When Nath arrived he asked, ‘You live here all alone?’
‘A neighbour from my gali in Lahore and her daughter stay with me.’
‘When did you come here from Jalandhar?’
‘I never went there,’ Tara said, bowing her head.
‘How did you find your in-laws after the fire incident?’
Tara remained silent, her head bent.
Nath complimented Tara on her small but clean and well-appointed flat. He said, ‘I have so much space in my bungalow and it’s a shame to let it go to waste. My bibi doesn’t have such good taste.’
‘What?’ Tara’s eyes widened in amazement. ‘Why didn’t you bring your wife along with you? Why didn’t you tell me? Why haven’t you introduced me to her?’
‘Hmm!’ Nath said, pursing his lips.
‘When did you get married?’ Tara wanted to know.
Nath looked away and said, ‘It’s useless to plant a garden at my place. I am leaving for Simla in the beginning of May. Last year also I was there until the middle of September. The plants either wither away in my absence or the stray cattle eat them up.’
‘I’ll come to your place next Sunday to meet bhabhiji.’
‘Want me to send her here?’
‘How can that be?’
‘Why?’
‘First I must visit her and then you can bring her here.’
‘Do we really need such formality?’
Tara said nothing in reply. ‘He is such a distinguished person,’ she was thinking. ‘If I continue to insist he would think I was being undeservedly familiar.’ She did not mention the subject again.
Nath began to talk in a friendly and caring way. He told Tara about the death of his father Devi Lal in Sonwan in 1948. Then he reminded Tara, ‘I’d once told you about the problems about inheriting family property. Whatever we got as the insurance claim for our Lahore property, my brothers invested it all in starting a second sugar mill. Now they have formed a limited company in which I am a sleeping partner. As working partners each of them draw a thousand every month. The company will remain a loss-making business to save taxes. They will continue to draw their salaries, I’ll continue to share the losses. The value of my share will gradually dissipate.’
Tara tried to make conversation by relating some incidents about the spoiled children at the AA mansion.
Nath’s brushing aside her eagerness to meet Mrs Nath by calling it an unnecessary formality had upset Tara. She thought, perhaps Nath did not like her reticence to answer the question about her in-laws. ‘But what could I say? Nath did not approve of Somraj in the first place.’ She remembered Nath’s words. ‘Your father’s elder brother has gotten you engaged to some oaf.’ Tara’s thoughts kept on returning to what Nath had said about her feelings for Asad even after knowing about her engagement. She wondered if such a broad-minded person would mind such a triviality.
Tara’s memories of Asad had been jogged a few months ago by the news she had read about the arrest of several communist leaders following the uncovering of an extensive political conspiracy in Pakistan. Asad had been among those arrested. ‘He is still working for the party,’ Tara had thought.
‘He could not stand by me because of his unswerving loyalty to the party. ‘What if I had stayed behind and waited for him in the DAV College camp? Would that have been such a mistake? Would Kaushalya Devi and the camp officials have let me go with him? Social pressures make an individual so helpless! The society that we live in sometimes leaves us in limbo, at other times comes to our rescue, but always remains cold and unfeeling.’
Tara again saw Asad’s name in the newspaper in the second week of May: Mrs Zohra Asad had applied to put up bail for her husband, and that he had been released. Asad and Zohra had been married only two weeks before his arrest. Zohra’s round face swam before Tara’s eyes. Her complexion like red wheat, her crinkly hair. Zohra was a medical student. All Tara thought on reading the news was, ‘Achcha, Asad married Zohra. The poor man got arrested soon after his wedding. Well, it’s good that he’s been released. India and Pakistan have not only become two separate countries, but two different worlds.’
Nath had told Tara about his going to Simla in the beginning of May, but had left without leaving his address there. That meant Tara’s meeting Mrs Nath would be delayed until August end or September. Nath had telephoned Tara on his return from Simla to ask after her and to tell her that he was back.
Sita’s wedding was to take place during a period of auspicious days at the end of September. Tara began to telephone all her friends to invite them. She rang Nath’s bungalow at eight o’clock in the morning hoping to be able to speak to his wife. The voice that answered was of the old peon.
Tara said, ‘This is Tara Puri speaking. Call Mrs Nath or sahib to the telephone.’
