Sitara Bua

 



20th May, 1976. 10a.m. The train stopped with a whistle and a jolt at the Old Delhi Railway Station Among the many passengers who alighted was our Sitara Bua, a 70-year-old woman with a tall and well-built frame, dressed in a crisp cotton saree. Her moony face radiated a glow that left many guessing her age. Her appearance also defied her nature. Gossiping was her hobby, money - food for her soul, creating discords in homes - her passion.

Bua looked around for known faces, but found none. She clearly remembered her brother, Ram Kumar, telling her on phone – Bebe (sister). Don’t worry, Narendra would be waiting at the station. The absence of her nephew made her angry, and the thought of spending her own money on travel further infuriated her. A scrooge never spends out of one's own pocket.

As she stood there lost, a coolie offered to carry her belongings and take her to the tonga stand for a small amount of Rs 5. 

But Bua was outraged. For her the amount to carry a trunk, 2 suitcases, 2 big bags and a basket was exorbitant.

 I will give only Rs.2. She stood firm. An argument followed. The winner was obviously our bargaining queen. Feeling proud, she followed the porter to the tonga stand. There her negotiation skills brought the fare from 4 to 2.

Nevertheless, the four rupees pinched her.  She made up her mind to retrieve them from her brother – her bhai ji. But little did she know that more surprises awaited her.

Sitara Bua lived in Hissar with her husband and four children. She would visit her brother's house whenever she needed money for her family. Ram Kumar, her brother, was a generous man who loved his only sister unconditionally. However, his wife, Triveni, never liked Sitara Bua’s visits. She always brought a torrent of demands and complaints. As soon as she would step in the house, she would pray’ God, please do something. Before hell breaks down on us, make her disappear.’ Luck was yet to shine on them.

Even all five of us scurried away at the sight of Sitara Bua. No one even dared to play pranks on her. Her crocodile tears would fall on us as blows on the palms. Bua was very evil and vicious. Her departure would come only after she was paid a hefty bribe.

We nurtured our humiliation as revenge within us. Desperately longed for an opportunity to strike. And this time fate did not disappoint us.

An urgent panic telegram from our uncle in Bhatinda sent our father rushing to him, with all of us, forgetting all about Bua’s arrival the next day. 

The house was left empty and locked.

On her arrival, Sitara Bua was mockingly welcomed by the big iron padlock. Frenzied, she slumped down on the pavement - her hands on her forehead. Grief and disbelief overtook her. ‘Bhai, where are you?’ Her tears gushed out. She wailed. The vehemence brought neighbours out. Everyone knew the ‘Bigdi Bua’ – the infamous aunt. “You have reaped what you sowed, Bua’ yelled one of them unsympathetically. And they all left.

This was too much for her - hands trembled, legs shook, energy drained away and radiance paled. She now looked like an old, withered woman of 80. She couldn’t imagine that she had been screwed up. All her life, she had been the one screwing up people. The thought of returning home like a defeated soldier was unbearable. Sitting helpless and humiliated, she realized that karma had finally caught up with her. The scrooge who had always been so quick to exploit others had finally been screwed. The irony was not lost on her, and she wept bitterly, her pride and dignity shattered.

The house listened quietly to all the stirrings of her mind, viewed everything that happened. It felt no empathy. She deserved this. It was relieved. A bad curse had been lifted from the house, never ever to return. 

The telegram fluttered at the table inside. Its secret which not many would ever know.

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