To soften her up Puri had reminded her, ‘Don’t you remember how we were,’ he had paused, taken a deep breath and had said, ‘pulled away from each other’s arms.’
Urmila had looked away and remained still.
Puri had not wanted to take any risks. He did not have the courage to close the door. But he could also not tolerate Urmila moving away from him. He would have felt better if she had said, ‘Hai, someone might come!’
‘Want me to close the door?’ he had asked, to arouse her.
Urmila had shaken her bowed head.
‘How can anyone forget that agony?’ Puri’s voice had become soft and sentimental. ‘You know, poetry was born out of pangs of agony. Valmiki, world’s first poet, cried, “Oh! Ill-fated Hunter, by which reason you have killed one male bird of the couple …”’
Urmila neither knew Sanskrit, nor anything about the fable of the birth of poetry. Puri had explained to her the meaning of the shloka and the story of the pair of mating sarus, cranes oblivious of the surroundings, and had said, ‘We were in the same situation. What we suffered, that painful memory will never go away…’
Urmila had kept a stony expression, and had risen to her feet.
Before she had left and when they had been outside on the road where there was no danger in being alone with Puri, she had told him, her head bowed, ‘You threw me out! If you have got balls, throw out that witch now. I’m ready to come back. I don’t care for this nursing-
vursing
. But first we’ll get married. Then I’ll see how that Sood of yours can shout at me!’
Puri had come across Urmila again in a shop on Mall Road before he had gone back to Jalandhar. Urmila, always fond of flashy clothes, had been dressed up as usual, with the kohl lining her eyes fashionably drawn beyond the side corners of her eyes. As she had exchanged namaste with Puri, she had introduced her companion as Dr Mongia, and had said that they were both out shopping.
In accordance with the government rules, Puri was entitled to a travelling allowance equivalent to three times the first class railway fare. There were some MLAs who, despite such a generous allowance, saved money by travelling in second or third class. Many members of the legislative assemblies considered such practices a blow to the prestige of the assembly and the government. In their opinion, an MLA should receive the fare for the class of actual travel. Puri was of the same opinion. After receiving such complaints frequently, the UP government had decided that the MLAs in that state will receive an allowance of three times the railway fare irrespective of the class in which they travel, thus endorsing the unscrupulous behaviour of the MLAs. Puri had written in his column ‘Haat Bazaar Mein’ in Nazir: If such is the state of the morals of the people responsible for framing laws, how ethical and right would those laws be and of what importance could ethical considerations be for such people?
Puri could travel in comfort, sleeping overnight, since he always travelled in the first class. Usually he left Simla in the afternoon and reached Jalandhar at four in the morning. If he got delayed for some reason, he changed trains at Ambala and reached Jalandhar at 6 or 7 a.m.
Puri had the whole berth to himself, but the problems in his mind did not let him sleep for a very long time. There would be a quarrel about Kanak’s editorial in
Nazir
, he knew, but he could not also keep quiet about it. Every time he had a problem with Kanak, Urmila would come to his imagination. But during his most recent stay in Simla he could not even have the satisfaction of seeing Urmila.
When Puri had gone to Simla last September to attend the meeting of the Education Committee, he had met Urmila. Urmila had told him how uncomfortable she had been in Simla in winter, and how the past winters had been hard on her. She had wanted to be posted to Amritsar, and had applied for a transfer. Puri had put in a word with the director of the Department of Health on her behalf and she had been transferred to Amritsar.
Puri woke up before the Kalka–Amritsar Express reached Jalandhar. He knew that the jeep from the Doaba Mills would be waiting at the station to receive him, but his longing for Urmila dragged him to Amritsar.
Puri left his suitcase and holdall in the waiting room of the Amritsar station, and reached the Civil Hospital just before 8 a.m. The hospital wards were being cleaned. Without disclosing who he was, Puri asked a ward boy, ‘Staff Nurse Miss Urmila is on duty, or would she be in her quarter?’
The middle-aged ward boy thought for a moment, then asked, ‘The same Urmila Miss who got married to Dr Mongia Sahib?’
The words slipped out of Puri’s mouth, ‘Got married?’
‘Yes, they were married last week. She just went to Dr Mongia Sahib’s quarter. She was on the night shift in the surgical ward.’
