‘Have it sent to me here.’
Kanak peered into Puri’s room and asked, ‘Why, what’s the matter?’
‘All right, I’m coming.’ Puri said, getting out of his bed.
Puri said little during the dinner. Kanak tried to begin a conversation, ‘Simla must be very cold and deserted at this time of the year.’
Puri just grunted in reply.
After dinner, Kanak asked Heeran to move Jaya, who had gone to sleep in Kanak’s bed, to her crib. Then she gave her instructions for making yogurt. Before going to her own bedroom, she went into Puri’s room to check if his bed had been made.
Puri’s bed was ready, but he was sitting in an easy chair, with a blanket around him and hand cupping his chin.
Kanak said, ‘Don’t feel like working? Go to bed if you are tired. Would you like to drink some milk?’
‘Thank you,’ Puri replied, without looking at her.
‘What’s the matter?’ Kanak asked. ‘You were so formal on the telephone earlier today.’
‘What’s formal in this? If you do me a favour, I must thank you.’ Puri said politely, as if overcome by a feeling of gratitude.
‘What do you mean by doing a favour? Every woman does these things in her home. There’s no need to give thanks for such small things.’
Puri sat silently.
‘What’s behind your anger?’ Kanak asked without sitting down. ‘That editorial?’
‘Forget that. I already said what I had to say.’
‘Then what?’
‘You don’t have to take so much trouble for me.’
‘You don’t want me to do all this for you any more?’
‘I didn’t mean that. I’m already so obliged to you.’
‘There’s no need to feel obliged. Let it continue as it had in the past. What’s the need to feel obliged today?’ Kanak turned around to go.
‘I’ll tell you if you sit down for a minute.’
Kanak sat on the edge of Puri’s bedstead.
Puri said in a choked voice, ‘You gave me the right to expect all this from you because we were husband and wife.’
‘What else we are now?’
‘Hear me out. We had to face many obstacles and problems because we wanted to get married, but are we living like a married couple?’
‘How else are we living?’
‘You know the natural urge of life, the relationship between husband and wife, we don’t have it any more. Doesn’t that mean a breakdown of a relationship? Isn’t it unnatural to live together like this?’
Kanak lowered her head and looked into space beyond the open door. She said after a brief pause, ‘One child is enough for me. I’d be happy if I took good care of her.’
‘You mean that the relationship between couples is only for the purpose of having children, or that it inevitably ends in having children. Were we attracted to each other only so that we could have a child?’
‘Well, I can’t help if I don’t want to have that kind of relationship. I’m sorry,’ Kanak said, her head bowed.
Puri asked, ‘Is it unreasonable or abnormal for me to have such a need?’
Kanak was silent.
‘At least give me some reply. Have I said anything wrong?’
‘I didn’t say that, but it’s not possible for me to do anything about it,’ Kanak said without raising her head.
‘Will you have any objection if my need became so compelling that I have to fulfil it somewhere else?’
‘Do as you wish. There’s no need to discuss such things with me,’ Kanak rose to her feet.
‘And I should continue to suffer if I consider cheating on you as wrong?’
‘I’m very sorry.’ Kanak said, and went out of his room.
Whenever husband and wife clammed up after a quarrel, Chaila and Heeran also became glum and Jaya too became morose. Kanak thought such an atmosphere to be a bad influence on the child, and she would force herself to act in a way as if nothing had happened.
Next morning, she herself brought Puri his morning cup of tea, hoping to put an end to the disgraceful show. Puri did not speak to her. Kanak put his bath things in the bathroom, took out his clothes. She sat at the table when he ate, but he did not say a word. After he had finished he asked
Chaila to get him a rickshaw, and left alone for the city. Kanak too went to office at her regular time.
It was the same on the morning after next. That day Puri came to the office at 3 p.m., looking very busy and serious. He went straight into the press manager’s room and sat there checking the accounts for quite some time. Then he came to the editorial section. Ignoring Kanak, he asked Gill about the matter for the next issue of the weekly, and read all of it. He discussed a few office matters. Then he stood up, gave Kanak a sudden smile and said, ‘How long will you stay? I’ll go to Adarsh Nagar before going home.’ He looked at Gill, ‘Will you come over to Model Town? Do come.’
