Black Face

Black Face

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Genre - Drama, Adult

• by Author

She hurried up the muddy pathway and reached the main road. She looked to her left and saw the sun setting on the distant horizon. She desperately hoped the bus was late. The time had quickly slipped away while she was gossiping with her village friends. This was the only time she allowed herself to smile and laugh a little. 

She had lost her parents at an early age and was raised by her aunt. Whether her aunt raised her or she raised her aunt was debatable. Her day started at five thirty in the morning with the cleaning of the house and then fetching water from the nearby well, followed by cooking breakfast for the entire family—her aunt, uncle, and their two children. At nine, she left to work in the fields, taking the only bus that left at 9.15 and returning home via the same bus in the evening at 5.30

She sighed and looked in the opposite direction of the street, willing the bus to appear. The lengthening shadows and the gradually increasing darkness confirmed her suspicion. She had missed the bus. The distance from the fields to her home was six kilometres, and once in a while she had traversed this distance on foot.

She pursed her lips and started walking in the direction of her home. The shrill voice of her aunt rang in her head, and she walked faster. As she mulled over what was going to be a difficult evening, the sound of a motorcycle engine roared close to her. She turned to look back and found a bike had drawn close to her.

"Should I drop you off at the village?" the bike rider asked in a soft but edgy voice. She cautiously looked in his direction. His skin was dark, and she could only make out the contours of his face. His eyes stood in contrast to his skin colour and surroundings. They shone brightly, like the stars in the night sky.

He conveyed his impatience by pressing the throttle, almost threatening to ride away. Lack of choice and the need to reach home urgently overruled her safety instincts, and she sat on the bike. He changed gears, released the clutch, and accelerated the bike. His actions were sure and swift. The motion of the bike made her lean forward, and she held tightly to the carrier. The smell of grease from his body hit her. The thought that he too, was returning from a day of hard labour comforted her. She allowed herself to relax a little and looked at his hands. His muscles were lean, young, and taut. There were dark stains on his hands and his clothes. Perhaps he worked in a garage, she thought to herself.

His clear voice broke her reverie. "We have reached!" She had completely forgotten about her distressed state and secretly wished the ride were a bit longer. She got down and, for lack of proper words to express her gratitude, asked his name.

“Kundan,” he replied, his voice lucid and sharp. She stood there for a moment, then turned and rushed to her home. "What is your name?" Kundan asked behind her. She stopped, slowly turned and replied - "Chumki," and disappeared into the nearby alley.

"So, the princess has come," the shrill voice of her aunt greeted her. "Kahan munh kala karwa rahi thi? Only girls with loose character are out this late." The barbs continued, and Chumki launched into her evening routine.

At nine p.m., Chumki hit the bed. She was sixteen years old, and her life was as predictable as the brightness of the sun and the darkness of the night. The bike ride was one of the rare, eventful incidents of her life that gave her joy and pleasure. She had barely begun to reminisce about the ride when exhaustion took over and she fell asleep.

The next few days were no different; neither did she expect anything different. On one of these evenings, on her way back home, her eyes fell upon Kundan. A faint secret glee burst into her. A few more days went by, and she saw him again. She wished for these rare coincidences when he would ride past the bus and their gazes met

And, then it happened. She missed her bus again and had to take the long walk to her home. A couple of hundred metres into her journey, her heart thumped upon hearing the sound of the approaching motorcycle. Kundan stopped beside her and looked straight ahead, his hand pressing the throttle. She slowly walked the few steps towards him and sat on the bike.

"Take a little longer this time," Chumki said in a soft voice. He nodded and accelerated. Her grip on the carrier wasn't tight; it served the purpose of balance this time around. Their bodies relaxed and her arm grazed his back. Both experienced serene delirium. That night, Chumki had trouble sleeping, and Kundan aimlessly wandered the streets on his motorcycle.

Days passed and turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Saturday was the only day Chumki didn't go to the fields. Her field friends visited her and told her about the fair on the outskirts of the village.

"Roller coaster rides, magic shows, wild animals, and all the fanfare are going to be there, Chumki," her friends said exultantly but in hushed tones, lest her aunt overhear them.

"I can't come. Aunt won't allow me," Chumki replied with a tinge of sadness. She had barely uttered the words when her aunt came out and shouted in her shrill voice.

"What is happening there, girls?" One of the girls stepped forward and told her about the fair and requested that she allow Chumki to join them. The other girls joined the chorus and pleaded with her aunt. Chumki remained quiet and continued washing the clothes. It was one thing to say no to Chumki and another to refuse the collective appeal of her friends. Reluctantly, she gave her consent, but not before throwing another pile of clothes in Chumki's direction to wash.

Together in the evening, Chumki and her four field friends left for the village fair. Halogen lights lit the outer boundary of the fair, and the tube lights illuminated the majority of the inner area of the fair. The little, colourful lights blinking at regular intervals adorned the various stalls. The air was filled with the smell of sweet delicacies and the sound of children running and screaming, hawkers shouting out aloud, and the speakers blaring old Bollywood movie songs.

