When the fruit vendor suggested to Raju that he present himself as a candidate to work in Rukmini’s house, Raju, the latter hesitated at first. He doubted whether the woman would hire him but decided to test his luck. Now, with Rukmini asleep, her eyes closed, plastered on his chest, Raju realised that his life had taken an unexpected turn—one he wouldn’t have imagined even in his wildest dreams.

Rukmini seemed to be sound asleep, her head perched on Raju’s broad chest, strands of her hair scattered across the white bedsheet. Raju recalled exactly what had happened the night before. His headache had worsened; he remembered now. Rukmini had sat on the edge of his bed, asking if he needed something—perhaps a glass of hot water or the pills that would ease his pain. He had passed out without knowing that Rukmini had planted herself beside him.

Remorse kicked in, as always, for being intimate with his mistress. A clueless Raju, even after spending intimate weeks with Rukmini, couldn’t yet figure out what to make of the relationship with her. Whenever they silently observed these cherished moments, Raju’s awareness slowly drifted to the derelict village of Ghachok, where his wife toiled to pursue their dreams—her efforts devoted to increasing cattle and improving the production of paddy and maize.

Living with another woman was a betrayal, a stab at his wife’s conviction that her man was not a cheat. These recurring waves of guilt always shrunk him, leading him to believe that his closeness with Rukmini came at his family’s expense. But if he decided to run away from Rukmini, she would once again be a loner, which, Raju knew, would pave the path of depression. Rukmini needed Raju more than he needed her. Despite their proximity, on both emotional and physical levels, Raju had not yet gathered the audacity to remove “Madam” as he addressed her. This always left Rukmini in awe, but she never voiced that he call her by another name.

The pale, warm rays streamed in through the window onto Rukmini’s face. In an hour or so, the traffic outside would produce a cacophony of sounds to everyone’s distaste. She was still asleep, the sound of her soft breaths piercing the otherwise silent space. On impulse, Raju stretched his hand to block the light off her face, then cupped her cheeks with his other hand. Rukmini’s eyes opened because Raju’s coarse palms might have tickled her skin, or she might have had enough of sleep. She flashed a smile the first thing as she opened her eyes. A broad smile materialised on Raju’s face.

“What if I cook for you today?” Rukmini found herself asking Raju as they returned to bed with cups of tea.

“I’m the one working for you, madam,” Raju said, his customary devotion to work still apparent. But Rukmini could discern a hint of humour, so she playfully stroked his chest and said, “I can’t let an ailing man work. Your headache, I’m sure, is not cured yet.”

“You haven’t cooked in ages, so I can’t take the risk of letting you handle the kitchen.”

As soon as Raju’s words dropped to the floor, Rukmini realised that cooking had seemed futile to her after her husband’s death. But now, where was this energy coming from? Thanks to Raju and his companionship, energy flowed back into her life.

“It’s true that I haven’t cooked in a long time, but you can’t underestimate me. Mister, you don’t even know how good I am at cooking,” Rukmini said, casting a defiant gaze at Raju.

This morning, Raju thought to himself, was unlike any other day. The two were perfectly comfortable with each other, their conversations steady, Rukmini’s flirtatious remarks finding their way into their pointless talks. Rukmini thought Raju was good with words for an uneducated man who had spent most of his life among dull farmers and shy girls.

Rukmini envisioned him sitting on a stool at the bar, one hand holding a glass of beer and the other holding her hand as she darted her eyes across the dancing crowd. When a tall guy with a beard would approach her on her way to the washroom, she would point her finger at Raju and say, “I’m with my man.” Raju would offer a wry smile to send off the tall guy. Rukmini knew that Raju would adapt to the lavishness that surrounded him, that he would learn to claim everything around him was not just Rukmini’s but his too.

Raju started truncating the occasional phone conversation with her wife, telling her he had tasks and errands to run. On the contrary, he lived a grand life with Rukmini doing most of the chores now. Raju no longer called her “Madam.” “Ruku,” he would call, and she would present herself before Raju, sometimes with a cup of coffee and other times leaning in for a peck on his forehead.

The entire neighbourhood abhorred the woman Rukmini had become. Though they couldn’t lob insulting remarks to her face, she knew that when the women gathered in circles to gossip, the subject matter never escaped the duo of Raju and Rukmini. When Raju and Rukmini navigated the streets, the elderly men eyed them in disgrace from their balconies, mumbling hateful words and shaking their heads vigorously.

Those who were close to Rukmini’s husband no longer talked to her, and if they accidentally ran into her, their eyes bore an expression that they had never known her at all. It didn’t bother Rukmini that Urmila aunty no longer passed her a bowl of chicken pasta she often made for lunch.

One day, she went to a beauty studio for eyebrow threading. When she placed herself on the reclining chair, a woman in charge said, “Sister, I saw you walking with the man the other day. The man had come here looking for a job a few months ago. How did you come to know him?”

An infuriated Rukmini ignored the girl, but the girl wouldn’t stop asking. “Does he work for you, sister?” the girl asked as she proceeded to thread.

To everyone’s surprise, Rukmini grunted and stood upright. Then, without saying a word, she left the studio. In bed that night, she embraced Raju for longer than she used to. As for Raju’s family, they were content because Raju flooded them with money they thought was impossible. The house saw new accessories. Raju’s daughter made rounds of the village in new outfits. Indrawati was always looking to add some materials to the house whenever she received money.

The one thing Raju couldn’t understand was Indrawati’s indifference to his absence. He had not returned to his village once since he started living in Rukmini’s house. On the occasional phone calls, she never asked him when he would be coming home. Indrawati must have guessed that the sum of money he earned required hard work and unrelenting efforts. Only Raju knew how the money came effortlessly. He knew receiving loads of money from Rukmini’s hands was not right, but he had no other option, and she insisted on him sending the money to his wife.

There was an unspoken rule between Raju and Rukmini—they never discussed their future or Raju’s family in the village, but Rukmini had been drafting a plan in her mind all along. One fine sunny day, as Rukmini basked in the sunlight on the terrace, sipping her tea, she would broach the topic of Raju’s young daughter. She would tempt him by telling him that bringing her to Pokhara for studies would help the girl become smart. As she told him this, she would inwardly relish the odds of the small girl calling her “mom”. And if it were to happen, Indrawati would be robbed of everything, but perhaps the money she received would double.

This is the fifth and final part of Gautam’s series of stories after ‘The servant’s entry’, ‘Threads of hope’, ‘A day out in Pame’ and ‘Learning the city way’. Gautam is a writer from Pokhara.