Puri had done something he had never done before—insulted Kanak by ignoring her in presence of others. This was his punishment for Kanak for not remaining subservient as a wife. In the past he had kept their differences hidden from others. Anger was boiling up in Kanak. She could neither write a word, nor read what was in front of her. She could not think of an excuse to go away from the office. She said after ten minutes, ‘I have to go to my sister’s place for some important work. I’ll finish off the rest of the work tomorrow.’
Kanak returned home, told Heeran that she had a headache, and went to bed. Jaya wanted to cling to her mother whom she had not seen since morning. Kanak, in a foul mood after the insult she had received, wanted to keep away from her daughter. She called Chaila over and said, ‘Your work can wait. Take Babli out for a stroll up to the roundabout.’
Chaila carried off the child who was wailing in protest.
Heeran came with some ghee in a katori, ‘Let me massage your head with this.’
‘Let it go, mausi. Stop bugging me,’ Kanak covered her face with her aanchal.
‘Hai, crazy girl, you’ve burned your brain out by drinking all those cups of
lal
tea. You use your brain all day, so what else will you get if not a headache!’
Heeran continued to stand with ghee in her hand. She said after a few moments, ‘No,
puttar
, one does not cry over such matters. You are smart enough to know how to flatter and win him over. What else can a woman do? You are a good person. God forbid, he never hit you even with so much as a flower. Mine used to break my bones. Men are bound to get angry.’ Kanak listened quietly from under her aanchal.
Heeran went away dejectedly and got busy in other chores.
After about an hour, Gill’s voice came from the veranda, ‘Babli!’ Then he called, ‘Chaila!’
Heeran came and said to Kanak, ‘Babli’s taya has come.’ Heeran had been addressing Gill by that name.
‘I don’t know if I can get up. I’ve a headache,’ Kanak said irritably.
‘No, puttar. Get up. That’s a good girl,’ Heeran said lovingly.
‘Achcha, ask him to sit.’
Kanak had to get up. She combed her hair, changed her sari. She knew her eyes would betray her mental state, but could do nothing about it.
‘Puri’s not back yet?’ Gill asked.
Kanak shook her head and took a chair next to him.
‘So?’
Kanak was silent.
‘Why don’t you say something?’ Gill said. Kanak kept a stony silence, as if stopping herself from saying anything.
‘Don’t want to talk about it?’ Gill asked sympathetically.
Kanak took a deep breath, and said, ‘Impossible!’
‘What is impossible? It’s not possible to tell me?’
Kanak sat staring at the floor. She took another deep breath, then said, ‘To go on living here.’
Gill said, arching his eyebrows, ‘Kanni, you are being stupid.’ He continued gently in English, ‘You must be more tolerant. I have explained it to you so many times.’
‘What more should I tolerate? Am I a prostitute?’ Kanak spitted out the words, then covered her face in embarrassment. She went back to her room and fell on the bed. She wept for several minutes, trying to muffle the sound of her sobs. A feeling of shame filled her, and she thought, ‘What have I said!’ Then she corrected herself, ‘But I was right. Must I put up with all this shit just to be able to live in his house, to be considered his wife? What else does a prostitute do but that! Am I not an individual? I won’t ever accept his demands, tolerate his behaviour. I don’t want to live only as his wife.’
She heard Puri’s voice from near her bed, ‘Kanni, come outside. Gill’s waiting.’
Kanak remained still.
Puri said irritably, ‘Can’t you behave yourself at least in front of others?’
‘No, I can’t. How did you behave at the office?’ Kanak snapped back in a choked but angry voice from under her aanchal.
Puri went back, and said to Gill, ‘Kanni’s not feeling well. She often gets these terrible headaches. It could be her blood pressure. I’ll consult a doctor.’
‘Yes, she looked very tired during the day. You must consult a doctor,’ Gill said sympathetically.
TARA WAS ANGRY WITH NATH.