‘I’ll tell sahib,’ the peon said hesitantly.
Tara was alarmed: Why the hesitation?
‘It’s you Tara?’ Nath said cheerfully. ‘How are you getting on? I was thinking about calling you or dropping by.’
‘You’ll have to come by,’ Tara said, pretending to be angry. ‘Sita is getting married. You must bring bhabhiji.’
‘Um,’ said Nath, after some hesitation.
‘You must,’ Tara insisted.
‘Achcha.’
‘Not achcha, but you have to.’
‘All right.’
Purandei had seldom had any material possessions. Her husband had been alive when their one-year-old firstborn had died. Sita was only an infant at the time her mother had become a widow at age twenty-one. She had somehow managed to pay for Sita’s education up to high school. Then came Partition, and she had to leave Lahore.
In spite of living in poverty for years, Purandei had retained some residue of her middle-class values. Her daughter was going to be married and her husband’s elder brother had turned his back on her! She groped around in her steel trunk and, came out with bits of cash that had amounted to Rs 650 to the present day. The two gold bangles that she had on her wrists for the past twenty-five years had whittled down to the thickness of a wire. She sold them off, but it did not suffice. Her eyes would often fill with tears. She pleaded to Tara with her hands joined, ‘Beti, I haven’t kept a paisa even for my
kafan
. Now its up to you to arrange your sister’s wedding. God will bless you for this.’
Tayee-to-all-neighbourhood was also keeping a watchful eye on preparations for the wedding. The truth about Purandei’s finances and her relationship with Tara had not remained hidden from her, and that had made her affection for Tara well up even more copiously. Tara had to obey Tayee’s command to get for herself four gold bangles.
On the day of the wedding, when Tayee noticed Purandei’s wrists without bangles, she said sternly, ‘Are you out of your mind? It’d be a bad omen to do the marriage rites and give away the bride with your wrists bare.’
When Tara offered two of her bangles to Purandei, Tayee reproached her too, ‘Beti, what’s wrong with all of you. You did not hesitate to spend money on every other thing. Think of your own senior position and reputation? Is that the way to behave like a government official? Do you want to bring shame to all Punjabis? It’d be such a disgrace if you greeted the groom’s procession without suitable ornaments.’
Tayee brought a pair of gold bracelets and a gold chain of her own, and borrowed four gold bangles from a neighbour for Tara and Purandei to wear.
Tara had thought that she would have to spend around six hundred rupees, but it had already cost her Rs 850. Although Mathur was careful to spend only on essentials, a new expense cropped up every day. Tara was helpless in the face of social expectations and the customs that had to be observed. In spite of everything, there had to be a show of joy and of festive
spirit. The consolation for her was that rationing was being enforced in the city, and nobody could have more than twenty-five guests at a feast. Tara was not willing to disobey the rule.
Mehta was alert to ensure that Tara did not experience any difficulty. He and his uncle, who lived in Paharganj, were also looking after the arrangements at the bride’s home. In the pre-partition days one would hire a
halwai
who would prepare the food over a makeshift stove in or near the family’s house. That was not the practice any more because a neighbourhood halwai promised to deliver all that was needed at a reasonable price. The arrangements to welcome the bridal procession and for the wedding feast were made in the way such things were usually done by the middle-class families living in galis and by-lanes in a city.
The row of flats on Pachkuian Road had shops on the street level. Evening was the time for business. To block the entrance to the shops or the alley would have meant picking a quarrel with the shop owners. Tara’s flat was in the corner and its entrance in the back lane. A small area in the back lane was enclosed with shoulder-high walls of fabric attached to poles driven in the ground to welcome the guests and the bridal procession. The canopy of the mandap was festooned with green mango leaves and paper buntings. Strings of electric bulbs hanging in the enclosed area were lit before dusk fell. The enclosure was lined with chairs and electric pedestal fans. Two tubs were filled with bottles of soda and chunks of ice. All this was the barest possible arrangement.
Mehta did not forget to arrange for a gramophone and loudspeaker to play music to give the event a festive air. Half an hour before the expected arrival of the groom’s party, popular songs of the day began to blare from the loudspeaker to announce that a wedding was taking place.
