Sanat Regmi is a Nepali author and editor. He has published six short story collections and is the recipient of the prestigious Mainali Katha Puraskar award.
On the plains of our Tarai, in virtually every village settlement exist one or two women of loose morals. Although treated in a civil way in public, these women are scorned behind their backs. The men in the villages refer to them as bhauji, or sister-in-law. But when a woman like this is called bhauji even by very young boys and old people, she is then referred to as a jagat bhauji, or sister-in-law of the world. In her absence, she is usually referred to as a chhinar – a whore.
In our village there was a jagat bhauji named Sabitari. Around thirty or thirty-two years old, she wore a shameless smile on her face, a red tika on her fair forehead, and sindur in her hair. On her body she wore a dhoti with a tight shirt; around her neck a copper amulet; and on her wrists bangles. Dressed this way, she roamed the village and helped people with various jobs. Someone was getting married or giving birth to a baby, Sabitari was present; someone needed help planting rice, Sabitari went to the fields; someone was ill, Sabitari became a nurse. If no one needed anything special, Sabitari wandered around the village and helped the women with their small, daily chores.
While Sabitari’s conduct was good in many regard, she had one very bad behavior: she flirted and joked in a vulgar way with the menfolk of the village, even though she was married. That’s why the villagers called her a chhinar. It was said that she had illicit relations not only with the older men, but also with boys who had just reached puberty.
Whenever Sabitari bhauji entered our home, my mother kept a cautious eye on me. If she tried to flirt with me, my mother said, “Look, Sabitari, you can hustle the whole world, but don’t touch my son.”
“Auntie, you’re scared for no reason,” Sabitari bhauji would say, laughing lewdly. “This son of yours is of no use to me. I need a man’s man, not a shy boy like him.”
Faced with her brazen dismissal of me, I was filled with a sense of inferiority. At the same time, I felt sharp anger and hatred toward her. Following Mother’s advice, I kept my distance from Sabitari, but she toyed with me like a cat plays with a mouse.
“O Ramesh brother, when are you going to be a man? Chanda Auntie is afraid of me for no reason. My Ramesh brother’s manhood has yet to rise.” She pinched my cheek with her tough hand while I glared at her. She looked back coquettishly and said, “Wow, brother-in-law. Now you’re gaining some manhood. I feel like crushing you in my arms, squeezing your whole body, but what can I do? I’m afraid of Chanda Auntie.” Laughing, she left.
“Whore bitch!” I spat, hatred boiling inside me.
*
Sabitari’s husband, Sukai Ahir, was a bone-thin, ill man with a limp, who did not have many friends. He had about an acre of land on which he grazed a buffalo and two cows. Before Sabitari came into his life, he had not been married for a long time. While single, he had suffered from all the difficulties that beset a man who has no wife to take care of the household, so he looked much older than his fifty years.
The villagers would always tease him. “Sukai, shouldn’t you get married? No house is a home without a wife. They say a house without a housewife is like a ghost’s dwelling.”
“What to do? Who’s going to give a daughter to a fifty-year-old like me?”
“You have to marry, Sukai. Someone dark, someone with only one eye, someone with a limp – anyone will do. All you need is someone to take care of the house. Why don’t you bring in that madwoman from Rampurwa?”
Listening to such talk, Sukai would become irate. “You rascals! You’re making fun of me? May God give you dark, blind, and lame wives!”
So when the same Sukai who had been the target of mockery suddenly ushered in a pretty, young wife, the whole village was stunned.
“How did this crippled old man capture this angel?”
“She’s just reached puberty – the fresh bud of an orchid.”
“How fair she is, Sukai’s wife, sparkling with such glitter. The cripple turned out to be very lucky. Where did he find this gem?”
The gem had been brought from Parwanpur. Her father had married her off at an early age to a man who died soon after the wedding. She blossomed into a teenager, but no one wanted to marry her because of her previous marriage. Around this time, Sukai entered her village asking for a girl, and he returned to his own village with Sabitari.
“This cripple can’t take care of a girl like that.”
“What beauty, what youth. An angel, yes, an angel she is.”
“This angel will surely fly away one day. She’s not going to remain shackled to the cripple.”
The speculations of the villagers remained just talk. Sabitari soon became a good wife and began managing Sukai’s household. In the morning, Sukai would milk his buffalo and cows and take the milk to sell at the market. Sabitari would feed grain and hay to the animals and refill their water, then cook food for her husband. Sukai would return from the market and go to work in the field. Sabitari would bring water and food to him. Both worked hard to manage their home life.