In the last week of April, on the way back from the kothi of Agarwals, Tara had replied to Nath’s question by saying that she had no sasural. Her answer had taken Nath by surprise, and he had wanted her to explain why. It had not been easy for Tara to describe the few hours she had spent at her in-laws, and what had happened to her after that. Tara had said briefly and haltingly in English, her head bowed, ‘He found out that I didn’t want to marry him, and seemed to be harbouring a grudge against me. He knew that I was alone and helpless, and he tried to take revenge by humiliating me. I resisted and he became violent. Shortly after that a Muslim mob attacked the house and set it on fire. I managed to escape by jumping on the roof of the house next door.’ The truth about what had happened to her had come out of her lips for the first time, but she felt much lighter after doing so, just like a boil when lanced gives relief after the initial pain.
Nath did not ask any question. He did not say anything to express his surprise or to show his sympathy. Sitting still, he listened to her with his eyes half-closed. Several times Tara bit her lip and fell silent. Even then Nath kept his gaze turned away.
When she finished, Nath said, ‘I’m really disappointed in Puri.’ Then asked, ‘How did you reach the camp?’
Tara had never told anyone about the humiliation and degradation that she had suffered. Although people would have sympathized with her for a while, she would have also demeaned herself in their eyes forever. She did not want that to happen. She had invented a story about her past, but she could not tell a lie to Nath. Her head still bowed, she answered him in five sentences, ‘A goonda abducted me from the gali. A retired Muslim gentleman got me out of his clutches. I had to leave the second place because I refused to convert to Islam. Then some Muslim goondas locked up me and some Hindu women in a house. The Indian Army rescued us and took us to a camp.’ Tara did not care what Nath would think of her. She just could not tell him a lie.
Nath spoke only one sentence, ‘Tara, you are really brave and very
courageous.’ His voice was full of affection and admiration.
Nath’s words lightened Tara’s mood, ‘Doctor sahib, does your wife, I mean our bhabhiji, cook well?’
‘Barely manages to. He’s no chef. He can make everyday stuff like daal, vegetables and chapattis. There’s always some yogurt when he brings my lunch in the tiffin carrier.’
‘Why so, Doctor sahib? Get someone who knows how to cook. You should have proper meals.’
‘Yes, I do need one, but where to find one? What if he robs me? Actually I had hired a duffer. Although his name was Bhola he was anything but simple. Stole everything except the clothes I was wearing. Also four hundred rupees in cash.’
‘Doctor sahib, didn’t you lock your stuff?’ Tara asked with concern.
‘I did, but he was the one who laid out clothes for me. He was good at his job. He could sew buttons, get the cloths ironed, could manage everything. Sometime I forgot to take back the keys from him. Perhaps that was too great a temptation for him.’ Nath made light of his loss.
‘Doctor sahib, had you given him enough, he would not have stolen from you,’ Tara said in reply to Nath’s joke
‘You take me to be that generous?’
Tara asked, ‘Is bhabhiji able to manage the house?’
‘He’s old. Can’t even thread a needle.’
‘Then how can he be of help to you?’
‘He doesn’t want to let go of me. By living in my house he saves rent, his food expenses also. Probably eats better at my place. I give him fifteen or twenty rupees every month. It won’t be right to ask him to leave. His son’s in school, appearing for his Intermediate exam. Poor soul borrowed fifty rupees from me to send to his son.’
‘Then keep a help for bhabhiji. Doesn’t one keep a servant to help the wife? Bhabhiji will keep an eye on the servant,’ Tara said with a smile.
‘Yes, that’s possible. You’re right,’ Nath agreed, as if it was something he should have thought of himself.
Nath’s straightforwardness touched Tara’s heart. She asked, ‘Doctor sahib, would you like me to get you a servant?’
‘Why, are you running some agency?’
‘Something like an agency, Doctor sahib,’ Tara said, laughing. ‘It seems that my peon Durga Pande is trying to find some job in Delhi for every
boy from his home district. Parsu was sent by him. He also found servants for two neighbours.’
‘Then you must get me one.’
Tara inquired about the bus route and the bus stop near Nath’s bungalow.
‘Doctor sahib, would you like some dinner? It’s 8.30.’
‘I was waiting for you to ask me.’
