A Life Incomplete, page 12
He gazes at her for a while before dragging himself back to his bed where he sits cross-legged and tries to focus on his prayers. He wants to calm himself but feels pulled away from his moorings by the turbulent currents raging inside him. Unwilling to give up, he forces himself to sit there for about an hour or so and may have continued longer if someone hadn’t come up to turn on the light.
He finds himself looking straight into her eyes. In barely a month, she has lost all trace of her illness. He notes that her attractive face is now complemented by a buxom and healthy body. Today is the day, he decides. This is the time to have my long-desired conversation with her.
‘Prakash!’ he calls with a new firmness in his voice.
‘Yes,’ she answers with a touch of reticence.
‘Please take this milk back,’ he says by way of his opening gambit.
‘Why?’
‘I don’t feel like having it today.’
‘Please drink it. You haven’t eaten properly either,’ she says as she starts to leave the room.
‘Wait!’ he says. A host of new thoughts enter into his mind. How does she know that I haven’t eaten well? Does she care that much for me?
‘How do you know that, Prakash?’
Halting near the door, she turns towards him. ‘You used to have four chapattis. Then, it came down to three. And today, you’ve had just two.’
‘You’ve been counting my chapattis?’ Kuldeep asks incredulously.
‘A maid who does not care about her master’s meals can never be truly loyal to him.’
‘But…but…’ Kuldeep finds it strangely difficult to translate his thoughts into words. After a brief interval, he makes another attempt. ‘But perhaps you don’t know why my appetite has been diminishing over this period.’
‘I have tried to find out but…’ she says with a look that goes straight into the deepest corner of his heart – the corner where so many other memories are already piled up in an unseemly heap. Disturbed by the commotion caused by this newest entrant, they leap up towards his throat. He chokes. But then, like the waves that build up in their race towards the seashore, they crash against the land and quietly dissipate.
A tremor of remorse goes through Kuldeep’s body, calmed only by the soothing query from Prakash, ‘So why do you remain so gloomy?’
‘What makes you say that I am gloomy?’ He looks closely at her, trying perhaps to read some meaning into the indecipherable text etched on her face.
She does not reply, and both stand silent for a while. Kuldeep opens his mouth to say something when Gian Kaur’s voice crackles, ‘Prakash! Bring the child down, will you!’
‘Take the glass will you,’ he calls out as she steps out of the door.
‘Finish the milk first. I’ll fetch it after that!’ she replies.
The sound of her feet prancing down the steps is like music to Kuldeep’s ears. Her voice continues to echo in his ears long after she has left the room. He looks at the glass of milk and smiles. His refusal to drink it was only a ploy to start a conversation.
The glow of her presence has kindled a new light in him. In its gentle radiance, he realizes that he has forgotten to ask her any of his principle questions. ‘What is your relationship with Waryam Singh? Where are you from? Why did you accept the lowly job of a domestic and where did you learn such graces?’
Lying down on the bed, his head is abuzz. ‘First it was Satwant, then Saroj and now this one. Am I falling for her in the same way? Shame on me! Think of the noble path where Guruji was trying to lead me and where I am headed! I turned down Saroj because I wanted to avoid getting caught up in the web of attachments. And today? Today my mind is inundated with thoughts about this maid…What a devil’s mind I possess…So lowly…So set in its own ways!’
I need to resume my meditation, he decides. Getting up, he spreads a sheet on the floor and is about to sit cross-legged when his eyes fall on the glass. He is about to pick it up when he pauses. ‘Hadn’t she said that I should finish the milk and that she would come later to fetch it? If she comes and sees that the milk is still in the glass, she will ask me the reason and I will again be able to start a conversation! No! I don’t care if she comes or not. I shall not talk to her. I shall not even look at her.’
Armed with a new resolve, he sits down and starts to chant the verses he has learnt from the guru. He isn’t sure how long he has been meditating before his attention is distracted and his eyes again fall on the glass. Prakash is standing before him, asking, ‘How come you still haven’t finished your milk?’
