Mahashweta (16 page)

Anand did not answer.

‘Last time, some strangers whose background we didn’t know used beauty to trap you. This time you should marry into a known family.’

Anand still kept quiet.

‘Anupama has not tried to contact us even once since she left home. Perhaps she doesn’t want to stay with you. I heard she wants a divorce and alimony. Poor girl! Let us be fair and pay her something. Though she deceived us, I’m willing to overlook that. But I don’t want you to wait indefinitely.’

Irritated, Anand rose from his seat. Radhakka continued. ‘Do you want to become an ascetic? Our family should grow and our lineage should continue. We have so much property. I want my grandchildren to inherit it.’

Anand felt her words pierce through him, but he did not know what to say. Radhakka had tears in her eyes on the day he left, ‘Anand, when will I see you again?’

‘Very soon.’

‘Shall I go ahead and find a girl for you?’

‘Let me think about it.’

Though Anand left without giving a firm answer, Radhakka assumed it was a yes.

Anand completed his degree successfully and continued to practise in England for a while. One day, a couple came to his hospital. The wife was using crutches and the husband was helping her. There was also a baby in his arms. He explained, ‘My wife lost her legs in a car accident. Now she is unwell, and the baby is irritable. That is why we are here.’

As Anand quietly examined the wife, the husband kept talking. ‘We are God-fearing people. That is why we make Him the witness in everything. In my marriage vows I had sworn that we would be together until death. It is my duty to help her whenever she is in difficulty.’

Anand was touched by his words. Even in the West, where divorce was easy, this man had chosen to take care of his crippled wife because of his commitment to the marriage vows he had made. Anand thought of Anupama. He, too, had made many promises in front of Agni and all the guests who had come to bless them during the wedding ceremony. Now they were parted, but not by death. Had he done the right thing? His mother kept insisting that he should remarry. He would have to make similar promises to another woman. What was the guarantee that this marriage would last? Having lived alone for so long, he would find it difficult to adjust to someone else’s ways. He had not found happiness after marrying a girl of his own choice; would he be happy in a marriage arranged by his mother?

Anand returned to India some months later to set up a practice in his home town. In the sprawling expanse of Lakshmi Nivas, there were only three people now—Anand, Radhakka, who had fallen down and broken her hip, and her helper, Narayanachar.

When Radhakka realized that Anand was not willing to remarry, she was very upset. She cried and fasted for a few days, but stopped when nothing came out of it. So, she reconciled herself to the situation by saying, ‘I cannot change his fate. Whatever will be, will be.’ But, deep inside, she remained very upset. The only change in the house came when Girija visited with her daughter.

Anand could not find any peace in his home. He was constantly reminded of a past that he wished to forget. Though there was not a trace of Anupama or of any of her belongings in the house, the very fact that she had lived there for two months was a source of irritation and distress to Anand. He decided to move into Girija’s room on the ground floor.

He was arranging his books in the chest of drawers, which had been purchased by his father in Bangalore. It was made of rosewood and exquisitely crafted. A few books fell from his hand when he was putting them in the drawer. When he bent down to pick them up, he noticed a small drawer at the back, which was not visible from the front. Curious, he pulled it open, and found a letter and sundry bits of paper in it.

Why was the letter kept there? Was it an important letter, or did it hold secrets? Anand started reading it.

My darling Girija,

Last night when you were going from my room, I think your sister-in-law, Anupama, saw you. She may be aware of our relationship. I will always cherish the time I spent with you in Belur-Halebeedu. I get so much joy when you are with me. At times I feel we should live like this forever. But I am aware of my situation; and I know that being born in a rich family you are used to a certain lifestyle, and want to marry a rich man. I agree with you—as long as we are here, we should spend our days happily. Afterwards, we may not meet each other at all. We will probably be strangers to one another. Will you come tonight at 8 p.m.?

Lovingly yours,

Vijay.

Anand was stunned.

Girija was not a starry-eyed teenager who had been coerced by someone. She had been a willing participant in a clandestine relationship just for fun, before her marriage! His own sister—he couldn’t believe it. Even he had never looked at another woman after he had left Anupama, though there had been no dearth of opportunities.

None of the other women who had been born in the house, and even those who had married into the family, had ever behaved like this. He thought of Girija. What guarantee was there that she and her boyfriend were not meeting even after marriage? Even though he knew it would come as a shock to Radhakka, he thought it would be best to tell her about the affair. He hoped Girija would heed their mother’s advice instead of dismissing it, like she did his.

At dinner, when Radhakka saw Anand’s worried face and a letter in his hand, she asked, ‘Whose letter is that?’

‘It is Girija’s. From someone called Vijay.’

Radhakka’s face reflected her unhappiness. ‘Why should we talk about it now? Let us forget the past.’

‘No, avva. I want to know what happened,’ Anand was adamant.

Radhakka sighed deeply, ‘Don’t you remember Vijay who was staying in our outhouse for a while? He was Girija’s classmate. He was good at his studies, but from a very poor family. His father was a cook. Vijay would do little odd jobs for us. Girija was friendly with him.’

‘Is that all? There must be much more than that.’

