Sita was wearing the same coat as last year and was looking decidedly worried and crestfallen. Her devil-may-care attitude had also disappeared. When she removed her coat to hang it up, Tara saw that her clothing was not as showy or fashionable as before.
Sita covered herself with the shawl and sat on one side of the bed, keeping her feet on the floor as the cuffs of her salwar were splattered with mud.
‘Have a cup of tea first. This chirwa is really hot, but you know how these darned Madrasis like Mercy eat a lot of chillies,’ Tara said, her mouth burning from the spicy mixture.
‘Go ahead. I don’t feel like it.’
‘Not even a cup of tea? At least taste the chirwa.’
‘No. bahinji. I had something to eat not long ago and don’t feel like anything now.’
In spite of Tara’s insistence, Sita refused to try even a mouthful.
Hanging her head, Sita said, ‘Bahinji, I’ve left my job and I’m in a bit of a mess.’
‘Why, what’s happened?’
‘Bahinji, those people who offered me the new job turned out to be frauds. I quit when they failed to pay me for two months. I’m looking for another job. I desperately need to borrow 150 rupees. It’s an emergency. I’ll pay you back very soon.’ Sita kept her head bent.
Tara thought for a few moments before replying, ‘I’m sure you’ll pay me back, but what kind of a job are you looking for, and where?’
‘Whatever I can get. That’s why I’ve come to you. Can you please help me?’
‘How can I help? I already tried to put some sense into your head. Misraji was willing to give you a second chance, but you refused to listen. You replied as if you were without a care in the world. And you had money to throw about with both hands.’
‘Bahinji, maybe I was really stupid then, but I’m not like that now.’
The doorbell rang again. Chimmo recognized the familiar ring, and went downstairs to open the door.
‘Are you in bed?’ Mercy called as she went into Tara’s room, panting from climbing the stairs.
‘Yes, didi, it’s freezing cold today,’ Tara said, moving over again so that Mercy could join them on the bed. ‘This is Sita, a neighbour of mine from Lahore. She lives in Sadar Bazar. She’s just like my little sister.’
Mercy’s coat was not wet, so she sat on the bed without taking it off. She stared hard at Sita who seemed to be squirming nervously.
‘Didn’t you come to Dr Ayyar’s clinic?’ Mercy asked, mixing her grammatical genders as she usually did when she tried to speak in Hindi.
Sita still sat with her head sagging.
‘Didn’t you learn from your first mistake?’ Mercy asked in a harsh tone. ‘Don’t you have any concern for your own health even if your husband doesn’t care? Or are you like some animal? The doctor didn’t charge you the full fees the first time thinking that you were hard up. You refused to take precautions. This time you’ll have to learn your lesson the hard way and pay up one hundred rupees.’
Tara looked at Mercy and then at Sita.
‘Tara, I’ll have some tea too,’ Mercy said, and called out to Chimmo to bring another cup and to put some hot water in the bathroom so that she could have a quick wash. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
Sita broke into tears. In a low voice, Tara said disdainfully, ‘So that’s why you wanted to borrow the money. Shame on you! Get out!’
Joining her palms, Sita pleaded, ‘Bahinji, help me this one time. I touch your feet. I won’t do this again.’
‘How do I know that you won’t?’ Tara said, sickened by what she had heard. ‘Did anyone force you to do it the first time? Is that what you meant by having fun? You can go to the devil for all I care. Where’re your friends now who were so ready to spend money on you?’ Touching Tara’s knees, Sita said plaintively, ‘Bahinji, I’m at your feet. I’ll pay you even if I have to earn the money by washing dishes. Or else I’ll take some poison.’ Sita stuffed a corner of her dupatta into her mouth to suppress the sound of her sobs, but her back shook from a spasm of crying.
The thought came to Tara, ‘What’ll Mercy think of me for saying that Sita was just like my sister!’ She said contemptuously to Sita, ‘She’ll be back soon. Get the hell out of here before that.’ Sita was going towards the staircase on her way out when, overcome by a fresh storm of tears, she stopped and stood with her head against the wall.
Mercy was talking with Chimmo in the kitchen. Tara got out of bed, went up to Sita and said scornfully, ‘Will you leave now or bring me more shame.’ Inspite of her anger, her eyes were brimming.
Sita raised her puffy and reddened eyes and pleaded, joining her palms again, ‘Bahinji, please…’
Tara gave in, ‘All right, come back tomorrow.’