Puri swallowed hard and said, ‘She must have gone to sleep if she was on the night shift. Achcha, I’ll come some other time.’
Puri was shocked to the marrow. His heart filled with bitterness as he thought, ‘Such deception! The same Mongia, with whom she had gone shopping. That’s why she was so decked up! That’s why she got herself transferred to Amritsar! I had advised her to go to Ambala, but she lied to me that it’ll be better for her in Amritsar because two of her batch-mates were already posted there. She had told me that she wanted to get married to me! Woman, thy name is frailty! He who trusts you is a fool! I made a fool of myself! What was the need for all this deception?’
Puri took a rickshaw home. Only Shera came forward to greet him. The empty house echoed with the sound of laundry being beaten with a bat. Chaila was in the kitchen, clattering the pots as he cleaned them, singing a film song on the top of his voice. Puri told him to unload his luggage from the rickshaw. His own voice sounded rather meek to him. He thought, ‘Is this my home or a transit camp?’ He knew that Kanak would have waited for him, at the most, until 7.30.
Heeran and Chaila quickly got to looking after their master. Chaila had somewhat learnt the correct way of doing things, but Heeran, even after working three years for the family, had not learnt to make tea properly. Heeran had no one else in the world but Kanak and Puri. Kanak could trust her with the keys to various cupboards in the house. But Heeran did not trust Chaila, and kept the keys tied to the waist cord of her salwar.
Puri had a bath, and waited to be served a meal. He was angry and bitter: How hard he worked, how many responsibilities he had taken on, so many successes and so much praise he had earned, some people were even envious of him, but he did not amount to much in his own home! It seemed that everyone was involved in this web of deceit. This was the result of his generous and unsuspecting nature. Urmila’s words echoed in his ears. He thought of her tempting, irresistible body which was now a poisonous snake that he should have crushed, but that had escaped and slithered away
into the grass. Trust a woman! She wants nothing but gratification, and deception is her only weapon.
Chaila brought food for Puri in a thali. Puri had not eaten anything that day, and was hungry. He began to eat absent-mindedly, going over Urmila’s deception in his mind, ‘She had such a strong sex drive. Would she have stayed all this time without sex? Never! She turned out to be a deceiver! I was lucky to have escaped from her clutches.’
He did not feel like going out. He thought of the sleep he had missed, and lay down. To drive the thoughts of Urmila out of his mind, he began to think, ‘I’ll have to speak to Kanak. What if she is too stubborn to admit that she was wrong?’ If Gill or Raks had done something similar, he would have fired them, but Kanak’s name appeared as the editor–manager of
Nazir
. To avoid any inconvenience during his absence from Jalandhar, Puri had changed all bank accounts to operate under Kanak’s signature in March before going to attend the session of the assembly. But it was still he who owned the weekly and the press.
Puri used to temper his feeling of Kanak’s antipathy towards him by overlaying it with the memory of how Urmila used to dote on him. Now when that remedy had slipped out of his hands, Kanak’s antagonism became increasingly intolerable for him. In his mind he went through the history of his affair with Kanak, ‘Her family’s bitter opposition! I was penniless and without a job! Would anyone believe that she came to meet me in the police lock up? She invited me to Nainital. She came to Jalandhar without caring for the good job she had in Lucknow. She found me in that compromising situation. She saw a snake with her own eyes, but believed me when I told her it was a rope. She put up with so much, trusted me so much, and accepted my right over her.’ A feeling of gratitude for Kanak swept over Puri. Then another thought crossed his mind, ‘That was because of my handling of the situation. I really managed it well. But this bitterness between us, where did it come from? She does not find me desirable anymore. Is this a loving relation between a husband and wife, is this how married people live? How did this happen?’
Puri thought with intense concentration, ‘The reason is her wilful attitude, her conceit. She used to be so full of love and unrestrained passion for me, used to wake me up if I was asleep. She’s not like that any more. Perhaps she has exhausted all her passion. Perhaps her womanliness has been suppressed because she works like a man. Why does she have to
involve herself so much with
Nazir
and the press? Can I call this place my home? What hasn’t she done for the business? Few could have been more devoted than she had been. I must stop the situation from deteriorating.’
