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Two women strode up the dusty main road of Naopara village. The grey clouds of monsoon threatened to come down in a downpour at any moment. Anita, the older matronly woman, with a tight bun, walked with her chest pumped like the leader of a marching group. She had the bearing of a rule maker. A conversation about the upcoming meeting at their destination brought out the animated best of the younger woman, Monami. Her trusting face changed colour with every emotion. Soon, the first droplets of rain made it to their faces.

Monami rummaged through her oversized sling back, looking for her rain gear. By the time she unfurled her umbrella, the rain was crashing down on the hot earth of late afternoon, rapidly forming puddles. Lifting her peach chikankari salwar with one hand, she balanced her umbrella with the other. It was barely enough to cover both of them. 

“Come closer, you’ll get wet Anu di,” Monami exclaimed.
“We are used to a little rain here and there. You cover your head well, you don’t want to fall sick,” Anita said with a hint of pride and teasing. She was a seasoned field agent working with a non-profit organisation. The group focused on teaching livelihood skills and managing microfinance for rural women in West Bengal. Monami was an intern she was assigned to train.

“I wonder if the women will turn up in this rain,” Monami mused.
“It is the monthly meeting for the group to pay dues and take loans. The ones who need loans will make all others come even in torrential rain.” A thin smile spread across Anita’s round face. The smile reminded Monami of her father. He had smiled the same way when Monami visited him at his comfortable government bungalow in Jamshedpur to tell him that she was going to work for the NGO. “Why are you doing this?” he had asked when she turned down a cushy corporate job offer, to which she had replied that she wanted to do something different.

Within the first few days of her internship, Monami was familiar with the rules of the self-help groups when it came to loans. In five villages, groups of up to fifteen women acted as collective entities. Each member deposited certain monthly savings and took turns taking loans against the savings. Everyone had to pay their monthly dues, or else no one got a loan. The pressure and accountability to pay in time was huge but the easy access to cash for an otherwise marginalised group made the system attractive to these women.

The women came into the local club one by one, late due to the rain. They incessantly chattered about the weather and the crops. The ceiling fan hung still, owing to the long power cut. Some of the members carried their hand-held fans that they motioned to lessen the oppressing humidity. Monami sat cross-legged on the floor, making entries into her register when the voices of the women fell silent. She instantly knew Anu must have entered the room. Monami looked up. Anu made her way to a corner and adjusted her saree as she sat down on the floor. Two women in the group sat close to Anu but the rest looked away. Anu’s bright eyes met Monami’s. They exchanged a smile. Anu had the demeanour of a woman but her masculine frame and deep baritone set her apart. She was the only Hijra Monami met in the all-women groups. 

Monami had asked Anita about Anu a few months ago. 
“The group was short of the minimum requirement of ten members and Anu had stepped in. There was a lot of mediation from our NGO before the other women let her into the group. With time though, she has made some friends in the group,” Anita had shared.

The meeting started. Monami felt like a teacher, calling out the names of each member from her register. One by one the women paid their dues, like performing parts of a sacred ritual. Until the sixth one, Malini. A volley of angry words was shot at Malini for missing her payment for the month. Malini defended herself citing it was a tough time with her husband’s illness, to which the women objected all at once. Almost everyone claimed to have a sick person at home, yet they paid in time. Malini was on the verge of tears. Anu, who had been silently watching till then said, “Leave her alone, I’ll pay the dues on her behalf this month,” Anu’s voice boomed.

A lull descended. Malini looked more shocked than relieved. “Anu didi, I will pay you back in two weeks. You see, I am waiting for my embroidery payment from the tailor. Don’t you worry, I’ll pay you back,” she kept repeating.
“I’m not worried, I know you will pay me back,” said Anu.

The meeting concluded. The ones who got a loan or were hoping to get one in the following meetings bubbled with energy. With dreams of buying a new sewing machine, or paying for a wedding, they dispersed to their respective homes.

As Monami and Anita were putting on their sandals, Anu approached them. 

“Didi, it’s still raining. Why don’t you come to my place for some tea?” she addressed Anita while smiling at Monami.

The two co-workers exchanged glances and a nod. It had become customary for them to enjoy Anu’s tea after the meetings in this village. A few minutes of amble brought them to Anu’s home at the far north end of the village. The lone tin-roofed cement house stood facing a huge banyan tree with roots hanging everywhere. Rainwater streamed down the hanging roots like tiny waterfalls. Beyond the house stood the dense jungle that villagers did not venture into at night. The row of houses in the village was visible from the veranda but was far enough for Anu to stay out of its inhabitants’ business.

Monami had envied the privacy of Anu’s house since the first time she had come for tea. Compared to her shared hostel room with occupants who came and went at odd hours, Anu’s home looked like an oasis. Anu gestured towards the toilet to Monami as soon as they arrived, which Monami appreciated. Chugging litres of water to beat the heat and the scarcity of public toilets in villages was a dreadful combination. 

The power cut in the village continued. Anita and Monami sat on the veranda on straw stools. They watched the rain diminish to a drizzle as Anu brought tea. The hostess fussed over the kind of biscuits her guests would like and finally served both sweet and savoury ones. 