‘Give me a minute,’ Tara said, getting up. She went to the kitchen to see what Purandei had cooked. The food was rather simple. She thought, ‘Why didn’t I ask him earlier?’ She sent out Parsu to get a couple of dishes from a nearby restaurant, and something from the halwai. The dough was ready. Purandei always made fresh, hot chapattis for her. Tara asked her to make some paranthas.
Tara brought food for Nath in a thali.
Nath asked, ‘How about you?’
‘You go ahead. I’ll have some later.’
When Nath insisted, Tara got a thali for herself.
Nath said looking at her thali, ‘You’re serving me restaurant food. You did the same on the night of Sita’s wedding.’
Tara’s thali had two katoris and Nath’s had four.
Tara nearly died of embarrassment. Had she known he’d notice, she’d have taken a small portion for herself.
She offered a sort of apology, ‘Doctor sahib, I forgot to check if there was enough for all of us. Achcha, I’ll cook for you one day. How about this Sunday?’
‘Not this Sunday. I’m off to Patna for a week. We’ll fix a date when I return.’ Ignoring Tara’s ‘no, no,’ Nath gave her half a share from his katoris.
Tara let the next Sunday pass. Narottam was also away from Delhi and, she thought, that she’ll invite him too when calling Nath over for dinner the Sunday after. On Tuesday Tara was in her office when Durga Pande came to her, showed her the slip of paper with Nath’s address on it, and said, ‘Huzoor mataji, I had obeyed your order to send a servant to the bungalow of the sahib. Huzoor, the sahib has gone to Simla. Now whenever huzoor orders me to.’
Tara thought irritably, ‘Why didn’t Doctor sahib tell me? He had said that he’d call me on returning from Patna. At least he could have given me his address in Simla. Now he won’t be back before September.’ Then she told herself, ‘But who am I to complain and get angry? One should be happy with
what one gets without asking.’ She remembered Mrs Agarwal’s words, ‘A lemon becomes bitter if squeezed too much.’ She thought, ‘Doctor sahib is surely an old friend, but when I have borne in silence the loss of my parents and my brother, why should I have any claims on him.’
Tara sometimes felt pangs of regret, ‘Is there someone I can call my own?’ Then she would think, ‘Shyama, Narottam, Mercy, Mathur … I can call them as my own. Then there is Rawat Sahib and Doctor sahib.’ But was there anyone with whom she could quarrel, for whose well-being she could worry?
The object of Tara’s worry and concern for the past three months had been her car. She had at first felt embarrassed at the suggestions to get a second-hand small car for herself, but a car had become a necessity after her promotion to the position of undersecretary.
After examining and rejecting several cars during the past year, she could no longer resist the urge to buy a brand-new sedan. The car had cost Tara all her savings and she had to take out a loan against her salary to pay for it. Shining like a black gem, with strips of chromium all around and seats upholstered in red velvet corduroy, the car had become the focal point of her life. In the beginning she had hired a chauffeur so that the car won’t get scratched or dented, but it was Narottam who had been teaching her to drive and to look after her car. Tara had also bought two manuals on maintaining and driving a car.
The car had brought a new sense of excitement into Tara’s life. Hardly two months had passed before she could recognize various noises that the car made. When she touched the starter button, the engine responded with a faint raspy sound. When she nudged the accelerator with her foot, the car growled louder, as if it was alive and responding to her touch. At Tara’s command it could go swift as wind, with her ensconced in its lap, in sun or in rain. All its power was under Tara’s control. She sat in its lap, but loved it like a baby. When she parked the car in an unfamiliar area, she was always concerned that some kid might scratch its paint, or some careless driver might dent its body. It was like a powerful but silent partner that shared her sad secrets. If she was lonely she went for a thirty-or forty-mile-long drive, and felt the thrill of the speed. When the speedometer needle went past 60 mph, she praised herself by saying ‘Bravo!’, and gently told the car, ‘That’s enough!’
When Narottam had been posted in Calcutta, he used to write to Tara
every two weeks. Tara also used to get letters from Tewari in Aligarh. At first she had answered two of his letters. Tewari eventually stopped writing when his letters went unanswered. Tara seldom received any other mail. Everyone she knew in her new life was in Delhi. In July a letter came to her home address from Miss Deva. She had met Deva through Narottam and they had become good friends. Deva had got a good job in Lucknow and had moved to that city. Her letter was about her new job, and included a bill of lading for a parcel of mangoes she had sent for Tara.
