A Life Incomplete, page 9
Scenes from the previous night start to crowd into her mind. ‘My dear Saroj! Please don’t try to extract a promise from me just yet…’ She discerns a glimmer of truth in Waryam Singh’s words, but not enough for her to believe everything he has said. She wants to say something to counter his thesis but restrains herself.
They are silent for a while, before Waryam speaks again. ‘Listen, Saroj. You don’t really have a whole lot of experience with the vicissitudes of life. You can find plenty of companions who will profess their love for you. The challenge is to find one who will remain faithful through thick and thin. Infatuation that is based on external beauty is like a shimmering pool, while true love has the purity of the natural spring. The pool looks pretty but it can dry up and it can also become dirty. But the spring…it may lack the lustre of the pool but it will keep flowing and it will remain clean.’
Saroj listens quietly, her head lowered. Waryam Singh pauses, trying to read her mind.
‘Saroj!’ he says with renewed determination.
She lifts her head. The glow of a mature wisdom appears to have replaced the shining innocence in her eyes.
Still trying to probe her gentle emotions, he persists, ‘What is the point of subjecting yourself to pain when you know that nothing positive will come out of it?’
Saroj remains silent.
Waryam Singh’s probing questions are beginning to look like a tough exam.
‘Do you need a companion?’
Silence.
‘You know that you can be completely candid with me. You do know that I only wish you well.’
‘No, Bhapa ji, I am quite satisfied without a companion too…but…’
‘But aren’t you troubled by your lonesome life, by the emptiness in your heart, by your comatose soul?’
Saroj recoils, assailed by a familiar horror. As she turns an inquisitive glance towards Waryam Singh, her heart cries, ‘Is this man sitting before me truly a noble spirit, or…?’
Looking deep into his eyes and at his face, her heart answers its own doubts. ‘Of course. He is truly a noble soul.’
Undeterred, Waryam Singh continues, ‘You are a widow. And as far as our society is concerned, you are barred from enjoying the beauty of love, from fulfilling your desires. Do you understand this?’
She lowers her eyes, unable to conjure a response.
‘But if you are determined,’ Waryam Singh asserts, ‘you can break the shackles of society. You are no longer a minor. There is nothing that society or indeed even the law can do to stop you. That leaves your respected father. I don’t see him coming in your way either. He cares too much for you and will be content in whatever brings happiness to you. My own view is that you must take a decisive position. You will gain absolutely nothing by trying to straddle two boats.’
Saroj lifts her head to look at his face, her eyes narrowing as they focus on the lips uttering such harsh words. She moves her gaze towards his eyes, noting that they are firmly fixed on her own, waiting for a decisive response from her. His look is direct, honest and guileless, infused with the nobility of his soul. It erases any residual apprehensions that she might have harboured about sharing her innermost feelings with an outsider.
‘Bhapa ji’, she pauses, searching perhaps for words that would best express her feelings. ‘I have no physical desire. Indeed, I find myself quite free from it. But still…’
‘Go on! Do say whatever you have in mind without any hesitation.’ He pats her on the back in encouragement.
‘But my heart…’ She pauses in mid-sentence, reflecting once more on what she wants to say.
‘Why have you gone silent again? Don’t you trust me fully?’
‘No, Bhapa ji, it’s not that.’
‘So what is it? Anyway, I can’t really compel you if you don’t want to share this with me. Let it be.’
‘But I do think that I must discuss it with you. There is no one else that I can share it with.’
‘Go ahead then. Open your heart!’
‘A woman’s heart beats in my breast, Bhapa ji. Maybe I can explain myself better if I write to you about it. I may not be able to speak about it.’
‘All right then. As you please,’ Waryam Singh says, rising from the stool. ‘Perhaps I have already discerned whatever you wanted to convey to me. Your heart yearns for true love but you haven’t been able to find it. You are troubled by the loneliness that occupies your heart. But you can’t speak openly about it; there is nobody that you can share it with. Without the warm touch of a loved one, your heart appears to float around in a state of despair. And you are attracted by memories of Kuldeep that belong to the distant past. Who knows? Kuldeep might even agree to marry you but that thought is not what excites you. What you desire is a share of his heart. Silly girl! You know that’s not going to happen. Your infatuation with this idea has already led to the needless loss of one innocent life. You just don’t understand how our society works. They won’t even hold back from pointing their ugly fingers at an angel like you. Can’t you appreciate this reality? Do you really want to go through that?’