Mercy, with her coat off and a shawl around her shoulders, came into the living room with her tea. She sat in an armchair and asked in English, ‘Your friend has left?’
‘Yes.’
‘What does her husband do?’ Mercy asked, taking a sip of her tea.
‘What do I know?’
‘You said she was just like a sister from your gali. She must have come here to borrow the money for the clinic.’
‘I’d rather not talk about her!’
Mercy took a few more sips before saying, ‘You’re angry that she’s decided to have an abortion?’
‘Is that something to be happy about?’
‘Who would want an abortion for the fun of it? If she’s wants one, it must be because she’s forced to it by the circumstances. Would she be able to look after the child if she doesn’t go through with the abortion?’
‘Never in a million years!’ Tara exclaimed angrily.
‘Well, I suppose if she could, she would never have asked for an abortion,’ Mercy said, taking another sip. ‘She’s really naïve. Had she been a bit more cautious, it might have cost her a rupee or two. Now she’ll have to pay a full hundred. And if she doesn’t, she’s stuck with it for the rest of her life. If you like I can speak to Ayyar on her behalf. I’ll give up ten rupees as my cut of the fees.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know I’ve been working with Ayyar at her clinic. I take ten per cent. The nurse she had got married and went away to Trichur. Ayyar offered me a wage of Rs 350 per month, but I didn’t accept. Now I make between fifteen and twenty every day, just for working from eight till one o’clock. Now and then there’s nothing, but sometimes forty or fifty rupees in a day. One day it came to a hundred. Ayyar is a bit money-minded and can size up her patients’ ability to pay at a glance. Not a paisa less than 250 rupees from the unmarried ones and widows. There was that case of an eighteen-year-old unmarried daughter of a rich seth. Ayyar demanded a thousand, and the father paid up without uttering a word. If it’s some working woman who earns only 100 or so a month, Ayaar might settle for 40 or 50. But she’s an absolute expert. I had assisted in many difficult cases when I was at the Dufferin Hospital, but she has a technique all her own. But that wily woman keeps it secret. Her procedure takes barely ten minutes and there’s very little pain.’ Mercy began to demonstrate the process by using her hands.
‘Please! Don’t go on!’ Tara turned her head away in distaste.
‘Why, what’s wrong? It’s a standard medical technique. Just like any other
operation. It frees a woman of something unwanted and unwelcome. Arrey, it’s always the woman who pays the price. Anyone can face this problem. Perhaps, even you some day.’
‘Please don’t talk rot. The very thought fills me with horror,’ Tara said angrily.
‘What an idiot you are!’ Mercy refused to back down. ‘Is it nonsense to help someone out if they are sick? As Ayyar says, abortion is just another surgical procedure, and she’s quite right.’
‘Don’t compare it to treating an illness. It’s committing a crime.’
The doorbell rang again.
‘Chimmo, see who’s there,’ Mercy called, and continued passionately, ‘Ayyar is right when she says it’s just like any another disorder. All physical disorders are due to a lack of care and restraint. Anything that causes a physical or mental pain is a disorder.’
There was the sound of footsteps briskly coming upstairs, and then a male voice asked, ‘May I come in?’ Mathur entered, saying, ‘This seems like a heated discussion, Mercy didi. What’s it about?’
It embarrassed Tara even more that a male had intruded into the conversation.
‘This one’s totally opposed to abortion,’ Mercy said bluntly in English. ‘I was explaining to her that anyone who uses precaution and restraint can avoid such a disorder. And those who don’t or can’t, have to seek medical help. What’s disgusting or improper in saying so?’
Mathur avoided meeting their eyes. So did Tara, but Mercy ran on without embarrassment, ‘Who nowadays wants to be blessed with four or five children? And who can afford to provide healthy food and proper education for all of them? And if people can’t, the life in a family with many children will become just a hell on earth. Is an unwanted pregnancy or a child for them not a problem that will plague them all their lives?’
Mathur replied to Mercy in good English without looking at her, ‘It’s a matter of personal choice for a family, in accordance with their circumstances and way of thinking. Of course, it can become a national problem for a country that is overcrowded and has a large low-income population.’
Tara said nothing but Mercy pressed on, ‘Why, there are thousands of young men and women like you who don’t want to get married. Don’t they have or will they never have a need for a physical relationship?’
Mathur now looked at Mercy as he replied, ‘Those who don’t want the responsibility of marriage and family should make some sacrifice and abstain from sex.’