Chumki and her friends strolled around different stalls, checking out bangles and anklets. After the little shopping spree and a tour of the fair, they hopped onto the roller coaster. They feasted on some spicy and sweet dishes and looked around for other attractions. A few metres away, they saw the hoarding - The Well of Death. 

Intrigued, the girls decided to check out the place. They were ushered inside a wooden structure. Inside, 25–30 steps led to a circular gallery at the top. The gallery could accommodate around 30 odd people. The sight from the top was akin to looking down into a well from the top. The shape of the well was that of an inverted cylinder, narrow at the bottom and wider at the top, with a height of 20 meters. The interiors of the well were made of wood.

Everyone in the crowd waited with bated breath for the action to begin. In a few minutes, the door of the well opened, and a rider clad in black from top to bottom with his face hidden underneath the helmet drove a motorcycle in. The door behind him closed, and the stage was set. He looked around and upwards, scanning the crowd, and his eyes fell upon Chumki. The flitting of his eyes stopped. He slowly removed his helmet and looked up in her direction. Chumki's eyes fell upon him, and her heart popped into her mouth, and she gasped audibly, "Kundan."

It was the first time she saw him clearly and in bright lights. His eyes shone intensely. His face was gaunt with a prominent jawline. His body had no fat, only muscle. Either way, fat was a luxury for most in this part of the land.

The lights dimmed, and Kundan tossed the helmet aside. The stunt was dangerous even with the helmet, but with Chumki around, he wanted her to see him in action. He put the bike in action and circled for a while before launching the bike into the climb. Adeptly, he manoeuvred the bike around the well, gaining distance and height. The crowd was spellbound.

Chumki stood there, looking in a daze. Kundan was now rapidly gaining speed as he climbed the wooden walls. The impression of the tyres was visible on the wooden surface. The sound of the engine echoed in the well and reverberated inside everyone. Soon, Kundan was a metre away from the top, and his eyes pierced through Chumki's every time he crossed her. She felt a strange but strong pull towards him; she held onto the railing tightly to steady her nerves. Kundan was now circling the well at 20 metres height; a slight misstep and he could come crashing down. 

As the crowd applauded his stunt, he gradually began the descent. Chumki's friends raved about his daredevilry. Chumki had lost interest in the fair. The next hour was a blur as she went through the motions. She longed to be alone with her thoughts.

The next day, she worked tirelessly in the fields. It was no different the next day either. It was the fifth evening since the day of the village fair as she waited for the bus to arrive. In the distance, she saw the bus approaching. It came to a screeching halt in front of her. She extended her arm to reach for the bus but pulled it back. The bus left without her. 

She turned and walked towards her home. She had barely covered a hundred metres when she heard the rumble of a bike; her ears perked up and her heart thumped wildly. She didn't bother thinking about the coincidence. Soon enough, Kundan was by her side. Neither said a word. She sat on the bike, and Kundan put the bike in motion.

  The bike zoomed across the deserted street. The space between their bodies was non-existent. Chumki realised they had crossed her village, but she remained silent. Kundan slowed down and veered the bike into a narrow lane that led into the fields. He stopped underneath a tree.

It was twilight. The sky glowed with a fiery reddish-orange as the sun sank into the earth and the shades of the night sky shot through. Both alighted from the bike and stood facing each other. They looked deep into each other’s eyes and felt dizzy. Kundan took a step forward, closing the distance between them, and Chumki stepped back. A few steps and Chumki's back hit the trunk of the tree.

Her hands gripped the trunk for support. Kundan placed his hands on hers and leaned forward, kissing her full on the lips. Desire f lowed through his mouth into hers, and she kissed him back passionately. Their eager and hungry mouths fed each other. His hands ran across her supple body, and she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. His mouth sank into her breasts, and she gripped his hair tightly. Their young and impatient bodies burned with desire. They shed their clothes as their eyes roamed over each other's naked bodies. 

 He pressed his bare body against hers, skin on skin, and looked into her eyes. Her eyes acquiesced, and she opened herself up. The bark of the tree bit into her body, bruising her back, but it only added to the forbidden pleasure. He entered her, and she wrapped her legs around his. A million stars shot through every pore of their being. Time froze, and the transformation of the evening into the night stopped. The birds stopped chirping, and the gods watched from up above. The lovemaking was raw and beautiful, pure and blasphemous.

Both lay on the ground in each other’s arms, looking up into the sky. Time was in motion again, and the stars started filling up the night sky. Chumki realised she was late for home, but there was no panic inside her.

She got up and dressed. Kundan, too, followed suit. He rode her to her home and left. The moment she stepped inside the house, her aunt launched into her rant.

"Where on earth have you been, you shameless girl?" Her aunt screamed. Her mouth fell open at the sight of Chumki's face. "Hey Bhagwan! What did you do? Where did you get yourself a black face?" Chumki listened silently and disappeared inside to take a bath.

Her jaw dropped as she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her aunt's comments were not metaphorical; she literally had black marks on her face. She stepped out of her clothes and inspected her body in the mirror. The impressions of Kundan's black and greasy fingers were all over her body. The irony wasn't lost on her. She had after all gotten a kala munh. She smiled to herself and thought of getting a kala munh again.

 

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