Tears stream down Saroj’s face.
‘Do you agree with what I say?’ Waryam Singh asks.
Saroj closes her eyes. ‘Of course you are right, Bhapa ji. It appears that you can read my mind.’
‘In that case, you must take a clear decision on the path that you wish to pursue – of detachment or of domesticity?’
She is silent.
‘There is no guarantee, Saroj, that a life of detachment will be bland or tasteless, nor that a family life will open the gateways to heaven. You discover the reality only after you have started your journey on the path that you have chosen. Either possibility can become a reality, and maybe neither.’
‘In that case, Bhapa ji, I am happy to follow your advice. You can tell me what my path should be and I will follow it. I don’t think I am able to take this decision on my own.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Waryam Singh smiles. ‘How can you ask someone else to choose your path for you? And you want to take the counsel of one who has never chosen his own course? I am afraid you will have to map your own destiny.’
‘I think I’ll need to reflect on this a little bit longer before I can decide,’ Saroj responds after a brief pause.
‘Yes please. Do think it through carefully,’ he cautions, stepping out of the door.
‘And I have to ask you a small favour, Saroj. I hope it won’t be too much of an imposition.’
‘Do tell me, Bhapa ji.’ Her eyes light up with enthusiasm.
‘Will you be able to come to my place tonight?’
Stunned, she looks at him quizzically. His countenance radiates the same sense of serenity and assurance. She knows that he has posed a tough question. To visit the home of a single man, and that too at night! Why? Her mind lurches around, confused, as she mumbles, ‘I’ll come, Bhapa ji.’
Saroj sits down on the low stool in the kitchen, looking after him long after he had left. What have I done now? she wonders. Why did I promise that I will come?
14
It has been raining since mid-day and dusk is descending. Saroj is restless, her mind in turmoil. Several issues conspire to keep her in this state. First, the state of affairs with Kuldeep. Second, the thought of having to go to Waryam Singh’s house that night continues to nag her. And third, she is increasingly concerned that Babu Ganga Vishan had been gone since breakfast and there is no sign of him. With the rain still continuing, there is little chance that he would come home dry. The rumble of clouds seems to drive an alcoholic towards his bottle much the same way that the sound of ducks takes a hunter towards his gun.
She has already sent the servant to the liquor store twice to inquire about her father’s whereabouts. He has also gone to some of his other favourite haunts but has drawn a blank. She knows that her father tended to avoid coming home when he was drunk because he didn’t want to face her. This wasn’t out of fear that the daughter would get angry with her father. Anger and rudeness simply aren’t part of Saroj’s nature. But she does have one very formidable weapon before which Babu Ganga Vishan finds himself defenceless. He simply cannot bring himself to see tears in her eyes.
But could her tears keep him away from liquor? No, sir. If her tears alone could have performed this miracle, Saroj would have gladly shed every teardrop that she could muster and make him drink a glassful of them. Alas! That her tears alone could provide him the intoxication that he craved!
Her mind turns towards Kuldeep. Waryam Singh had brought forth a number of startling elements. Had these affected her feelings towards Kuldeep? Not really. Kuldeep has left a very deep imprint on her and it cannot be erased so easily. But she is willing to concede that his picture may have become a little bit hazy since the morning’s conversation. Maybe, also, that some of its sheen has worn off, its glow dimmed somewhat. But he has occupied such a prominent place in her heart for so long that removing him from there so abruptly is simply out of the question. Besides, how can she disregard the responsibility that Satwant, in her dying moments, had assigned to her with the words, ‘Saroj! You are the only one who can look after Kuldeep.’
She is still trying her best to erase the effects of the previous night but her efforts so far have been in vain. Her love for Kuldeep and her sense of duty towards Satwant exert a strong influence. But after seeing his attitude, she despairs that she will neither get love nor manage to discharge her obligation. Waryam Singh had further complicated matters by showing her the other, previously unknown dimension of Kuldeep’s personality. And by asking her to come to his home that night.
She grapples with this entirely new situation. Why has he called her and what is she expected to do there? Besides, there is no sign of her father. If he didn’t show up soon, how could she just leave the house and go? And if he did turn up, what would his condition be? Would it be right for her to leave him alone if he were in no state to look after himself?
Like the coiled paths on a hillside, her thoughts meander along indistinct tracks that often intersect in ways that make the traveller lose his bearings. Agitated and unsure, she gropes for a way through the tangle.
