Nayyar would say, ‘It’s not my fault! It’s as the old saying goes, “A younger sister-in-law is one’s half-wife!” Kanak did not mind such antics and banter as she found his attention amusing and pleasing. But after she had confessed her feelings to Puri, she began to find Nayyar’s mock flirtation insulting and his attitude towards her a bit patronizing. She could not bear to be touched by anyone other than Puri. She would retaliate with a disapproving look rather than with pleasure. Kanak’s coolness piqued Nayyar. The reason for the change in her attitude was easy to guess.
When Kanta’s family gave their approval to her attraction to Mahendra and to their friendship by announcing their engagement, she began to feel bashful before her family and friends when he was around. Kanak and Kanchan had heartily accepted him as the brother they never had. After his marriage to Kanta, Nayyar not only became a brother-in-law but also a friend for her younger sisters. Eighteen months after their marriage, during the months when her pregnancy and the birth of her child had confined Kanta to her home, Kanak had become Nayyar’s companion and confidante. There were many things that they could tell only to each other, and there was always something to chat about. After Puri’s arrival, Kanak could neither give Nayyar the same companionship and attention, nor did she find his company as pleasing as before. She expected his approval when she praised Puri in front of him, and ended the conversation abruptly when he refused to accept his brilliance. None of this made Nayyar feel particularly kindly disposed towards Puri.
Nayyar ignored Puri in the same way that a fancy pedigree dog from a big house treats the street mongrel, like a pariah, without caring to fight or
even stopping to growl. When Kanak told Nayyar about Puri’s appointment as sub-editor at
Pairokaar
, all he had inquired about was his salary. Since then, every time Nayyar met Puri, a slight nod was the only sign he gave of their acquaintance. At the mention of Puri, he had once said jokingly to Kanak, ‘He’s just your tutor in the same way as Muttu Baba is Kanchan’s sitar teacher.’
Nayyar’s remark had hurt Kanak, and she had a heated discussion with Nayyar about Puri. Nayyar said, ‘He has an odd arrogance and affectation in his behaviour, and he lacks confidence, like someone travelling on a train without a valid ticket. Haven’t you noticed that? He seems very unsure of himself and nervous, as if he’s undeserving and may be thrown out as a gatecrasher at any moment. He seldom has the courage to start a conversation.’
‘But you can’t have an intelligent conversation about literature or art with him either. What can he talk to you about? You don’t understand politics, except what you read in newspapers. Of course, he can’t make social chit-chat or carry on a silly conversation, because he doesn’t move among that kind of people. That’s not his fault, or his lack of personality. If you don’t like Puriji’s company, he’s not exactly desperate for yours, either.’ Kanak could not hold back without exacting some revenge for the insults meted out to Puri.
Nayyar had thought that once Kanak’s passion for literature and her ambition to become a writer was over, the thick clouds of respect for her guru that were befogging her mind would be swept away. But when a whole year passed and nothing like that happened, he asked, exercising his right to the
jija-sali
intimacy, ‘This devotion for your guru hasn’t turned into anything else, has it?’
Knowing his dislike for Puri, Kanak replied with a stony stare, ‘Absolutely not.’
In the weeks following the riots that had swept the city in March, Kanak had become so increasingly restive and impatient that it often attracted attention. Kanchan had kept her surmises to herself. Nayyar had attempted to question Kanak on the basis of his old intimacy, but Kanak had given nothing away. Nayyar had his suspicions, but in the absence of any evidence, had kept quiet.
‘So Kanni, why are you being so canny with your favours?’ Nayyar asked as he stepped into her room. Kanak was stretched on the bed, and he sat down beside her.
Kanak moved to one side to give him room and closed the magazine she was reading. She said, ‘I’m not being canny.’
Panditji had told Nayyar about the letters she had written, the ones she had received, and about her silent defiance. He knew why Panditji was worried. He also had proof of his suspicions now. He had come to see Kanak and to resolve the matter as a member of the family.
To remind Kanak of their old intimacy, he nudged her in the back with his elbow, ‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘Jijaji, I’ve told you that I don’t like these touchy–feely jokes!’ Kanak said irritably.
‘I’m sorry!’ Nayyar apologized. His face became serious. He removed his elbow. He moved away a little towards the edge of the bed and asked seriously, ‘What’s wrong? You feeling all right?’