‘Yes. When I came to know, I sent Vijay away and started looking out for a boy for Girija. Today she is happily married.’

‘If Girija and Vijay loved each other, you should have got them married. Even Anupama was from a poor family but you allowed me to marry her.’

‘That was different. Anand, you must learn to be practical in life. You can bring a daughter-in-law from a poor family into your house; but never send your daughter to a poor family. How could I have married off a princess like Girija to a beggar like Vijay? Or told people that my daughter’s father-in-law is a cook? What would they have said? Think of our status in society!’

‘But Girija loved him.’

‘No, Girija did not love him. When I told her that I was going to look for a bridegroom for her she was very happy.’

Anand was unable to understand the workings of his mother’s mind. He had always assumed that his mother was an orthodox woman, but quite guileless. For the first time, he realized that his impression of her was wrong, that she was pragmatic and opportunistic.

‘Anand, who told you about this? Was it Anupama?’

‘Why are you talking about her?’

‘Because only she knew about it, apart from me.’

Suddenly, Anupama appeared to him in a different light. His doubts and misgivings about the way he had treated her came surging back. Yes, Anupama had contracted an affliction that marred her external beauty, but she was still pure at heart. She had been shunned and abandoned only because of one white patch. On the other hand, Girija, who had had a sordid affair before her marriage, was held in high esteem in society and at home.

Anand felt responsible for Anupama’s misfortunes. Why had he allowed his sense of fairness and his judgment to become so warped that he had turned away when she had needed him the most? Why had he shirked from honouring the vows he had taken when he had married her? Why had he assumed, all these years, that his mother was right? A deep sense of guilt and shame pervaded his mind.

Whatever I have done was wrong, but the time that I have lost cannot be recovered. However, I must rectify the mistakes I have made and shape the future properly. I will beg Anupama to forgive me. She is far superior to anyone I know—in morals, intellect and conduct.
With new-found determination he got up.

Looking at his face, Radhakka asked him, ‘Where are you going?’

‘I am going to bring Anupama back into my life again. I just hope it is not too late.’

It was Deepavali, the festival of lights. All of Bombay seemed to be exchanging gifts, consuming enormous quantities of sweets, and throwing parties.

Satya had left for Mysore where his mother and sisters were eagerly waiting for him. Anupama had helped him buy gifts for his family. When he had tried to buy her a sari as a gift, she had refused to accept it.

‘Satya, I have everything I want in life, and I am very thankful for that. When I need something I will definitely ask you.’

Vasant had tactfully intervened, ‘Satya, buy lots of crackers for Anupama and I will help her burn them on Deepavali night.’

Since Vasant did not have a family with whom he could celebrate the festival, Anupama invited him home.

‘Vasant, please stay for dinner. I have called my students, too.’

Vasant happily accepted her invitation. It had been a long time since he had celebrated Deepavali. How different it had been in his childhood! Even though they had been poor, they had celebrated the festival with great enthusiasm and in keeping with its true spirit. His mother would give him a leisurely oil-bath early in the morning, despite his protests. And then she would prepare sweets for the festival. Although they had lacked the comforts that money could buy, their poverty had cast no shadow on their happiness.

Vasant arrived early at Mary Villa on Deepavali. He had bought a collection of Bernard Shaw’s plays as a gift for Anupama. She looked relaxed and cheerful, as usual. Watching her, he wondered if she had ever felt any unhappiness. Her face always glowed with contentment—it was as if she was one of the lucky few who were happy all the time.

‘You shouldn’t have bought me a gift, Vasant.’

‘My mother taught me never to go empty-handed to meet a friend.’

Anupama’s mind suddenly went back to her mother. She did not have a single photograph of her. If she had lived, she would probably have given her advice just as Vasant’s mother had.

Vasant was looking at the beautiful rajanigandha, marigold and cosmos blooming in her garden. They were all dancing in the evening breeze in harmony with one another; and yet, they were all so different. He looked at Anupama and, noticing her silence, said, ‘It is difficult to forget one’s mother, isn’t it?’

Sadly, Anupama answered, ‘I never had the luxury of knowing my mother. It is impossible to replace a mother’s love.’

With her father, it had always been more a bond of duty than love. When she had got a job in Bombay, she had sent half her salary to her father. But she had never felt like going back home. She never shared her difficulties with him either. Her father had mixed feelings about her. He was happy that Anupama was economically independent and had settled down. But he was an old-fashioned person; and he felt that she should go back to her husband. He believed that a woman’s ultimate sanctuary should be her in-laws’ house—single women were not respected in society. Shamanna was worried that people would gossip about her and it would reflect on him. He repeatedly wrote to her to plead with Anand to take her back, and not get upset with him. Anupama found such advice distasteful after the emotional trauma she had endured. Despite that, she knew that Shamanna cared deeply for her.

One day, a telegram came from the village—Shamanna had died of a heart attack. With his death, the last link with her past had been severed. Sometimes, she felt that perhaps her problems and the way she lived now had caused him unbearable tension and ultimately his heart attack. But Anupama was unable to cry. There was no point in returning to her old house now that her father was gone. Anupama sent some money, which she had saved with great difficulty, for her father’s last rites.