An Important Assignment
By nature, Vrinda was a quick decision
maker. Whenever she faced a problem, she would weigh it in her mind and act on
it without delay. Three years ago, when she first came to Pune, she had not
known what she was going to do with herself. Yet, the moment she came across the
MASOG Trust, she had decided, almost instinctively, to join it. So far, that
decision had felt like the right one. She enjoyed working with village women
and helping them, and all along she had felt happy and content.
Things had changed two weeks earlier, when
the Trust instructed everyone in its ecosystem to address her as
"Vahini" — brother's wife. This was followed by instructions for her
to wear colourful sarees during project work, and later, a Mangalsutra — the
traditional symbol of a married woman.
From the Trust's point of view, it was
obviously a wise and calculated decision, because her rapport with the village
women had improved beyond anything she could have imagined. But these changes
had also stirred up a storm of conflicting emotions inside her.
Since the previous week, she had found it
hard to take the Mangalsutra off her neck, or to stop reaching, in the
evenings, for the pale, off-white sarees she now wore. Until two weeks ago, she
had hardly glanced in the mirror except after her bath. These days, she caught
herself standing before it like a teenager, watching the Mangalsutra shine
against her chest. Every time she examined this strange new habit of hers, she
arrived at the same conclusion — that she needed a real man in her life. But
achieving that on her own seemed almost impossible. There was, at least, one
comfort: the Trust did not know her past. "Or did it, really?" she
wondered. "If the Trust already knew her blouse measurements, how could
she assume her past had stayed hidden?" The thought unsettled her own
certainty.
Still, she had a hunch — or perhaps just a
feeling — that the Trust was quietly arranging something for her future, though
she could not offer her mind a single logical reason for it. After much
thought, she decided that instead of depending entirely on the Trust, she ought
to make some effort of her own. Which meant, she realised, that she needed to
look more presentable — more attractive, even.
It was in this light that she read the
Trust's newest order: no payment was to be made to anyone without her signature
on the voucher. There was no doubt about it now — the Trust intended to keep
increasing her work and her responsibility.
Vrinda sighed. On top of everything else,
the Trust had now handed her the added responsibility of handling cash. But
keeping that much money at home was out of the question. Luckily, she and Vinit
still held an old vault at one of the banks, and she had already resolved to
move the cash there if no fresh instructions arrived from the Trust.
The next morning brought several emails
from the Trust. The social workers were now permitted to wear village sarees,
though they would have to procure these themselves. Several project reports had
also arrived, and Vrinda was instructed to study them thoroughly, as she might
soon be asked to make a presentation. Tucked among the mail was an envelope
bearing the name of a shop, along with a blank coupon.
Still, nothing about the cash. Vrinda had
no choice, then, but to withdraw it herself and lock it away in the vault. A
final message asked her not to visit any project sites for the next two weeks.
Funny, she thought — but let it go without
dwelling on it further, and instead called the two girls who wanted to learn to
stitch village clothes.
The next day, she went first to the bank,
then to the shop to exchange her coupon. As instructed, the shopkeeper offered
her a single saree in exchange. He showed her a range of Tussar silk sarees,
delicately embroidered, all of them elegant — and all of them, without
exception, in light cream shades. No deep colours this time. She chose the one
that was comparatively the darkest of the lot. A visit to the Trust's tailor
was clearly overdue, but she put it off a little longer.
By the time she reached home, Jayantiben
was already waiting with papers for her signature. She finished that task, and
spent the afternoon poring over the reports the Trust had sent. She was
astonished by the sheer scale of the Trust's work across Pune — major projects
in water conservation, child malnutrition, family planning, and women's
welfare, the very field she worked in. The reports were detailed and dense; she
would need several days to get through them properly.
That evening, the two girls returned,
saying they hadn't found any shop selling village-style clothes. Vrinda told
them she was planning to visit a tailor who might help, and the three of them
set off together to the tailor the Trust had recommended. He welcomed them
warmly. Vrinda explained that the girls wanted garments stitched exactly like
the ones he had made before. He happily showed them fabric samples, and the
girls made their choices. Then, rather ordinarily, he took their measurements
the way any tailor in town would — collected payment, and asked them to return
in a week. Vrinda then showed him her new saree; he suggested a fine cotton for
the blouse, she chose the shade, and he promised to send the finished piece to
her house.
Now Vrinda's curiosity was piqued. The
tailor had measured the girls by hand, but not her. She asked the girls to wait
outside, and turned to him directly — why hadn't he taken her measurements? The
tailor smiled and led her behind the counter, where he pointed out small
cameras and measuring devices fixed near the ceiling on all four sides,
positioned over the spot where customers stood. There were more cameras mounted
lower down. He asked her to stand in that spot and pressed a button. A moment
later, the screen displayed every one of her measurements — both for the blouse
and for the lower garment. So the Trust keeps records of every customer, she
realised.