‘More or less.’
‘Anything physical?’
Kanak shook her head in denial.
‘Anything tugging at the heart strings?’
Kanak did not reply.
‘Listen, Kanni,’ Nayyar said sympathetically, ‘how can your problem be solved unless you talk about it? If you do something without telling us, it will come out sooner or later.’
Kanak put aside her magazine, sat up and pulled the hem of her kameez over her knees, ‘Pitaji is being unfair to me.’
‘How is he being unfair?’ he asked gently.
‘He’s keeping my mail from me.’
Nayyar asked, after a moment’s thought, ‘You mean he doesn’t give you the letters that come for you?’
‘Yes, and he kept the one I had asked to be mailed.’
‘Who wrote to you and whom did you write to?’
‘To Puriji,’ Kanak said firmly.
‘To Puri? But he comes here to visit you at home.’
‘How can he? You all treat him with such disrespect.’
‘What? I don’t think I’ve ever shown him any disrespect. Anyway, it’s a matter of personal opinion. We have to have a serious talk about this. Come to Model Town with us. We’ll have more time there. Some fresh air will be good for you, too.’
Kanak finally ate something with her sister and jija at their home. She
was now even more determined to fight for her rights. They talked several times, briefly, about what was bothering her. It was clear what her problem was. On the fourth day, after afternoon tea, all three drew up chairs in one corner of the lawn to have a heart-to-heart talk.
‘You will agree that pitaji, and both of us too, are only concerned about your happiness, and that pitaji and we too have some experience and common sense.’ It was Kanta who brought the topic up.
Kanak said, ‘That same argument is made by those very people who marry off their daughters when they’re fifteen and think it outrageous when their daughters utter even one word in protest.’
‘But you know we’re not like that,’ Nayyar took over. ‘We accept that when you decide to marry is essentially your prerogative, and that our agreement is necessary only as a sign of our concern for you.’
‘How does it matter what I want, when you can all decide to ignore it?’
‘No, that’s not true. What you want comes first. There’s no question of what we want or agree to, unless you say what you want first,’ Nayyar explained.
‘You know what I want, but you don’t give a damn since you don’t agree with it,’ Kanak said heatedly. ‘What you all want is that you choose someone for me, and I simply say yes, so that you all can say that everything was done just as I wanted.’
Nayyar stayed calm, ‘Achcha, whatever you say. What I mean is that if our choice depends on your consent, your choice should also have our consent. Then the situation will balance out.’
Kanak became agitated, ‘How will it balance out? You’re invading my privacy and trampling on my rights. You cut my rights in half, and try to tell me that the two sides are equal. It’s like the British saying that their rights and the Indians’ rights are equal when it comes to deciding the future of this country. Or the Muslim League claiming the same rights as the Congress over all the provinces of India. Would you accept that? It’s my whole life that’s at stake, so what does any other consideration matter?’
Nayyar sounded resentful, ‘How can you say such a thing? The question of our permission wouldn’t arise unless we were concerned about you as family. Do you suppose that pitaji or any of us stand to profit in some way from your marriage? We see that your choice is not in your best interests. If it had been, we’d have been very pleased.’
‘It’s me who is getting married. What if you don’t approve of my choice?’
‘You speak as if we have no connection with you. You mean our advice goes for nothing? Isn’t it a shortcoming in Puri’s personality that he can’t fit in with us? He comes from a different class. We want you to marry at you own level, or even higher. If you’re bent on ruining your future, how can we stand aside and just look on in silence?’
‘I’ve chosen him to make a success of my life,’ Kanak said, dropping her gaze.
‘I can’t see what success he’d be able to bring to you,’ Kanta objected. ‘Standing next to you, he doesn’t seem suitable for you. Hardly reaches up to,’ she looked at her husband, ‘his chin. The rest of his physique, too, is skinny; as if he was made up from leftovers during the wartime shortages when there wasn’t enough of anything.’
‘That’s enough, bahinji!’ Kanak stopped her angrily. ‘What right you have to criticize others? How would you feel if I said that jijaji looks like a walking beanpole?’
‘Hai, may he have my life!’ Kanta laughed. ‘I now must wave seven pods of dry red chilli round his head and throw them into the fire to ward off the evil eye.’
Kanak was determined not to let laughter sidetrack her, ‘All you can see is someone’s outsides. Just someone’s wealth, car, bungalow, social standing.’
