‘Stet!’ Said God

Today, I met Prabha. I had gone to the town in search of a place where I could get a letterhead made for my personal use and entered the place named Bombay Printers. As I entered, I saw her… bent over some ledger, checking something. She looked just the same… minus the full term pregnant tummy she had, the last time I had seen her. My shadow probably darkened the already dim interiors of the place and she looked up. Then she smiled… in that special sweet way she smiles.
“Prabha!” I said, “How nice to you, dear. How are you?” She smiled again, folding her hands in respect. “Namaskara, uncle,” she said… and added that she was fine. “How are your kids?” I asked. “They are fine, Uncle,” she said. Uma is in the twelfth standard and Shankar in tenth. Oh Ho! I thought…so the second one turned out to be a boy. As though reading my thoughts and wanting to change the subject, she asked me how she can help me. The next fifteen minutes were spent on my business. She called out to a boy to get tea for me.
As I sipped the tea, I could not but reflect on this young woman’s life. She looked much happier now and did not bear a trace of what she had been going through when I had last met her.
Prabha was known to my wife. They had met in the local temple on one Sankashta Chathurthi evening and taken to each other. I have seen Prabha helping out my wife in preparing her annual pickles or while preparing ‘obbattu’. Prabha’s husband Manjunathappa had a small press where he had a modest business of binding and printing. They had a daughter, Uma. When Prabha was carrying her second child, problems started. Manja had a fight with his elder brother on some property issue and what started as an argument turned into ugly aggressiveness. Prabha had shared all her family matters with my wife, and I would get an update of it every day.
Then one day, Manja disappeared. Just like that. He had lunch at home, locked up the cycle and went out. When he didn’t return at night Prabha thought that he might have gone to his village… but after 48 hours she became frenzied with worry. She came running to my wife and was inconsolable. She had sent someone to the village, Manja hadn’t gone there… Where was he? She was sure that something had happened to him.
Wife told me about her friend’s predicament. I was asked to help out without giving too much of publicity… I knew it was impossible for a small fry like me…still I told her to give me a photograph of his so that I could do something. Prabha had only one…taken at their wedding. One look at the black and white photo of a turbaned Youngman with kajal in his eyes and tilak on his forehead, I returned it… It won’t help!
On the sixth day, Prabha’s parents arrived. One look at their daughter’s face and they knew they had to do something to save her sanity, her life and most importanatly, the life she was carrying…for Prabha looked like a living dead! She hadn’t bathed or eaten for days. Huddled in the corner of her living room, she was crying her heart out. Uma was in the custody of Sarojamma, the landlady of her house. Her parents tried to console her and promised her that they would rake the entire earth to find their son in law and made her eat…
They sent people everywhere, to his village, all districts, to Bangalore, Mangalore. All the emissaries sent met with dead-ends. There was no news of Manja. 4 months passed. Prabha was 7 months pregnant. People now told her to forget Manja and live for the kids. Prabha shouted that she wanted no kids… She threatened to kill herself and her kids…She hated the child she was carrying…as though it was the harbinger of her doom.
No reasoning on my wife’s part worked… She refused to accompany her parents to her village. Things were in a limbo…
That was when I had to go to Bombay to attend a seminar. As usual my wife had given me a shopping list…of things available only in Bombay…and that she had to have… ‘so don’t forget them because of your silly office work’ kind of things. I was loitering about the crowded market areas trying to get at least a few of the things in that never ending list when someone touched my shoulder. Startled, I held tightly on to my bag and turned. The man looked familiar. Mr. Shastry! Said the man. Seeing my bewildered expression, he said, I am Manjunathappa. Oh my God! Manja! I exclaimed. You are alive? My words seemed to stun him. What sir, are you talking? He asked me. I am very much alive. Why?
I told him what had happened after his absence. He seemed astounded. I asked him why he was in Bombay and why he had not contacted his wife or her family. People thought that he had been murdered or had taken sanyas… Someone even claimed to have seen him in Banaras.
"What nonsense," exclaimed Manja. "I had left a letter to my wife that I was going to Bombay to try my luck at some other business. I had explained to her that since I was cheated of my inheritance by my own elder brother, I had to do something drastic to ensure good future for my kids…." I told Manja that his wife had definitely not got the letter and updated him on what was happening back home. When he heard that Prabha was thinking of killing herself and their kids, he was aghast. “Shastry Sir, please go and tell my wife not to do anything stupid… I will return in 6 months' time…once I finish my apprenticeship here, he pleaded… If I abandon this now…there is no future for my kids. I need to be here for another 6 months. We separated there.
I was too excited to do the shopping for my wife. I knew she wouldn’t mind if I did not get her anything. The news I would bear was going to be sweet enough…
I returned home like a valiant conqueror to be met by a sad faced wife. Before I could tell her about Manja, she told me that Prabha had tried to commit suicide and had been saved…just! Her parents had taken her away to their village. She probably would not survive another attempt. I told my wife about Manja and my wife just sat there with a finger on her nose, shaking her head in sadness.

My transfer came unexpectedly. Like all government officers, I too had to leave the town, bag and baggage, to a new destination… to set up a new house and to form new friends… And with time, I forgot Prabha and Manja…
I looked at Prabha, now… the confident, mature woman showing hardly the distress and diffidence of that young woman about to end her life… I finished my tea. I glanced around the press…About six or seven cubicles housed the staff… Beyond the office I could hear the quiet hum and thud of machinery… printing was going on… As I rose, I could not help it. ‘Er….Manja…?’ I asked gently. She dimpled happily. ‘He’s gone home for lunch. He will come at 4.30. Till then, I look after the press, uncle’. I sighed in relief. There had been no tragedy then… As I took leave, she bent and touched my feet. ‘Thank you, uncle,’ She said. ‘He told me how he had met you and sent his message through you, but, unfortunately, I behaved foolishly…and had to pay for it…”
“We are all puppets in the master’s hand, my child,” I consoled her… “Anyway, all’s well that ends well.”

Accepting her invitation to go to their house with my wife on Sunday, I walked out of the press, happily. I was happy God, the Supreme Editor, had proofread their story and marked STET in bold letters…or their story would have been tossed into the bin of tragedy!

 

Hi Friends,
Malathi was kidding... 'Stet' is the word written by an editor beside a correction done by a proofreader to say 'Let it Remain'. That is, the correction made by the proof reader must be ignored!
Though Malathi's explanation is quite fitting to the context!