‘I didn’t want to,’ he replies.
‘Why not?’
‘Didn’t feel like.’
‘Why?’
‘Just like that.’
‘And what does that mean?’
‘Nothing.’
‘What do you mean by “nothing”?’
He opens his eyes to discover that there is nobody in his room. The glass is still perched on the stool. ‘I was meditating. Where have I drifted?’ he curses himself. He closes his eyes again, only to hear the plaintive wail of a beggar, ‘Give something to this beggar, O Mother of children! May your coffers expand when you give to a beggar!’ Kuldeep grits his teeth in anger. ‘These beggars are so insensitive. Don’t they have any idea about the disturbance they cause with their shrieking? Even if they have to beg, why can’t they lower their voices?’
He gets up to shut the window and sits down for one more attempt to resume his prayers. He concentrates hard and for a while the breathing and chanting move in unison to produce their unique harmony. But the sheer joy of meditation that he used to experience earlier is missing. Is it the light? Is the room too bright? He gets up again to turn it off.
No sooner does he sit down in the pitch-dark room than the relentless chatter of a cricket distracts him. Upset, he turns on the light and scans the walls. The sound seems to come from the wall in the front, and then from the right. Unable to locate the elusive creature, he frets in helpless rage. I’ve never heard this fellow before. From where did he decide to make his appearance today? He picks at a little hole in his mattress and pulls out enough cotton wool to plug both his ears. Instead of shutting out the sound of the solitary cricket, he feels as if he is surrounded by hundreds of them. The sharp chatter of one has been replaced by the relentless drone of many. Restless, he takes out the earplugs and reasons that someone might come up to call him. He doesn’t want to be deaf to such a call.
He drifts into a fitful sleep before being awakened by the steady ticking of the clock. It must be 3 a.m., he thinks, time for his habitual early-morning meditation. Peering closely at it, he sees that the two hands had merged into one. Just 12, he wonders. Is something wrong with this clock or has this night decided to extend itself into eternity?
Lying down again, he tosses around for a while before finally surrendering himself to sleep.
18
Life has a strange tendency of getting affected by developments in a manner that is completely beyond the comprehension of the human mind. The gut-wrenching scene Saroj witnessed in Waryam Singh’s house three months back has had a similar sort of impact on her life. She has developed a profound respect for the man and for the selfless nature of his principles. Would any man, any human being have attempted what Waryam Singh was trying to accomplish that night? A curious mix of repentance, yearning and intent grow within her heart. The repentance is provoked by a feeling that she had let him down that night and also missed an opportunity to help a stranger in distress. The yearning comes from the recognition that had she been a man, she would have been in a much better position to accompany him on his mission without attracting adverse comment from society. And she intends to meet him and mend fences at the earliest.
She has not seen him since that fateful night three months ago. ‘Could he save that poor woman’s life?’ she wonders. ‘Such a deep and putrid wound! Could anyone have survived it? Could I have helped? He had asked for my assistance with so much hope and confidence. Could I have spent that night at his place? Only if I am prepared to be his companion for the rest of my life, which is impossible. So what is the purpose of my life? If I can’t be of use to myself or to anyone else, I must be quite worthless. What, exactly, am I? Who am I, and for what purpose?’
Early next morning, she asks her servant to carry a message for Waryam Singh. She requests that he visit her home that evening, and the boy comes back with an affirmative response.
She spends the day waiting for him. Ganga Vishan returns from the club around 5 p.m., a deep frown creasing his forehead. ‘You look worried, Bau ji. Is everything all right?’ she asks.
‘Nothing, really,’ he replies and goes towards his room to remove his trousers and jacket and get into a comfortable dhoti. He settles into his favourite chair and fixes his eyes at the ceiling. Saroj stands behind his chair, rests her hand on his shoulder and probes, ‘What’s the matter, Bauji?’
He heaves a deep sigh but refrains from speaking. She pauses, knowing that pestering him would be fruitless. An uncomfortable silence pervades the room.