The rowdies of the village were very impressed with Sabitari’s beauty. Given the slightest excuse, they slithered up next to her, saying, “Sister, here I’ll help you. Sister, I’ll do this for you.” But Sabitari didn’t look at anyone with impure glances, and the villagers became jealous of Sukai’s luck.
Meanwhile, Sukai had become very contented with his married life. A new motivation and excitement were kindled inside him. Soon, he demolished his thatched hut and built a bigger house with a tiled roof. He then bought another buffalo and hired a servant to help in the field and the house.
After five years of married life, Sukai said, “Sabitari, you’ve come into my house a Laxmi, the goddess of wealth. Since you’ve arrived, my luck has been shining. I am completely, satisfied in almost every way. Only one lack remains. I wish we had a son.”
Sukrai’s talk made Sabitari shrink. For a moment she stared at the ground, then said in a sad voice, “When you go to the bazaar, get a pack of peanuts. I’ll grind it in milk, then you drink it. You’ve become very weak these days.”
Over time, Sukai’s desire for a son grew, but his strength did not. One morning, I was lying in the mango grove near their house. I had just returned from school in the city and was enjoying my summer holiday. The cool morning breeze had lulled me into a nice sleep when I was suddenly awakened by Sabitari’s screams and cries.
“Oh, Lord, the bastard butcher is killing me! Oh, father, I am dying!”
“You whore, you harlot, you’re bent on cutting my nose! Take this! Isn’t this what you want?! You slut, let’s see you whore some more!” Sukai’s thick stick landed heavily on Sabitari. I quickly got up and rushed over to them. Several people were already there. Sabitari had fallen to the ground, her body spotted with darkening bruises.
“What are you doing, Sukai dada?” someone asked. “How can you beat your wife like this?”
“She tells me that I am becoming impotent. But this chhinar is philandering with Lakhpat!”
The villagers understood. They counseled and calmed Sukai. Two women helped the severely beaten Sabitari to her feet and escorted her inside to a bed. One woman cooked onions and turmeric and applied the ointment to Sabitari’s bruises and wounds. ‘’What havoc you have created, Sabitari. The whole village is spitting.”
“What should I have done, sister? That eunuch can’t satisfy my body, but he’s always pining for a child, saying his lineage won’t continue. The bastard’s wish prompted me to become involved with Lakhpat. I was hoping that I’d have a son, but the bastard found out. His own body is so weak, and my burning youth – he should have understood and kept quiet. He wants my skin to play with, he wants a son, and he also wants honor. I have served him very well, and even when I was squirming with frustration, I let him play with me. He himself doesn’t have the strength to beget a son, so how can I give the bastard a son without sleeping with someone else? He cut his own nose today, and then made the whole village spit at me.”
After that incident, Sabitari became known as chhinar. Her shame had been put on public display, but she refused to be cowed. She turned aggressive and unpredictable toward Sukai. Mindful of the burden of household chores, the drudgery of farm work, and his own health, Sukai couldn’t kick her out. With the strength and determination of a man, Sabitari took over Sukai’s entire affairs.
Sukai began to shrink. He appeared saddened by both Sabitari and his married life. He went to the field in the morning, worked all day, and in the evening went to a hut near the village and became intoxicated with ganja and opium. Returning home at night, he ate whatever Sabitari offered him, then collapsed in a corner.
Sabitari’s repressed sexual needs began to burn like dry wood. Now she feared neither Sukai nor the opinion of the villagers. She started distributing her lust evenly, and everyone became ravenous for Sabitari bhauji’s unabashed generosity.
Sometimes, Sukai said in a very pitiful voice, “Sabitari, why do you insist on defiling your name? And why, along with yourself, do you want to push me into hell? It’s better you go somewhere else and find a husband. Free me from this.”
“You’re not going to get off so easily.” Sabitari’s voice trembled with rage. “I want you to burn every day, do you understand? I have turned into a harlot. Why? I wanted to give you a son to continue your lineage. But you exposed me in front of the whole village. You stripped me naked, so you watch and burn. The more you burn the more you squirm, the more my soul will be at peace.” Faced with such fierceness, Sukai withered.
Sabitari became a common well, where anyone who was thirsty could quench himself. Sabitari discriminated against no one, gave everyone equal satisfaction. The amorous old men of the village said, “Sabitari bhauji, we too are thirsty.” She would banter with them for their amusement, saying, “Brother-in-law, Sabitari is water from a gushing stream. You don’t have a throat muscular enough to contain this stream.”
Wherever Sabitari went, men’s voices called to her, and, smiling seductively, she showered pleasure upon them. The honorable men of the community said, “That woman is a complete whore.” The village wives said “Why does she hustle everyone so much? Is she going to seduce our men?” They told Sabitari, “Don’t come to our house with your bawdy ways.”