“Didi, will they consider me for the assistant’s role at the NGO? I have passed the eighth standard,” Anu asked.
“I didn’t know you were interested. I will talk to madam and see what I can do,” Anita pressed her purse, trying to hide her surprise.
“How is your mother doing now?” Anita asked between sips of hot chai.
“Much better now. My sister called and said that Ma can walk around, it seems like the medicines worked,” Anu said.
“That’s great! You took care of her at the right time,” Anita praised Anu with genuine warmth.
“I had to, she is my mother. It is bad enough that my father won’t let me anywhere near the house. Money was the only way I could help with.” Anu anguished.
“Did your father say anything when you paid the bills at the hospital?” Anita asked.
“No. He hasn’t spoken to me since I joined the Hijra group, ten years ago. My sister told him privately that I would pay and he just kept mum.”
“Ishh!” Pity escaped Monami’s lips without much thought. Anita and Anu stared at Monami to which the young woman’s cheeks started turning red. Anu wore the smile of a warrior etched with many gashes.
“It’s okay, I’m doing my best and that’s more than enough. Since I joined the Hijra group, I have had friends. We make enough money from singing and dancing at celebrations to have food on my plate,” Anu said to ease Monami’s embarrassment.
“Performing only at celebrations now? No trains and traffic crossings?” Anita asked.
“No Didi, most in our group did not like the train and traffic crossing business. Last month our group got into a mess. Susheela got frustrated on not having earned anything since morning and flashed at a passenger at the station. They called the police. After a lot of hassle and a fat bribe, we got off. Susheela got a good bashing, our guru does not promote this type of behaviour. Plus, some of us have picked up singing quite well by now. Our guru even trained us; she is a talented one.”
“Oh god! Yes, I’ve heard such stories of flashing,” Anita commented.
“Yes, but very few in the group are like this,” Anu defended.
“Actually, I have always wondered what it looks like down there, for you guys,” Anita said with a sly smile.

The words blew the light out of Anu’s face but she recovered in a second. She knew how to survive in the world.
“I can show you if you want,” she said in a casual voice, half-smiling.
“No! Please don’t!” Monami shrieked. She tried to fathom the coarseness of the scene that could unravel in front of her as her heart thumped rapidly against her thin, childlike frame. Her mind was rattled at Anita’s allusion.

Anita seemed torn for a moment, trying to decide between preserving her image in her protege’s eyes and quenching the thirst of her curiosity.
“I was joking,” Anita finally said between mouthfuls of cashew biscuits.
“You tell me Monami didimoni, how are the wedding preparations going for you?” Anu queried, trying to change the subject. Monami was relieved. Anu always got her.
“It’s going well Anu didi, the wedding will happen from our home in Kolkata.  My father has booked the venue. The menu is almost done. Bijoy is coming home for the wedding in a month,” Monami babbled.

The mention of the wedding brought out the kind of enthusiasm in the group that only weddings can. Anita and Anu went on to ask Monami about the details of the nuptials. Which caterer did they book? Where was the venue? Was her wedding trousseau ready? It stopped raining. Soft sunrays of the setting sun peeked through the clouds. The two colleagues thanked Anita and set out for the bus stand.

Right when a bus pulled in, Monami remembered something. Anita boarded the bus while Monami excused herself and sprinted back to Anu’s home as dusk set in. Layers of darkness around the Banyan tree enveloped the house. The soft glow of candles emanated from the windows.  Anu was moving around the house offering burning incense sticks to her deities and nature gods. Smoke pirouetted from the sticks, leaving a trail of sandalwood fragrance behind her. The distant sound of blowing conch shells from the village reverberated. 

“Anu didi?” Monami called softly from one end of the veranda.
“You? Did you forget something?” Anu enquired as she paced towards her from the other end.
Monami pulled out a maroon card with golden motifs of a bride and groom etched into it.
“Yes, my wedding card. Please come. I have invited my colleagues from the NGO, you can come with them,” Monami said.
Anu’s fingers trembled as she held the card.
“Yes, of course,” she said looking down at the envelope, not meeting Monami’s eyes.
 A promise never to be kept.  Monami was not ready to give up.
“Or you can come the day before, to join me at the sangeet ceremony. It would be just my close family and friends then. Everyone knows about you,” she said with the same zest as she had about the wedding. 

Anu flashed a smile that lit up the dusk. She touched the girl's chin and then her own lips.
“Yes, I will,” Anu said. This time she meant it.
 

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ⁱChikankar i- A delicate, traditional embroidery style from Lucknow, India
ⁱⁱDi - Elder sister, a common way to address women older than oneself in the Indian subcontinent
ⁱⁱⁱHijra – A term used in the Indian subcontinent to refer to eunuchs, intersex people, or transgender people
^ivDidi - Elder sister, a common way to address women older than oneself in the Indian subcontinent
^vDidimoni- An affectionate, respectful way to address a young woman in Bengali
^viSangeet - Music and dance celebration held before the wedding day