“When I say it to you, you say that I nag – you don’t get up early, listen, or act and sleep late. You never pay heed, Madhuriya!”

After saying this, Madhuriya’s mother went towards the kitchen. Madhuriya was determined to tell her mother about her pain this time. She was stubborn, a sign of her waywardness.”Mummy! I have headaches, I feel I am dying inside, can’t help you with chores during the day, even lifting a cotton ball feels like Bajrangbali lifting a mountain in search of Sanjeevani and at night…at night I feel like Dashrath Manjhi carving the mountain for ages.”

“Don’t whine. I have never stopped you from eating and wearing good clothes. Whatever you have asked for, I have managed in the best way I could with my little earnings, and now you tell me that you have an illness. Only Ramji knows! This new lazy generation has all new kinds of diseases.” Madhuriya was pursuing graduation in English. Her name was Madhuri, but she was lovingly called Madhuriya by everyone in the village. In Bihar, people add “Aa (ya or wa)” at the end of a person’s name and also have the habit of exclaiming “Ja!” upon knowing that someone has fallen sick or something bad has happened. Before this new kind of illness, Madhuriya had an attachment to her name but now whenever somebody calls her Madhuriya, she replies, “What’s in the name!” and goes away.

“Listen, you girl! I am saying this to you; please don’t blurt it out to anyone; people say a ghost has possessed you. Come! Let me cast away the evil eye.”

Enraged, Madhuriya’s mother went to the terrace to get rinsed mustard seeds to cast away the evil eye. For a disheartened Madhuriya, her last hope was her mother. But here, too, the wind was blowing in the opposite direction. She didn’t expect this from her mother.”O, Mahade Baba! O Devi Maiya! Who has cursed my home, listen to my prayer, Bhole Baba!” Muttering this, Madhuriya’s mother held yellow mustard and red chillies in her left hand. She circled it around Madhuriya’s head five times, saying, “May the evil eye of home and neighbourhood, families and relatives be cast away instantly.”

Madhuriya standing aloof saw her mother burning yellow mustard seeds, red chillies and her pale hopes altogether. After a week, Madhuriya’s mother mused about the ghost that possessed her beautiful daughter. She was sure her spell would work as it always had during Madhuriya’s childhood.

That’s how it worked for the entire village. The next day Madhuriya didn’t leave her bed at all. The sun was overhead and she was still tossing in her bed. Nobody was there to enquire about her well-being and whether she was hungry. Detached and deteriorating, she slowly mused, “Nothing amuses and nobody intrigues. I can’t bear this angst. Who knows the remedy, who can resolve this?”

“How are you, my maiyan?” asked Chandanwa’s mother, sitting hunched back on the floor while she lay dead tired on the bed.

“I have heard from Lalatiya’s daughter that you have got into a disparesan. Is it true, maiyan? Is it a government or a private job? Teach my son Chandanwa something; he has been wasting his years; he is ruined and led astray. Please tell him to study like you.”

“Aunty Ji! Life has become soggy, and the mind is smoggy.” Madhuriya, replying to Chandanwa’s mother, dog-eared her book The Interpretation of Dreams and left the bed. When her friend Lalatiya’s daughter came late in the evening, she advised her something to get rid of this angst.

“I know of a doctor; if you want, I’ll tell you her name; she does online consultations these days.”

“What do I say? Nobody believes that this is an illness; if Mummy comes to know of it, she will again make a fuss.” Madhuriya ran up to the terrace, saying all this in a melancholic tone.

“Hurry up, Aunty Ji! Madhuriya has gone to the terrace to commit suicide. Everybody commits suicide in depression,” Lalatiya’s daughter said to Madhuriya’s mother, panting.

“Ahh! Oh, my mother! My girl is gone…she will kill herself …What shall I do now?”

Madhuriya’s mother and Lalatiya’s daughter rushed to the terrace. They noticed that Madhuriya was looking up at the sky and counting stars.

“I can’t see constellations nowadays, nor the difference between twilight and dusk.”

Realising that her mother and friend were behind, she turned back and asked them, “Why are you running? Why are you breathing heavily? What has happened? Did somebody’s cow give birth or something?”

In spite of knowing what was going on in her mother’s and friend’s mind, she stared at them as if oblivious to the whole thing.

“Let’s go! Right now! Straight to the doctor. Now I know what you need; you have no love for your parents. You have just become a sick, dreary girl. You are doomed. Mind it, Madhuriya!” Her mother said, adjusting her pallu over her head as she got into a tempo to visit a local doctor.

“This is a new trend of city people, don’t you see?”

Frowning under his spectacles, Doctor Lallan mockingly said to Madhuriya and her mother.

Doctor Lallan had studied diligently for the medical entrance exam in a rathole-like 8×8 room in Kankarbagh, Patna. However, he couldn’t clear the MBBS entrance exams. He somehow managed to get a job as a compounder at the clinic of Dr Ramesh Sinha. After a few years, he came to this village and became a Jack of all diseases. From diphtheria to hysteria, he treated and consulted each and all.

“What shall I do, Doctor Sahab? Things are gone out of my hand. This girl has made my heart wrench and my blood turn to water. I want her alive at any cost.” Madhuriya’s mother pleaded with Lallan.

“Start looking for a groom for her. Marriage and domesticity can tackle any disease,” said the doctor, linking her depression to hysterical sexual illness. He gave her some sleeping pills, painkillers and a cunning smile. Madhuriya knew that these painkillers would kill the rest of her residual reasons of hope. On the other hand, Madhuriya’s mother just needed an excuse to get her married for some time now. Now, it was prescribed by a doctor himself.

The tempo stopped near the village canal because of the crowd and noise. Both mother and daughter alighted and heard that Chandanwa had consumed sulphas and passed away. Madhuriya’s mother was taken aback on hearing this and started thinking about her daughter. The villagers had already started the guessing game and character assassination of the dead boy.

“It was due to a love affair,” said the sister-in-law of Bhunesar.

“Nah! Some evil spirits had possessed his body,” said Chanesar’s aunt.

“I tell you the truth, he was a drug addict,” Mansi’s mother said.

“Chandanwa has done whatever he wanted, but I won’t let you do all this. Mind it, Madhuriya! Tomorrow we are going to Patna. I have spoken to Dhirender Phupha ji already.” Caught between marriage and mind, Madhuriya’s mother could only utter this.

Excerpted with permission from ‘Mind it, Madhuriya!’, by Priti Kumari, translated from Magadhi by Satyendra Prajapati in Bandaged Moments: Stories of Mental Health by Women Writers from Indian Languages, edited by Nabanita Sengupta and Nishi Pulugurtha, Niyogi Books.

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