A Fine Family: A Novel Page 15

  ‘Why do you want to meet her?’ asked Seva Ram.

  ‘I want to know what they are like. Besides it will help your career if they know that you have an educated wife who speaks English.’

  ‘I don’t want that sort of help, thank you.’

  Despite her husband, Tara sent a message through a senior Indian official’s wife, who had access to Mrs Parker. Much to everyone’s surprise, Mrs Parker agreed. She broke protocol one afternoon and visited Tara at her little PWD bungalow, where she also met the wives of the half-a-dozen junior Indian officers in the department. They spent an hour drinking tea, eating pakoras and smiling. Tara got a chance to practice her English, but the meeting did not particularly satisfy her.

  Inevitably, the talk turned to servants. ‘I only have Hindi-speaking servants,’ Mrs Parker said, ‘because you can never trust those who speak English. Besides, I never need to speak to anyone except the khidmatgar and the cook. They run everybody else. Still, I’m glad I am learning Hindi. I have a munshi who comes every morning, but I’m quite hopeless at learning languages.’

  Tara asked if there was enough work for all her servants.

  ‘The Chief Engineer has fifty, my dear,’ she replied. ‘In recent years wages have gone up and one can’t afford as many servants as one used to.’

  After a year in Rohtak, Tara discovered that Karan had been shifted by the British to the Rohtak jail. He was lodged in a special wing for political prisoners. She did not tell Seva Ram about her discovery, and after vacillating for a week, she finally decided to visit him. Leaving her child with a neighbour, she took a tonga one hot afternoon in April. On the way her heart beat violently, and she almost turned back. At the jail, she was informed that Karan was permitted one visit on the last Friday of each month. She pleaded with the authorities, and since Karan had not had any visitors for the past three months, she was permitted to see him.

  The jail felt cool after the journey under the hot sun. She was taken across a number of corridors to a special room which was divided by bars. After some time a dark bearded figure was led in. She immediately covered her head with the end of her sari. She was afraid and embarrassed. She did not quite know what to expect. He had lost weight, and his brown eyes stared at her. She noticed his willowy hands holding the bars. Even in prison clothes he looked handsome, she thought, but she was bothered by an unfamiliar irony in his eyes.

  ‘How is our hero?’ she asked hesitantly.

  ‘He is a prisoner,’ he replied in his slightly nasal voice, which seemed full of muted irony.

  ‘How is the prisoner treated?’ she asked.

  ‘As the prisoner should be treated.’ There was a mischievous smile on his face.

  ‘Heroes are foolhardy,’ she said.

  ‘Bring me more fools, said the wise man.’

  ‘Wise men have a head and do not suffer fools.’

  ‘But fools have a heart,’ he laughed.

  ‘This fool has no heart! He is stubborn like a goat,’ she said with annoyance. He glanced at her with affectionate irony.

  ‘How are Bauji and Bhabo?’ he asked after a pause.

  ‘They are all right,’ she answered mechanically.

  ‘How is your husband?’

  ‘He doesn’t talk much,’ she replied.

  Sensing that he was on delicate ground, Karan changed the subject. He asked her about the canal life. She talked about it animatedly for a quarter-of-an-hour. She described rapturously the sound of the running water in the canal.

  ‘So, my hero of the “Quit India” movement!’

  ‘It failed Tara—it turned violent.’

  ‘While you all are in jail, Jinnah is outside, nicely fanning the flames of communal hatred. I mean the whole of the Congress is in jail, isn’t it? I tell you Karan, Jinnah is going to get Pakistan. They are going to cut up India one day.’

  Soon their time was up, and she realized that she had not asked him many important questions—when he would be leaving, what his plans were, what he did all day long. . .

  ‘Do you need anything?’ she shouted as he was being led out.

  ‘No,’ he said. He looked back and his eyes twinkled with a smile. He was as enchanting as ever, she thought. Even prison had not diminished him. He continued to be amused and to amuse others. Bauji had rightly thought this to be his most endearing trait. To be amused had meant a great deal to Bauji.