‘Such talk about sacrifice is meaningless,’ Mercy said intensely. ‘With or without marriage, everyone has sexual needs. It’s a natural urge, a physical necessity. What should people do who have no chance to get married? I know from personal experience that girls in the nursing profession or in the teaching line or those working in offices, all want to get married. Either the parents of such girls can’t arrange husbands for them, or they themselves can’t find someone equal to their status. But they have bodies and sexual needs. If they suppress their natural urges, they end up suffering from some illnesses or other. And if they make one slip, then normal life is over for them.’
Mathur kept his eyes on Mercy’s face as he answered, ‘Mercy didi, sex may play its part in human love, but we shouldn’t allow wild and uncontrollable physical desires to dominate the relationship.’
Mercy seemed really annoyed, ‘What is love really between a man and a woman? Love is just another glorified name for sex.’
Feeling increasingly uncomfortable, Tara changed the subject by asking, ‘Mathur bhai, what’s happened of your situation?’
Mathur had been a lecturer at a college in Delhi. In the 1930s he had been sent to prison for three years for his involvement in the revolutionary movement for India’s independence. Such a history precluded any possibility of his joining the civil service, and his temperament would not have allowed him to work under some British bureaucrat in any case. His family contacts had landed him a well-paying job in a large private company. He was capable and efficient, and after ten years service was earning over Rs 900 per month with allowances. Mathur had again felt the urge to serve his country after India became independent. The new government had changed the name of the Indian Civil Service (ICS) to the Indian Administrative Service (IAS). Competent individuals with experience and nationalist views were being recruited directly into positions of responsibility. Mathur was willing to accept a salary lower than the one he was receiving in return for working for the national government.
Mathur and Niranjan Chaddha had once been associates and comrades-in-arms in the nationalist moment. They had drifted apart because of
differing political viewpoints, but Mathur still held Chaddha in high esteem because of his integrity. Mathur also respected Mercy for her principles and because of her willingness to court danger for Chaddha. He often repeated, with great seriousness, his own personal maxim: ‘The character of a man is greater than his politics.’ Although Mercy was quite able to look after herself, Mathur visited her once or twice a month to offer the services of a friend and well-wisher.
Mercy had described Mathur to Tara as a fine and reliable person, although a chronic bachelor and a great help to the mothers, sisters and wives of all his friends. She had also added jokingly, ‘No woman can have any reason to fear him.’
Mathur said in answer to Tara’s question, ‘I gave indisputable proof to the Prime Minister that the IAS is riddled with nepotism. Those who have qualified in the first division are being passed over in favour of others with only a third division results.’
‘What did the PM say?’ Tara asked.
‘What could he say? His only reply was, “Those who pass in the first division and come out at the top are mostly communists. How can such people be allowed into the IAS?”’
Mercy was pleased, ‘Communists don’t have to depend on scraps thrown to them. The PM should admit that communists can also be suitable candidates.’
‘But you’re not a communist?’ Tara asked Mathur.
‘No. I told the PM, “Neither do I believe in communism, nor have I ever been a member of the Communist Party.” He replied, “I don’t know what to say. Perhaps there’s something against you in your background report.”
‘I spoke plainly, “How can the background reports submitted by the CID and the bureaucrats be taken to be unbiased? Didn’t those hirelings of the British Imperial Indian army, those Brit-lovers, brand the former members of the INA as traitors? And didn’t the police and the bureaucrats, the former lackeys of the British, say that those who had participated in the revolutionary movement were not suitable for government service?” The PM just kept quiet, what could he answer?’
Mathur continued hotly, ‘Acharya Kriplani is completely justified in asking under what circumstances did the country have its revolution? And what became of the political ideals of Gandhiji? The slogans in praise of
Gandhiji have begun to ring a bit hollow just two years after his death. The administration is now in the hands of a clique of former ICS officials, who have no idea of serving the people, but only of keeping their cushy jobs. They don’t believe in democracy, but only in bureaucracy. The legal system hasn’t changed and neither the police raj. Not only is it still possible to jail somebody without trial, but under the Defence of India Act the police have more powers than ever before and have become a law unto themselves. Even if a high court acquits people, the police arrest them again on a new charge. Such things make one want to hang his head in shame. The British government never censured Bhagat Singh’s statement at his trial for bombing the Assembly, but the present government has suspended the statements of Gandhi’s assassin Godse. Does that mean that they can’t reply to Godse’s accusations? Is it true democracy to gag someone unjustly? Kripalaniji is dead right when he says that revolution means a change of rulers. When did that revolution happen, I ask you?’