‘Achcha baba, what do you see in him? Won’t you be married to his body?’ Kanta asked, as she leant her chin on her closed fist.
‘Why, what about his literary talent, his sense of dignity, self-respect, his generosity? Does all of that go for nothing?’ Kanak replied.
‘You’ve discovered all that in such a short time?’ Kanta joked.
‘A person’s qualities can’t remain hidden for long,’ Kanak said without hesitation.
‘Listen, Kanni,’ Nayyar said affectionately and with a serious expression. ‘I admit he’s a brilliant writer. I too can appreciate good writing. I took literary studies in my BA courses. He has talent, I agree. And some day he might even become a great writer. But what matters more in a marriage is not such qualities and abilities, but a person’s social status and personality. Kanchi is fond of music. His teacher Muttu Baba has plenty of musical talent, but should Kanchi marry Muttu Baba? Tell me, would you approve if Kanchi were to do that? Other people have other talents. You may have
respect for someone’s talent, but you marry somebody with a view to making your marriage work. Do you follow me? Did you know about Tolstoy, that his wife tried to commit suicide several times because of his abuse? Tolstoy had no lack of literary talent and brilliance. Just think! Art is one thing and human qualities something else.’
‘I do respect him for his human qualities,’ Kanak replied with her head down.
‘Listen,’ Nayyar’s tone became grave, ‘You’ve known him for one year at the most. If my guess is right, the attraction between you two can’t have lasted longer than seven or eight months. And that too with times in between when you couldn’t see or meet one another. You may have met once in two weeks, or maybe twice in one week. In the past two or two-and-a-half months, there’s been no meeting because of the riots in the city. It’s quite difficult to know a person in that much time, especially when the other person is doing his best to create a good impression. Try to know the inner qualities of a person.’
‘You people don’t give anybody a chance for closeness to get to know the other person.’
‘If you’ve made up your mind, what’s the point of getting to know him any better?’
‘Yes, my mind is made up,’ Kanak said bluntly.
Kanta said pleadingly, ‘You won’t listen even to those who wish you well. You won’t even learn from the experience of those who have been through more than you.’
‘Bahinji, if all the people in this world listened to what their elders had to say, we’d still be living in the times when the Sikhs ruled the Punjab. Don’t mind my saying so, but Mansa bua is the eldest in the family, but would you pay any heed to what she has to say to you?’
Next day Mahendra Nayyar had to go to the office of his senior lawyer at eight in the morning. Later in the day, both sisters were talking while lying on the bed together. Kanta said, with tears in her eyes, ‘I could not tell you of this in front of my husband? Last Sunday we went over to your house after pitaji phoned us. Mahendra sat in the living room, but I went to pitaji’s room. He was crying. He said to me, “Beta, you know, all children are the same for their mother and father. But, don’t mind my saying so, I had expected better things from this daughter of mine. And she’s the one who’s causing me the most problems.”
‘He said, “Have I worked so hard all my life and built up so much, so that one day I could see Kanni destitute and homeless with that man? I’d be happy if I saw you all succeed in life. What else can I wish for? My daughter has ceased to trust me. She has to lie to me, and write letters without telling me. Why would I have objected if the man she fell for was any good?” You know pitaji never stood in my way. He said, “All I can wish for is that Kanak gets married, but how I can accept that man as my son-in-law?”’
Kanak began to cry, and wept for a long time. She said to her sister that afternoon, ‘I wish I could drown or kill myself. You know how much I love pitaji, but I can’t do anything else in this matter. Or, maybe I should forget about getting married.’
Kanta said, ‘Pitaji said that he’d rather you stayed single than ruin your future in this way. Listen, Kanni, none of us likes that man. He appears to be always on guard, never his own self.’
‘That’s just my bad luck, isn’t it?’ Kanak replied and sank into silence.
Kanta had hoped that Kanak’s affection and regard for her father would bring her round. Next day when Kanta brought up the subject again, Kanak said calmly, ‘Bahinji, don’t mind my saying so, but I must tell you this. You don’t love pitaji any less than I do, but still you left him after your marriage and moved to your husband’s house. In fact, today no one matters to you more than your own Nano. Pitaji too brought us up without caring for the ways of his own parents. It may sound heartless, but I’m helpless in this matter. That’s what life is all about.’