  On her way out, she thanked the English jailer, who confessed that he was charmed by Karan’s unusual manners. ‘He often plays the sitar for the prisoners,’ said the Englishman. ‘Since we have a large number of political prisoners (including some important figures) he is always appreciated. For hours together we can hear him practicing some raag, and it softens the harshness of prison life.’

  The visit left Tara confused. It aroused painful desires that had been dormant for a number of years. Karan’s memory mocked her. For days afterward the warm April air was filled with sensuality, and she found that she got aroused at the slightest pretext.

  After a few weeks Tara got hold of herself. She was ashamed at allowing herself to lose her self-control. She realized that it was indiscreet to visit Karan alone. Although no one might ever know, she felt that she had diminished her honour by her reckless action. She felt genuinely contrite and she tried to make up by being extra good to Seva Ram and to see the positive side of his nature. She resolved never to meet Karan alone.

  2

  After eighteen months in Rohtak, Seva Ram was again transferred, this time to Lahore. Tara was thrilled to be finally ‘going to civilization’, to the cosmopolitan and cultured city where she had gone to college and where she had many sophisticated friends. However, as soon as they arrived in Lahore, Tara’s excitement quickly turned to disappointment. There was a severe shortage of housing in Lahore. Seva Ram was not senior enough in the service to expect the government to provide him with family accommodation in the provincial capital. The few private houses available were either too expensive or unsuitable. So they decided that until a proper house was found, it was best for Tara and Arjun to go to Lyallpur. Meanwhile Seva Ram would stay in bachelor’s quarters, and would visit them as often as possible.

  Thus Tara returned to Lyallpur in the new role of a married woman and a mother. Everyone was delighted to have her back, and Bauji proudly asked her to move into the east wing of the house, which was especially painted and furnished with new drapes and upholstery in her honour. Here, Tara had her own sitting room, her bedroom and dressing room, a nursery for Arjun and an adjoining room for Arjun’s ayah. She even had a small dining room which she never used except occasionally when Seva Ram visited them or when she wanted to eat alone with Arjun.

  The day after she arrived, the house was in a flutter because Tara’s youngest sister had her exams. ‘Make sure she eats yogurt and rice,’ Bauji shouted from the courtyard below. ‘Yogurt and rice, yogurt and rice,’ said Big Uncle, as he sat down at the breakfast table. ‘It’s exam time again, eh?’ Suddenly Tara was transported to her schooldays and she realized how wonderful it was to be home.

  Tara quickly discovered that she liked her new position in Lyallpur. Society accorded her a place of honour as a young wife and mother, and she spoke with authority and inexhaustibly about the ‘mysteries of life’ to her unmarried friends. She dressed charmingly and appropriately in pastel and light-coloured chiffon saris, thinking that sombre colours were too matronly, and that bright reds and florals were ‘too youthful for a person in her serious position.’ Despite Big Uncle’s protests, she also discarded the salwar-kameez as being ‘too collegiate and inappropriate’. She liked to wear her hair up in a bun like a society lady. As the senior daughter in the house, she took charge of running the house, controlling the household budget and the servants, a responsibility that Bhabo was more than happy to relinquish in order to devote time to her grandson and to temples. She even charmed Big Uncle’s wife, who by protocol was the seniormost, and to whom fell the responsibility of keeping house, a
fter Bhabo, but who was willing to let her sister-in-law assume the burden of running a large and chaotic household.

  Bauji was richly amused by the self-conscious dignity and seriousness that Tara brought to her new status, and by the immense pleasure she took in it. He smiled to see her make general observations about life and destiny, which she did with the utmost gusto. He had been worried that she might still not be fully reconciled to her husband. He was afraid of a scene, and thus everyone had been carefully instructed not to mention Karan’s name in her presence, even by accident. But his fears were belied. She conducted herself with such dignity that no one could guess how vulnerable she really was. Once or twice, Karan’s name did come up accidentally with her friends, but she turned the conversation skilfully, and everyone was charmed. Bhabo’s society friends felt cheated because they had looked forward to a grand scene. Once they tried to bait her in the bazaar but she was more than equal to the challenge. Amongst friends and family, she frequently used the phrase, ‘Ah, such is life.’ Each time that she did, she would open wide her big black eyes and her face would assume a grave look, as if she had acquired a deep insight into human affairs and destiny.