Soon after dusk came the sound of the brass band leading the groom’s procession. Purandei’s brother and his wife, her sister and a group of neighbours acting as hosts came forward to welcome the procession. Tara too had to wear a red sari suitable for the occasion. Mercy, a red bindi adorning her glowing dark-complexioned face just below the sindoor-filled centre parting, looked resplendent in a pink sari. A garland of
bela
flowers was wrapped around her hair tied in a bun. Chaddha, Mathur and his sister, Narottam and Miss Deva stood alongside Tara. Guests from the girl’s side do not attend the wedding just for the fun of it, but to offer help
and assistance. Several clerks from Tara’s office, the section assistant and the elderly superintendent were present, without waiting to be invited, to lend a hand.
The brass band was playing
boliyan
from Punjabi folk songs. In the middle of the procession was the groom riding a mare, with a mukut in the shape of a crown and a sehra, wreath of flowers, around his head. Four men carrying big Petromax lamps on their heads walked alongside the groom to show up his fine clothes and adornments. Just ahead of the groom’s mare was a group of Punjabi young men, arms stretched and hips twisting, clapping in time to the music and shouting ‘hokka! hokka!’. They were dancing the bhangra and singing boliyan in which the last word of the first line or the rhyming pattern determined the second half of the couplet:
‘He went away and worked hard for twelve years, and brought back what? Dried fruits and nuts!
‘Hearts of old maids yearn for their long gone youth.’
And
‘He went away and worked hard for twelve years, and brought back what? Silver!
‘Hey, boys, choose whoever you want, there goes a carriage full of girls.’
A number of married and unmarried women from the neighbourhood were waiting at the first floor windows in the gali to sing in welcome to the procession. The ‘girls’ answered the ‘boys’ in unison:
‘He went away and worked hard for twelve years, and brought back what? Silver!
‘Hey, girls, choose whoever you want, there goes a carriage full of boys.’
A handful of women were in the procession. Their expensive saris with zari borders and richly embroidered salwar-kameez suits, and the quantities and sizes of gold ornaments they wore came as a surprise to Mathur, Chaddha, Narottam and Miss Deva.
Chaddha said, ‘Can anyone guess that only five years ago these people were refugees, some of them seeking shelter under trees?’
A friend of Mehta standing nearby said, ‘Bhai sahib, when the boy’s family arrived in the city four years ago, they did not have enough cash even to start a bajaji business. They survived for four months by selling kulfi ice candy. The women of the family made kulfi at home, and father and son sold it in bazaars. Now they must be worth fifty to sixty thousand.’
Tara said, ‘It’s not a Lahore custom to dance bhangra in groom’s procession. Only villagers did that at country fairs. Many refugees came from the countryside and the North-West frontier. A whole new Punjabi culture has developed in Delhi.’
After the customary welcome and the ritual of jaimal, the traditional adorning of the groom with garlands, girls and young women of the gali took the groom upstairs to Tara’s flat. The guests were served refreshments in the enclosure. Tara remained standing near the entrance, eyes fixed on the road. She had asked Nath to come by half past eight so that he may not get bored. Dinner was going to be served to her friends in a separate room in her flat.
Tara stepped forward when she saw Nath’s car. He had come alone. Seeing her red sari and gold bangles, Nath said cheerfully, ‘You yourself are looking like a bride. Really, you are looking very pretty.’
Tara changed the subject to hide her embarrassment, ‘Where’s bhabhiji?’
Nath said, ‘You didn’t have to wait long for me?’
‘Why didn’t you bring bhabhiji along?’ Tara persisted.
‘Just drop it,’ said Nath, as if he did not like the topic.
Tara was again suspicious, ‘Do they not get along?’
Upstairs she introduced Nath to other guests, ‘Professor Dr Pran Nath, economic advisor to the Planning Commission.’
Everyone welcomed Nath. Chaddha sat next to Nath and began to discuss, ‘The government is planning to increase the food output by agricultural reforms, but how could all farmland be properly cultivated without an equitable distribution of land? What about landless peasantry? What’s the point of increasing the food output if the people don’t have the cash to buy it?’
The hint of bad feelings between Nath and his wife had upset Tara, and it continued to niggle her. Nath was wearing an open-collar shirt without a jacket, his shirt sleeves were rolled up and creases from folding the
ironed but well-worn shirt could be seen. Tara noticed that the collar was beginning to fray.