CHAPTER SEVEN: C’EST LA VIE!
During this entire episode and the pandemonium that had ensued, since the ward boys had entered the house to forcibly sedate and transport my aunt to the mental asylum, there was one gentleman in his early 50s who was standing in the crowd, and observing everything. We were all too occupied with the events, to even notice his presence or question where he had showed up from.
But all eyes landed on him once the ward boys managed to escape the room, and gasping for breath, came and stood in front of this gentleman, with a sign of pure resignation in their eyes. He had a certain amount of sophisticated composure about him, usually lacking in many men in that locality.
The man had a brief exchange with these four men, and spoke with such a soft voice that people in the crowd could not make out what was being discussed. My father approached the gentleman and only then, we understood that he was actually the warden and a doctor from that mental home. He apologetically informed my father that it would not be possible for him to admit my aunt as an inpatient, since she was ‘too violent to control’ and their facilities were not equipped to handle patients of such extreme condition. My father insisted for a while, but we had a feeling that he heaved a sigh of relief and didn’t push it for too long. Soon, the doctor and his four ward boys, after receiving some first aid treatment for their own injuries, boarded their medical van and set out on their way back to where they had come from.
But before he stepped inside the van, the doctor pulled my father aside and whispered to him;
– “This case seems unusual and more than just a mental issue. A mental patient can draw power up to 1.5 or 1.6 times their own physical strength, due to instantaneous hormonal releases, but from what we have just witnessed, the way she fought us, it would be at least 5 times the strength a woman can naturally generate, possibly even more. I don’t think a doctor can help you. It won’t be fair for me to say this, but you should consider other options!”
The van departed soon after this, keeping a house full of people in utter confusion about what should be the next step. The part of ‘other options’ he stated, was both unclear and disturbing to many people in the audience. This brought us back to the routine that would be followed for the next few days. Every morning, my aunt would wake up like a normal person, all modest and soft spoken, calling people like the neighbourhood friendly auntie, and in her soft feminine voice, would plead with them to open the door and let her out. But from the afternoon, things would change and she would assume her aggressive, even hostile incarnation, and shout obscenities at people, that included those she knew and those she didn’t. This part would always come with a deep masculine voice, blood red eyes and an unbelievable display of physical strength.
Meanwhile, some other nasty eventualities came into everyone’s notice as well. My aunt had not taken a bath since the day she was locked in, nor had she asked for, or found a way to go to the toilet to relieve herself. But of course, that does not mean that she was not relieving herself. In fact, the room itself had patches of human excreta by then, and her sari was no longer the wonderful traditional garment to cover a woman’s body, but a mere piece of dirty, soiled cloth, largely torn and barely attached to her body. The room had the disgusting stink of faeces that numbed our olfactory senses.
She was now being fed four times a day and each time the portion was larger than the previous time, till the point came when the servings were left for her in containers meant for the family, rather than for individuals. And whatever was served, mostly rice and dal, but also the occasional curry, she would gobble it up without leaving a trace of grain behind. Water was being served to her in a bucket and she would lift the whole bucket and drink from it.
My uncle was often found sobbing in solitude and my dad, generally looked upon as the ‘most rational, no nonsense guy’, had indeed run out of options. The house was now resembling a zoo with people from nearby areas coming to check out the ‘Bhoot Boudi’ [Ghost Sister-in-law] that they had heard about. It was becoming so embarrassing for us, that we decided to keep the main gate shut and prevent any such free press. Some of our relatives had also started to come in, to offer their sympathies as well as to catch a glimpse of the circus going on. My other uncle, the elder brother to my father and my uncle, showed up with his family and decided to stay and help the cause. Although his major contribution was to sit near the main gate and ceaselessly smoke away his beedis (local mini cigarettes) and then ask one of the kids to go to the nearby shop and buy replenishments for his stock.
The house had suddenly turned into a tourist spot!
Coming up next: CHAPTER EIGHT