  ‘You know how it is father,’ she once said to Bauji, looking at the ceiling fan with a thoughtful air, ‘Of course I have learned what life is like. One has to create one’s own home and find ways to overcome dullness and boredom from within oneself. One can’t be selfish. One has to uphold the family’s honour. But life is like that, isn’t it?’ Bauji was filled with amused tenderness, and he wondered why she had begun to address him as ‘father’ and not ‘Bauji’ like everyone else.

  Thus the days passed into months. Seva Ram had still not succeeded in finding a house in Lahore. Arjun was now three-and-a-half years old. He had the run of the house. It was his kingdom, and he felt its absolute master. He would run continuously through its vast expanses and its many recesses. He would climb the three staircases at least once a day, climb onto the roof and look out over the panorama of the city spread below. He knew the territory well: from the bed next to his mother’s where he was allowed to sleep on special occasions to the feel of polished leather down in the stables, to the sorcerous dance of the sun’s rays as they filtered through the blue bamboo chick blinds in the veranda during the afternoon while everyone slept. Sometimes the rays would fall from one angle on to the wall; then enchantingly from another on to the carpet; and still another time onto a broken column in a part of the house no one visited any longer. He knew which routes to avoid at which time. Everyone in his kingdom was well disposed to him.

  Arjun’sbest friend in Lyallpur was Bhabo. He would sit with her on the tiled veranda in the winter sun as she chopped fresh mustard and spinach for the midday meal. As they were chatting one day, she noticed that the middle button was missing from his new red shirt. She slowly got up and brought her silver needle and thread box. She opened it, and discovered that she didn’t have a red button. And since she could not think of substituting a different coloured button, Ariun was given a square, shiny two-anna coin and sent off on his first trip to the bania’s shop in the neighbourhood.

  Arjun stepped uncertainly out of the small wooden door, which was set into a more massive gate, and ran along the narrow, shining open drain. Outside the store sat a number of men on a charpai, drinking tea, smoking the hookah and enjoying the sun. He made his way around them towards the bania, who stood among sacks full of onions and chillies.

  ‘Brother, give me a red button,’ Arjun announced to the unshaven bania as he handed him the square coin. While the bania searched, Arjun stared longingly at the glass jars on the counter filled with English sweets. The bania finally handed him the button, and Arjun was about to run out, when the bania caught him by the arm and thrust the change in his top pocket. One of the tea drinkers laughed, but Arjun was not intimidated.

  As he ran back, Arjun felt exhilarated over his successful entry into the world. Just as he reached the gate, however, he slipped on a banana peel and fell in the dust. He would have probably got up and continued had it not been for Big Uncle. He had been watching Arjun from his room and quickly came down the winding staircase to rescue him. As soon as Arjun saw him he began to cry.

  Thanks to Big Uncle’s rhetorical ability, the incident rapidly grew into an event. With much style he related the story of Arjun’s misfortune over lunch. Bauji became upset, and swore at Bhabo for sending his grandson out alone. She, however, was unruffled, as she calmly continued to serve warm rotis, which puffed up as they came off the fireplace. Arjun sat smugly through the meal, eagerly displaying his bandaged knee for people to see.

  After lunch, when everybody was having a nap, Bhabo brought her needle and thread box to the veranda and asked Arjun for his shirt. He brought it to her, and from its pocket she took out the button and asked him for the change. With anguish, he remembered that he must have dropped it when he fell.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ she said, ‘we shall look for it in the evening. You remember where you fell, don’t you?’

  She began to sew the button. Arjun was disappointed that Bhabo did not once ask about his knee. After a while, she said, ‘We must fix this tightly, for you don’t know when a strong button comes handy. A long time ago your great-grandfather’s cousin, Hari Lal, went on a voyage. After a few hours on the sea, his ship was caught in a storm. All day and night the men worked to save it, but the winds were too strong. At last when they knew they couldn’t save her, they abandoned ship and jumped into lifeboats. They took as much food as they could and prayed to god for mercy.’

