I Left Cat Behind

I have mentioned that Ma fell ill when I was very young. Gradually, her condition worsened and she underwent multiple surgeries that left her drained, listless—a shadow of her beautiful and vivacious self. Baba was constantly worried, and I hid my worry from both. I got used to running saline drips, giving coramine injections if Ma showed signs of sinking, staying up nights to keep an eye.

I didn’t know then the impact this had on my parents. They saw my anxiety, exhaustion and forced cheerfulness, and planned something for me I had not dreamed of. They decided to marry me off as soon as I completed my 12^th board exam. Baba knew that our economic resources were fast dwindling, and he would probably not be able to see me through a higher education. So, one day in the April of ’89, I was told that I would be married in September of the same year—a few months short of my 18^th birthday.

I was speechless. But, for the first time in my life, I found my parents adamant. Baba took me aside and told me if I did not see how worried Ma was and did I not want to take away that anguish. She would rest in peace if she knew I was studying, getting adequate rest, leading the life of a normal 18-year old. I agreed to marry whoever they wanted me to. A family friend had approached Baba and spoke about his friend who had a son working in the TOI, Bombay. Baba spoke to my would-be father-in-law who agreed to let me continue with my education. That decided the matter, and the date was fixed for the 27^th of September. I was to be married to someone. I didn’t really care who I married. If I had to leave all this behind, it made not a whit of difference to me who I left it for.

That is how I came to leave Cat behind. I think her sixth sense told her that I would be gone. In the last few months, as I got down to cleaning my room, throwing away all that I had collected over the years, she would sit on my study table and watch me unblinkingly. Then, she began to behave the way she used to when I had first gotten her as a baby. She would climb into my lap and refuse to be put down, digging in her claws and often scratching me if I tried to forcefully evict her from my lap. I would rip out her claws from where they were stuck in my frock or shorts and lock myself in the bathroom. I wept as I have never wept before or since. I did not let my parents see this anguish. How could I tell them that I was leaving myself behind? I was leaving my baby behind. I knew Cat could not live without me and yet, I was going to abandon her once again. I was deserting her, betraying her trust and love. There was a constant ache at the back of my throat. I used to clutch her to my chest and keep my arm around her throughout the night, sobbing into her fur. She would press herself close to me. “How will I live without you” was a refrain that went on and on in my head. I could not dream of sleeping on an empty bed without Cat curled against my neck or on my tummy or in my arms. I have never felt such acute pain before. I grew up in those months preceding my wedding—grew up because I could not show my pain to anyone, learning to hide it very efficiently.

Well-meaning friends and relatives told me banal stuff like, “We know you will miss your parents but soon you will be fine. You will have someone special,” and snigger meaningfully. I wanted to scream and yell at them to shut up, to physically hit them to get away from my pain. No one said they understood how much I would miss Cat. I could not tell anyone.

On the day of my registration, the registrar came home. I was married in my room sitting on a mattress on the floor. Cat saw all the strange people and came and burrowed into my lap. Someone, I have no recollection who, tried to take her off my lap saying something like, “Cats are ill omen.” I remember completely losing it. I just screamed saying, “Don’t you dare touch her. If she is not here, I am going to walk out.” I said all of this in Bengali. Someone said, “She is a child. Let her cat be with her.” The registration got over. It was three in the afternoon.

I was to leave the same evening around 6:00 pm. I don’t have a clear memory of the next three hours. I vaguely remember that endless photos were taken till I was bone weary. I was dressed in a stupid red saree that kept getting in the way and felt too heavy. Cat was always next to me. The car arrived at 5:30 pm. I went to my room and locked myself in. I picked up Cat and held her close to my chest branding the feel of her in my arms. I caressed her from her delicately turned head to the base of her tail. I stared into her eyes, carrying that look with me forever. When I close my eyes now, I can see Cat looking at me, her eyes saying everything. Then, I put her down, ran out of my room lifting my saree as I went, and ran straight down the stairs and into the car, unconscious of the tears streaming down my face. I told the person sitting next to me to ask the driver to move fast. She thought I had had a tearful parting from my parents. I looked back, my nails clawing at the seat of the car in an effort to stop myself from breaking down and saw Cat sitting on the steps leading to the gate. She was sitting straight up, almost regally, looking directly at the car, no accusation in her eyes, only endless sadness. I never saw Cat again.