laughter and happiness. Hanumanta sighed at the drought that had scorched those happy days. “You will fall sick, cover yourself.” Shobhi gave Hanumanta her shawl.