Ganga Vishan finally looks at his daughter and begins, ‘Saroj, my child…’
‘Go on, Bau ji. Why have you stopped?’
‘I was thinking…’ His voice trails off in a haze of uncertainty. ‘I hope you won’t get offended by what I am going to say.’
‘Don’t worry, Bau ji. I won’t.’
‘And you won’t be afraid either?’
‘Of course I won’t,’ she says even though she realizes that her heart is beating faster.
‘Did you go to Waryam Singh’s house that night?’ His voice is grim as he reflects on the loss of face that he would suffer in the community.
‘I did.’ Saroj overcomes her anxiety to speak with a courage that is sometimes bred by faith in your own innocence.
‘But you didn’t tell me.’
‘It was ten at night and you were in no condition to understand.’
‘And what was the emergency?’
‘Bhapa ji had sent for me.’
‘Bhapa ji calling for you was an emergency? I don’t understand.’
‘He needed my help to look after a patient.’ Saroj ignores the darkening clouds of anger on his face and replies boldly.
‘Do you think you have acquired a medical diploma or something?’ There is an unmistakeable edge in his voice.
Much as she wants to, Saroj finds it difficult to disregard his sarcasm, laced as it is with a distinct undertone of suspicion. Trying to check her own rising anger, she demurs, ‘It isn’t a question of medical knowledge. The patient was a young woman and Bhapa ji thought it important that I should be there.’
‘Do you have any idea what people are whispering?’ he asks in anguish.
‘What are they whispering about, Bau ji?’
‘They are saying that Waryam Singh is not a good person,’ he says with barely concealed anger. Before she can respond, he continues, ‘Do you know who that patient was? Did you know her?’
‘No.’ She is dismayed. Could it be that my own father is suspecting me? she wonders.
‘Did anyone see you that night while you were going or on your way back?’
‘Only Kuldeep.’
‘And I considered Kuldeep a decent person. Who would have imagined that he would go all over town to slander us in this fashion!’
‘Let’s leave Kuldeep out of it, Bau ji. But tell me what is your view about Bhapa Waryam Singh?’ She looks quizzically at her father.
‘Waryam Singh?’ He lowers his head and goes into deep thought. She asks him again and he looks up with a deeply worried face.
‘Waryam Singh…he is not a bad man…but…but…perhaps he is not quite respectable.’
‘Bau ji!’ Saroj asks philosophically, ‘would you say that all respectable people are good? That they don’t have any flaws? And can you be considered good only if you come from the higher strata of society?’
Saroj’s questions make Ganga Vishan reflect on his own character. He, too, is considered respectable. But is he good? Isn’t he a drunkard of the first order? Pondering these issues, he remains silent.
Emboldened, Saroj continues. ‘Let’s set aside what people say, Bau ji. If you think that Bhapa Waryam Singh is not a good person, please say so and I will have nothing more to do with him. But I do know your views. You do not consider him a bad person and that is what matters.’
Her transparent honesty shines on her face and Ganga Vishan finds it difficult to look into her eyes. ‘No…that’s not what I meant…I would never have any questions about Waryam Singh’s goodness,’ he ventures sheepishly.
‘And can you doubt my goodness, Bau ji?’
There is a hypnotic glow in Saroj’s eyes that forces Ganga Vishan to lower his own. He realizes that he has wronged his daughter and has to find a way out of this predicament. ‘I need to go for a walk,’ he mutters, picking up his walking stick.
Waryam Singh walks in about half an hour after Ganga Vishan’s departure. Saroj is sitting in a corner, tears streaming down her cheeks. She raises her face to look at him as he hurries towards her. ‘What’s wrong, Saroj? What happened?’
Saroj clenches her teeth and remains silent. It takes a fair bit of persuasion by Waryam Singh before she agrees to speak.