"Then why did you measure the girls by
hand?" she asked. He explained that the machine could only be used with
the Trust's permission. "Oh," was all Vrinda could manage.
Walking home, she felt that at least one
small mystery had been solved. How much data did the Trust actually have on
her? Still, it seemed increasingly true that the Trust was trying to help her
out of the bleak phase her life had fallen into, and was steering her —
somewhere. There seemed little point in dwelling on her dreary past. Her
decision to cooperate, to follow the Trust's instructions without question,
was, she told herself, probably the right one.
Over the following days, she buried herself
in the project reports, and by the end of the week she felt confident enough to
present them to anyone who asked.
There was one telling shift in her standing
within the Trust's ecosystem. On Saturday, Shivram addressed her as
"Madam" for the first time, instead of "Vahini," which he
had used for weeks. Jayantiben soon followed suit. This time, Vrinda showed no
visible reaction — she knew the Trust must have issued the instruction — though
she privately relished this small elevation in status.
Her new clothes arrived by parcel that same
Saturday.
On Monday, an important message came
through: Vrinda would go on Wednesday for a review tour of all the projects
covered in the reports. A car would collect her from the Trust, and Jayantiben
would accompany her, purely to assist. Vrinda herself was expected to verify
what the reports claimed and report back to the Trust accordingly. All the
project heads had already been informed of her visit.
She spent the next two days preparing
checklists for every project, gathering the papers into a single file for ease
of carrying.
She remained undecided, though, about which
saree to wear that day. Everything she currently owned felt too ordinary for
the occasion. She opened her old trunk and pulled out a saree that might have
worked — but it brought back memories of Vinit so sharply that she folded it
away again. In the end, she decided to buy something new, went to the market,
and found a saree that suited the day. She also asked her maid to prepare
something she could eat on the road, in case the tour ran long.
On Wednesday, she woke early and was ready
well in time. Jayantiben arrived punctually with the car, and they set off.
Vrinda was struck by how meticulously the
tour had been organised — tea and lunch breaks were arranged. Her checklists
proved invaluable, allowing her to assess the true status of each project with
precision.
By the end of the week, she was able to
send a complete report to the Trust. But the most striking part of the tour was
something she hadn't anticipated at all: at every project site, she was
received with the utmost courtesy and respect. It was clear that something
significant was on the horizon.
She had nothing to do the following week,
since she had been told to stay away from her own project site. So she simply
relaxed and let herself wonder about what lay ahead.
By now, her fixation with the mirror and
the Mangalsutra had faded, since no one called her "Vahini" any
longer.
Even so, she found herself standing before
the mirror, considering what she might change to look more graceful, more
presentable. She experimented with a bun, then a ponytail, but neither
satisfied her. Her old braid was clearly out of the question. Eventually, she
decided to visit a hairstylist, who suggested trimming her hair to chest length
and offered a few styles suited to it. Vrinda liked the idea and told her to go
ahead.
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Back home, she looked in the mirror and was
pleasantly startled — she looked at least ten years younger. She tried out the
styles the stylist had suggested and liked them immensely. It felt as though a
new Vrinda had been born: graceful, and quietly confident.
A week later, a letter arrived by courier
from the Trust, congratulating her on the excellent work she had done during
the review. It included coupons for encashment — but the most significant part
of the letter was an announcement: the Pune chapter of the Trust was to be
developed, over the next five years, into a chapter on par with Ahmedabad and
the others.
In connection with this, a director of the
Trust would soon be visiting Pune, and Vrinda had been asked to serve as
coordinator for the visit. Further details would follow in due course. The
letter, she understood, was meant simply to give her advance notice, so she
could prepare.
Vrinda wasted no time. She encashed the
coupons, bought new sarees, visited the tailor, and generally readied herself
for the visit. She must impress this man, she told herself — for her own
future's sake.
Three days later, she received the full
itinerary for the visit of the director, Mr. Sandipan Mullick.
She was to wear the Tussar saree that day.
She and Jayantiben would meet the director in the lobby of a specified hotel,
where Jayantiben would introduce them and then leave. Vrinda would then take
him on a tour of the projects — since time was limited, she was asked to select
which ones to visit. They were expected to return by 1 PM at the latest. A
lunch break would follow, and at 2 PM there would be a one-to-one meeting
between Vrinda and the director. After that, she would be free to leave in the
Trust's car.
Vrinda let out a deep sigh. Was this, at
last, the break she had been waiting for? She sincerely hoped so.
(Continued to Chapter 4)
(All characters places except for geographical names events actions of people are fictional. Any similarity found is purely accidental. All images AI generated)