It was 2.30 when he woke up, feeling better after a nap. What was on his mind before falling asleep came back to him: He had to defuse the situation. He continued to lie down for some time. When he could not stand doing nothing, he got up and telephoned Kanak at the office.
Kanak said with surprise, ‘Which train did you take? I had called the railway station at eight o’clock to inquire. None of the trains was running late.’
‘Thanks,’ Puri said with gratefulness. ‘I woke up after the train reached Amritsar. Arrived here at 10.30 from there.’
‘You should have telephoned me. Did my not being at home cause you any difficulty?’
‘You would have come all the way from the office. It’s you who’d have been inconvenienced.’
‘Why are you talking so formally?’
‘No, no. I had no inconvenience. Took a nap after lunch. Now I am going to visit Gyaniji in Vikrampura. I may come to the office, but don’t wait for me after five o’clock. Tell Gill to come over.’
Kanak and Gill left for home after waiting for Puri till 5.15. Puri reached home about ten minutes after they did. During their casual conversation, Puri explained that the Transport Advisory Committee had recommended running state-owned buses on more routes in Punjab, which, in his view, was a pragmatic approach to the nationalization of the transport system. He explained that the privately owned buses would have to provide better service in order to compete with other carriers, and that would generate revenue for the government. The private carriers would be phased out. Then he brought up the topic of the editorial in
Nazir
.
Puri began by accepting the responsibility for an editorial published in the weekly. He said, ‘There’s nothing objectionable in that editorial. It’s only an emotional take on the economic condition of the society and the country. There’s no conflict with the fundamental policy of the Congress, and Pandit Nehru has the same point of view in the matter. But someone has filled Soodji’s ears against the editorial. Soodji’s behaviour has become very mechanical. All he thinks about is the affairs of the Congress Working Committee, who could be in the council of ministers, and about the next
elections. He has nothing to do with ideological issues any more. He doesn’t want to hear a dissenting voice. I’m in a quandary. I can’t say to him that the weekly is none of his business because I have always considered him my elder brother.
‘There’s no question of being intimidated by Soodji, or by anyone else. You both know how I gave up my job for the sake of my principles when I was even worse off. Of course, I can’t be disrespectful to Soodji. He may be sharp-tongued, but he’s a good person at heart. I don’t see anyone as unselfish as he is in the whole Congress party. Without me at his side, self-serving people will have him in the palm of their hand. He’s surrounded by yes-men as it is, and his supporters have given him a swollen head. All newspapers want to get on the right side of the government for the sake of advertisements. We sometimes do raise our voice in
Nazir
against the government, but what’ll we do if others connived to destabilize our weekly? We should try and avoid, at least for some time, getting on the wrong side of such people. If we don’t remain active on the progressive front, these yes-men will bring ruin on the entire party. Both of you manage the weekly. All I can say now is that if we want to achieve something solid, we should avoid radical opinions or sensationalism just to attract more readers as others are doing. We should rather aim at fostering a deep and insightful outlook in the public.’
Puri spoke without looking at Kanak or Gill. His tone bespoke the responsibility that rested on his shoulders, and a feeling of dejection and frustration. Kanak thought: Perhaps he is a little weary after being away for so many days. She remembered the way Puri had spoken to her on the telephone. She thought, ‘Soodji and other people must have complained about my editorial. Why doesn’t he come out with what’s bothering him. Perhaps he’ll tell me later.’
‘There was no criticism of the government policy in the editorial. It simply expressed another point of view,’ Gill said in support of Puri.
Puri did not reply, but continued to sit, as if exhausted.
Kanak asked Jaya to sing a song she had learnt at the nursery:
‘
Chhun karti aye chidiya
Daal ka dana layee chidia
…’
Kanak urged her daughter on, ‘Bravo! Sing the whole song for your papa.’ Jaya sang eagerly, but Puri sat silently, without paying her any attention.
Seeing Puri rather uncommunicative, Gill got up and left. After spending the day at the office, Kanak always had something to attend to when she got back. Around 8.30 Chaila informed that dinner was ready. Kanak called out to Puri as she went towards the dinning table, ‘Come and have dinner. It’s on the table.’