The Mind Creative
marriage was taken, was never known; but she seemed not
unhappy with her fate and their union produced two girls. Mofbee’s
wife was further sought to be burdened by the guilt of giving birth
to only girls but she quietly and firmly refused to have any more
children. This deceptively meek woman from the village made
sure Mofbee was given his three meals a day and walloped any
child who dared to throw stones after him. She could outshout
and out curse her mother in law and fought to have her daughters
sent to school, so they would not end up like her.
The oldest daughter, Manju, came
to learn English from Ma and it was
her piercing shriek merging with
the sudden screech of the
accelerator of the Ambassador car
that gave us a few seconds
warning of impending horror
unfolding down below. I had a
glimpse of the terror stricken face
of the driver just before his car
smashed first into Mofbee, then
into another car parked to the left;
the momentum carrying all three
to smash into the wall of the house
behind the second car.
Neither Mr. Madan nor Mofbee
survived the accident and it was
thought that the driver must have
accidentally put his foot down on
the accelerator instead of the
brake. I saw only two people
crying for Mofbee. One was his
wife; she wailed loudly, beating
her chest. The cynical neighbours
said that she cried because it was
worse being nobody’s wife than a madman’s. The thought that
she might have loved a man such as him was too ludicrous to be
considered.
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