But totally unperturbed by such talk, Sabitari went to each house, helped people in their daily errands and participated in their joys and sadness. She was kind and generous. If she learned that a neighbor’s stove was cold and there wasn’t enough to eat, she immediately went to help her. If someone fell ill in the village and there was no one to nurse him, Sabitari did not hesitate to reach his bedside, fetch medicine from the village health post, give him his medicine, and attend to him until he got better.
Nanakau Pathak, for example, was forever indebted to Sabitari. One day he and his only son were at the garden east of the village. Nanakau Pathak had climbed a tree to pick some leaves for the goats, and his son was playing on the edge of a nearby pond. The child became attracted to the white lotuses growing in the pond. He reached out to pick them, and suddenly lost his balance and fell into the water. The pond was deep, so he started to drown. At that very moment, Sabitari was approaching the pond to wash her pitcher after relieving herself in a nearby field. She saw the boy and, tossing the pitcher to one side, tightened her dhoti at the waist, plunged in, and quickly brought him on land. He had swallowed a lot of water, so she pressed his stomach as Nanakau Pathak slid down from the tree and came running. The boy opened his eyes, and Sabitari smiled.
“Sabitari bhauji, I will never forget this kindness,” Nanakau Pathak said. “If you hadn’t saved him, my only son would be dead. The village might curse you, but I give you blessings: may you bathe in milk, may you produce numerous children.” Sabitari became serious and stared at Nanakau Pathak’s face.
*
On the one hand, Sabitari bhauji’s amorousness terrified the village wives. They feared her presence, never invited her to their homes. On the other hand, when their household chores became overwhelming or when someone became sick, they hoped she would appear. Without an invitation, and despite being shunned by everyone, Sabitari managed to help every needy home.
At that time, Ramdev Kurmi was considered one of the big men in the village. Because he was a landlord, be had become known as Big House Baba. But Ramdev’s wealth was matched only by his stinginess. He kept his family at arm’s length, depriving them of good clothes and good food. His son and daughter-in-law were forced to live by his strict rules; as a result, they came to resent him. Eventually, when Ramdev became old and weak, his son and daughter-in-law took over his household and started to neglect him. Even in this helpless state, Ramdev cursed his family, so they stopped caring for him completely. When Sabitari heard that the old man had become incapacitated, she went to see him. Entering his room, she had to cover her nose with the edge of her dhoti because of the stench. The old man was mired in his own urine and feces, and Sabitari felt like vomiting. But she suppressed her nausea, carried him outside, and washed and cleaned him. She then washed his bed in the pond and put it in the yard to dry out. After that, she nursed the old man every day.
When the villagers saw her caring for him in this way, they gossiped. “It’s not for nothing that Sabitari is nursing that Ramdev. She’s after the wealth he’s hidden.” But they were wrong.
Pleased with her care of him, old Ramdev one day took out his bag of jewelry and gave it to Sabitari. “Daughter,” he said, “my son and daughter-in-law turned out to be useless. But you have nursed me so well. That’s why this money I’ve saved I’m giving to you. Think of this as a gift from a father.”
“Big House Baba, what use do I have for your bag of jewelry after I’ve had to shed my honor, which is the greatest wealth a woman can ever have? Sabitari is sinful, is a whore, but she’s not greedy, Baba. Give your wealth to your son and daughter-in-law. They are your rightful heirs.” Sabitari’s eyes had become wet, and she returned home without accepting the bag.
The old man did not want to leave his wealth to his uncaring family, so he died with the bag of jewelry on his chest. The next day, the villagers who had gathered to take his corpse away saw that the bag was intact. Ramdev’s son picked it up and found gold necklaces, gold earrings, silver anklets, a necklace of silver coins, and gold coins: nearly fifty or sixty thousand rupees’ worth of jewelry. The son thought to himself, May God bless you, Sabitari. Didn’t you feel greedy for this wealth?
Yesterday, Nanakau Pathak arrived in the city from the village and told me, “Sabitari chhinar is dead. Very generous and kind she was. She gave us many things, made us obligated to her for many things. We hated her, and she loved us dearly. She managed Sukai’s household, served him completely. She served the whole village. She showered her fiery youth on the entire village. She was a river, a flooding river that reaches every home, creates havoc in the village, and leaves behind a soft, alluvial soil in which all the people flourish.”
Who was Sabitari bhauji? A morally loose woman? A goddess who served the village by bringing it hope for prosperity? A village-wife who satisfied the villagers’ needs? I don’t know. But she served the village with her mind and her body, and for that she received her name: chhinar.