‘Bhapa ji, I would have found myself in a really difficult spot if you had arrived half an hour back. I wouldn’t have been able to bear anyone insulting you in my presence.’ Her recounting of the conversation with her father a short while back has little effect on Waryam Singh. He was, in any case, wearing a rather stern expression when he arrived at her house and Saroj’s words don’t seem to make it any worse.
‘When the whole world is talking about it, what difference does it make if your father also feels the same way,’ he remarks dourly.
‘What are people saying?’ There is a note of concern in Saroj’s voice.
‘The same…whatever your father said…’ Waryam Singh murmurs. ‘I have never done any harm to Kuldeep. Why does he…? Anyway, let him do as he wills…’ His voice trails off in obvious dismay and when he gets up, Saroj can see tears glistening in his eyes.
Unable to bear his pain, Saroj says, ‘Why do you take such troubles on yourself, Bhapa ji?’
Misunderstanding her concern, Waryam Singh retorts, ‘I don’t particularly care about what the world says against me. But I didn’t expect this of you. I know I am strong enough to deal with the lies that society might hurl at me. I am afraid, though, that I’ll lose my will to persevere in my tasks if I get the feeling that you, too, have started to view me with suspicion.’
‘Bhapa ji, how could I ever stoop so low? I would rather die than face such an allegation. As it is, I am being consumed by the fires of repentance for having let you down that night. I am willing to face the torment of a burning cauldron, or be hung upside down in a well. But believe me, nothing can make me fail you again. Ever. As for my actions that evening, I stand ready before you to face any punishment.’
Waryam Singh’s serious countenance breaks into a smile. ‘Such hyperbole! What kind of a martyr do you take yourself to be, silly girl? And what kind of a butcher would I be to put you in a cauldron or in a well?’
‘So you think I am being melodramatic?’
Waryam Singh nods in gentle affirmation. Infuriated, she protests, ‘In that case, you are the one who is being unfair to me. You don’t think I can sacrifice something for you?’
‘I am sure you can, but…’
‘What do you mean by but…?
‘But…to sacrifice your love is harder than you think. Ask your own heart, and you might even find yourself in agreement with me.’
‘I am afraid I don’t quite understand, Bhapa ji.’
‘Not everything can be explained by mere words. There are a lot of things whose meaning is revealed by time and not by words.’ He pauses for a while before changing the subject. ‘Anyway, let these matters be. Hadn’t you sent for me?’
‘I did.’
‘Is there anything that I can do?’
‘Can’t I send for a dear one without having a specific errand?’
‘You can send for a dear one, but not an outsider.’
‘Why sprinkle salt on my wounds, Bhapa ji?’
‘Would you have been in such a hurry to return home that night if you hadn’t considered me an outsider?’
Once again, Saroj feels the hungry flames of repentance leap at her.
‘Anyhow, do tell me why you had to send for me,’ he asks.
‘I wanted to see you so that I could apologize for my folly that evening.’
‘If you want to apologize to someone, Saroj, you go to his house. You don’t send for him.’ Waryam Singh smiles.
‘In that case, I am ready to come wherever you ask me to,’ she replies even as her mind hovers over the unwarranted harshness of her father’s comments a little while back.
Reading her mind, Waryam Singh interjects, ‘Truth shall prevail, Saroj. One must side with the truth even if the whole world were to turn against it.’
‘Certainly, Bhapa ji. Truth will always prevail. And even if the whole world turns against it, I will stay on the side of truth.’
‘There is one other matter that I have just remembered. I need you to help that Radhia, the one who looked after Kuldeep’s child. She has really fallen on hard times. Her husband picked a fight with someone after getting drunk and injured him. He’s been arrested and I have deliberately not made any effort to get him released. A few days in prison might just do him some good. I hope he gets some sense and leaves his drinking habit. But meanwhile, Radhia’s little one is starving.’
‘And why was she sacked from Kuldeep’s place?’
‘She had got into the habit of stealing stuff, Bey ji felt.’
‘So you want me to help a thief?’
‘Yes! Because if she gets a square meal and her troubles are heard with a sympathetic ear, she may give up stealing.’
