#27 Draupadi’s Letter

Israel suspended the work permits of most Palestinian labourers in Oct. Indians became a top choice replace them. Tired of being jobless, 1000s of low skilled Indians migrated to war-torn Israel.

Welcome to the second edition of All Things Indian, where I unpack the complexities of contemporary India. Each post is a short piece of fiction based on real people I have seen, heard of and met during my decades of reporting. Each story will give you a short insight into the state of affairs in India today. 

Fact: Haryana, a north Indian state, has registered to send 10,000 men to work in Israel in the month of February 2024. It is also known for its skewed sex ratio that is forcing its men to “buy” brides from other Indian states.

When you told me you were leaving, I thanked God. Don’t get me wrong, you were pretty good to me. Better than your brother, at least. 

But since you left, I have eaten dal in the bigger bowl. That means a lot to me because I sleep better. 

Earlier, even if I reached for the bigger bowl, your mother would yell from outside the door “save some for the man who is slogging his ass off to find work and keep you happy”. I would hastily put the bigger bowl back and settle for the small one. 

Your job was to walk around, asking for work. “I can do good masonry, sir” “I am a good plumber, sir” “Hire me for a day, sir”

But, me? I already worked. Very hard. I woke up at 5 every morning to wash Mamta’s fat belly, bring her fresh fodder, cook roti and dal and sweep up in front of Rajni’s garage so she could pay me one hundred rupees on the 5th of every month.

Yet, your mother would insist that I save some dal for you. She always said I would understand the feeling when I became a mother, while scooping up dal from the bigger bowl.

You are my husband, and I am proud that you are in phorin. A foreign country. As, I suppose, I should be. At first, I asked, “is Israel phorin?” Your mother got irritated and said “yes”. I said isn’t America Phorin? She proudly said “but Israel is better phorin than America”. 

They say there is war going on in that place? Try to not get caught in the middle of it. I would have preferred if your brother went to work in Israel. Even if he didn’t return, I would probably not shed a tear. I would be sad, I suppose, as I should be. But, I would not shed a tear.

I never really like his breath on my face. He always smells like tharra. Cheap liquor.

You, on the other hand, you smelt like the old cotton of from our mattress. I kind of liked that. You were gentler too. I loved it when you would put your arm around my body, completely taking my small frame in your embrace.

But, all is not bad. After you left, your brother has begun to speak to me before sleeping. He asks if Mamta gives enough milk. I say “yes”. He dozes off. That’s at least a step forward, I think, no?

I overheard Babita saying Israel is dropping bombs on some other country? I wonder why the other country is not doing the same? Perhaps that country is like me. Unable to do anything when attacked. I sincerely tried, but failed. When my baba told me I was to be married off to two brothers in Hisar, I cried. He asked me to shut up and said it is better than being married to four brothers.

“I am only 15, baba. Let me at least turn 16,” I said. He didn’t listen.

”I promise I will never ask where amma went, or why she left us,” I said. He didn’t respond.
 
I threw steel tumblers at him. He dodged them but didn’t budge. 

One day, when he was too drunk to even walk straight, I pushed him into a filthy ditch. The next day, he sobered up, came home, washed himself, dressed in his red shirt and brought me to your house. 

Your mother gave him cash in an envelope. “You are married”

He left.

The day you left, I saw your mother frantically drawing lines on the walls. There were many vertical lines beside each other. I thought she was counting the days of your return, but later found out that she was counting the months she would receive money from you. She was whispering to Sita didi about buying a TV in a few months, with the money you send.

After you buy your mother a TV, could you buy me a phone? TV is for everyone. I would love to have my own screen and watch whatever I feel like. 

I might even watch the war waging in the country you are working. Seeta didi told me it is pretty horrific. I would love to see the bombs blasting on the streets, but not the mothers crying for their dead children. I would love to see well built men wielding fancy guns, but not an orphan child wandering around in search of its dead parents. I would love to see planes flying high above the rubble with a whoosh, but not the buried hospital down below. Like I said, I will watch whatever I feel like. 

I doubt your brother will want anything but booze, when you send money. Your mother plans on telling him that you are not sending any money, that will keep him from pestering her for twenty rupees every day. She fears though that Bhima, who owns the liquor shop, will tell your brother. I heard her pray that it shouldn’t come to that.

If you send some extra money, I will buy Mamta a bell to tie around her neck. She is, after all, my best friend in his town. 

It has barely been a month since you left. I must not pressurise you. Take your time. Do send the money next month. I shall wait. 

Do tell me about your life there. What type of house do you live in? Who are your friends? Did you find someone to love? Someone to share your bed with? Did you think of me in all these days? 

I would love to see your response to this letter. Because this is surely the letter I would have posted to you, if I knew how to post. This is surely the letter I would have written to you, if I knew how to write.

Yours,

Draupadi.