A couple of days later a telegram came for Tara at her office. Tara was astonished: ‘Who would send a telegram? Why?’ She thought of her parents and her brother. Maybe…
The telegram read: ‘Could not meet you before leaving. Give news about your well-being. Pran Nath.’
He had included his address in Simla.
Tara was overjoyed and thrilled to pieces. Her heart was filled with serenity and contentment, as if there was someone whose kindness and good wishes would protect her forever from every problem and danger. Her eyes saw the telegram’s message in English written on every file on her desk. She wanted to reply immediately to the telegram, but decided to take her time and write a long and detailed reply.
She stayed up late at night to write the letter to Nath. She complained about his going away without informing her, and not showing up after accepting her dinner invitation. So many other things. She filled up eight pages, but felt she hadn’t said what she wanted to say. ‘This is pretty inane,’ she thought. ‘The purpose of writing to him should not be to bother him with silly details. I’ll just send a telegram in reply.’ It was eleven o’clock. She picked up the phone and sent an express telegram: ‘Many thanks for your kindness. Am perfectly happy and well. Letter follows. Tara.’
Despite tingling with excitement, she wrote the letter with care, leaving out unnecessary details. She knew that Nath’s knowledge of Hindi was rudimentary, but what she wanted to say could not be said in English. She took care to write legibly, printing the letters:
Most Respected Doctor Sahib,
I received your telegram as a token of your boundless good wishes and blessings for me. How can I ever thank you for it? You have very kindly never expected such formalities from me. Many years ago
when I was seeking admission in college, you had advised that I should learn to be financially independent. Under your kind and generous guidance I have managed to become capable of earning enough so as to stand on my two feet.I am quite well due to your good wishes and blessings, and free from worries at present. I used to feel that the circumstances had left me all by myself. That complaint was removed on the day I met you in Delhi. I felt that I had met my guardian angel. My family has always been recipient of your kindness. I have continued to be a recipient of the same. How can I thank you for something that I regard as my right to receive from you.
Whenever Narottam and I meet, he remembers you respectfully. So do Chaddha, Mercy didi and Mathur bhai. When they say nice things about you, I feel good at heart because I know that you have favoured me most with your kindness and generosity. I know your time is important. You have been entrusted with the responsibility of drawing the Plan to solve our country’s problems or with doing what is needed most by our country. How useful you are for the country and society. I feel that I have become self-supporting, but have not been useful for the society! I hope you will guide me also in future.
You will probably return after two months, but I feel overwhelmed with your kindness even when you are far away. That feeling is always close to my heart.
I hope to receive your blessings as I’ve done in the past and which I consider to be rightfully mine.
Your student,
Tara
Tara’s guess was that in a week or so she would receive a reply from Nath. She began waiting for his letter after a week had passed. When no reply came for two weeks, she wanted to remind him, but thought, ‘What’s the point of reminding him if he’s not in Simla or is very busy. I can’t ask him to explain himself when he’s been so kind to me.’
When no letter came from Nath until the third week of August, she tried to comfort herself, ‘Perhaps all he wanted was to find out whether I was unwell or was facing any problem. He got the answer. That’s fine with
me. What did I write that was so important that he had to write back?’
Towards the end of September Tara got a telephone call from Nath that he was back and would come over that afternoon around six o’clock.
Nath came carrying a bundle wrapped in a towel. He held it out to Tara and said, ‘Here, this is for you.’
The aroma of apples filled the room. Tara’s heart was filled with joy and gratitude, and she was overcome by Nath’s concern for her. She took the bundle, held it reverently next to her heart and asked in mock anger, ‘Why didn’t you reply to my letter?’
‘You didn’t ask me anything so what I could say in reply? And such chaste Hindi! It was almost Sanskrit. I had difficulty figuring it out even with a dictionary. Felt as if I was reading a homily on the importance of devotion. By the grace of God and His help, I’ll learn Hindi. It’s going to be the official language. You’ll have to tutor me.’