  At this point, the thread slipped out of the needle. Arjun quickly rethreaded it, since Bhabo’s eyes were weak, and she continued.

  ‘The lifeboat was thrown around in the storm all night. In the morning though, God was merciful, and the lifeboat was spotted by a great white ship. The rescuers found only one person in the lifeboat.’

  ‘Who was it?’ Arjun asked.

  ‘Hari Lal,’ she replied. ‘But he was unconscious.’

  ‘What happened to the others?’ he asked.

  ‘They were drowned.’

  ‘Why wasn’t he drowned?’

  ‘Because his button got stuck on the edge of the lifeboat when it capsized. The button was fastened so strongly to his shirt, that he survived when the others were drowned.’

  There was a long pause. She smiled and said she would wash his dusty red shirt and he could wear it tomorrow. She then lay down to nap beside him on the charpai. Before they fell asleep, she asked, ‘Why did you cry when you fell? Hari Lal wouldn’t have been saved by crying in the storm.’

  To keep him out of trouble, Arjun was put into the nursery of the local primary school. But he got into trouble the very first week, when he insisted on correcting the master who tried to teach him his first English words.

  ‘Thee apple,’ said the master.

  ‘No, thuh apple,’ corrected Arjun.

  The master picked up his cane but Arjun would not budge.

  ‘Where did you learn to say that?’ asked the master.

  ‘My mother speaks like that.’

  The master did not use the cane, in deference to Bauji. But he asked Arjun to stand up and he ridiculed him before the other boys.

  In the evenings, Tara would take Arjun to the Company Bagh. While she gossiped with her friends in the ‘Ladies Garden’, Arjun would run about in the vast gardens. Once Arjun got lost in the Company Bagh. Tara was in tears, and everyone was deputed to look for him. They finally spotted him on the shoulders of a policeman. When Bauji asked him that evening where he had got lost, Arjun calmly replied, ‘No, I was not lost, Mother was lost.’

  So passed Arjun’s and Tara’s days in Lyallpur. After the winter came the unbearable hot weather, and finally to everyone’s relief came the rains in early July. Tara would sit in the veranda and watch the rain fall gently over the plants in the courtyard. She would look up at the fluffy white clouds above and her heart would fill with romantic thou
ghts. The breeze brought the aroma of fresh summer flowers. The grass in the Company Bagh sparkled richly green. Even the huge sprawling mango tree in the main courtyard seemed to relax and enjoy the rain, after having delivered its harvest of mangoes to the family in June. The parrots were unusually active on its branches and the koel sang its heart out in the nights. Tara said that she missed Seva Ram, but at night she dreamed of Karan.

  In this sentimental season, a scandal burst open suddenly at 7 Kacheri Bazaar. Arjun’s ayah was pregnant. She was a dark and pretty Christian girl, whose eyes sparkled when she was addressed. She was pious, and moved quietly around the house. When the discovery was made, she cried and cried and refused to divulge the name of her lover. For days the house was kept guessing about his identity. Big Uncle thought it was the syce, Tara believed it was the cook. Bauji threatened to turn her out along with the cook and the syce. But Tara came to the ayah’s rescue. She accused Bauji of being heartless, especially when the girl needed medical attention. She blamed Bhabo for never having accepted the poor, non-Hindu girl. She was treated like a member of the lowest caste; she was not allowed to enter the kitchen or touch the pots and pans in which food was cooked. After some skilful detective work, Big Uncle announced over dinner that it was the cook. With much delight he read out the cook’s confession, which Tara thought was in bad taste. Bauji wanted to forget the whole wretched affair which had been the centre of the household’s attention for almost a week.

  ‘But where did they do it?’ asked Big Uncle, whose main point of curiosity was still not satisfied.

  ‘In her room, you fool,’ shouted Tara.

  ‘But couldn’t you hear them, Tara?’ he said.

  ‘Oh, you are impossible!’ said Tara.

  ‘How can you be so vulgar! Stop it,’ said Bauji.

  ‘This is the type of practical and useful information he needs, so that he can follow in the cook’s footsteps,’ said Big Uncle’s wife.