It is beginning to get dark and it is pouring. She goes to her room and picks up a book to read. A moist breeze takes advantage of the open window to enter the room, gently blowing her dupatta over her shoulder. She is unable to fix her eyes on the pages of her book. Images of Kuldeep float up to her eyes, his words from the previous night echoing in her ears, ‘Dear Saroj! I have lost all interest in this world. I don’t want to get caught up in the web of relationships and attachments.’
Has he really lost all interest, she wonders. Has Satwant’s demise really left such a large void that no one can fill it? But why am I so worried about it? What is he to me? Nothing, really. There is no dearth of men in this world, and he is just one of them. If it is his misery that binds me to him, I am sure I can find other men who are even forlorn. Why am I so obsessed about helping him out of his misery? Is there a hidden motive of my own that lies tucked away in some mysterious fold of this story? If so, what could it be? And if not, why do I find myself frequently swept away in this flood of thoughts about him? Then, there are those revelations that Bhapa Waryam Singh made about him this morning. How do I know if all of that is true?
Night has fallen and it is still pouring. The streets in the neighbourhood have started to get flooded and the drains are beginning to overflow. Her thoughts dart from Kuldeep to her father’s continued absence before settling on Waryam Singh. Maybe this heavy rain is a good thing. It gives me an excuse to avoid going to his house. But why should I have to offer any excuse at all. I am not beholden to him or to anyone else. All I need to say is that I wasn’t able to come!
Getting up from the chair, she peers through the open window to see if she might catch a glimpse of her father coming down the street. There is still no sign of him. Where could he be in this weather? she frets.
She has barely settled back into her chair than she hears a clumsy knock on the door. It hadn’t been bolted and she sees her father push it open and stumble into the room. Looking at his wretched condition, she steps back and takes a deep breath. He is drenched from head to toe and his clothes are covered with mud at several places. He is barely in control of himself. An unfinished half-litre bottle of liquor sticks out of his pocket.
There is no point in saying anything to him at this time. She calls the servant and together, they help Ganga Vishan change into his night clothes and settle him into his bed. Saroj goes to her own room to lie down but there is too much going on in her mind to allow any hint of sleep. Nor does she have any appetite for dinner. A strong current of thoughts carries her in its flow. Should she go to Waryam Singh’s house or should she stay back? Maybe if the rain eases up, I’ll go, she reasons with herself. But the rain tonight is in no mood to cooperate. It continues to pour, maybe even harder than before.
The clock strikes ten and she gets up with a start. Looking through her window, she sees that the downpour appears even more menacing thanks to the strong gusts of wind. It is pitch dark and the solitary street light is a feeble glimmer that only serves to light up the inky black water all around it. The noise of the rain batters at her eardrums.
Moved by some inner force, she gets up and reaches for an umbrella. The servant is washing dishes in the kitchen. She goes across to him and instructs, ‘Mangtu, I have to go out to see a patient. You can bring your cot downstairs and bolt the door from inside. But stay awake till I get back, will you. I don’t want to be standing outside and knocking the door down with you fast asleep. Understand?’
‘Okay, Bibi ji,’ the boy mumbles and continues with his chores.
Saroj braces herself against a looming fear as she steps out of her house. It is dark and there isn’t a soul in sight. The wind howls around the street, making it a challenge to open the umbrella and to hang on to it. Not that it offers much protection against the swirling rain which seems to come at her from every direction. She pauses for a minute, contemplating the possibility of retreating back to the comfort of her home before gritting her teeth and setting down the street. She has barely walked about fifty paces or so when a strong gust almost snatches the umbrella out of her grasp. Clinging on to it, she sees that it has been wrenched inside out and rendered virtually useless against the rain. Her clothes are completely drenched and her sari billows in the wind. She flings the upturned umbrella in the general direction of her house and makes a determined bid to tie the errant fringes of the sari in a tight little knot around her waist.
She is now striding directly into the wind. The showers come straight into her face, blinding her with their fury, making every step an uphill task. The temptation to turn back towards her home again presents itself. Besides, what would people say if anyone sees her out on her own at this time of the night and under such conditions? But a strange kind of power has taken hold of her as she brushes aside her fears and continues on a path fraught with risks.
She is shivering with cold by the time she reaches the gate of Babu Mohalla. Her teeth chatter but there is a firmness in her steps as she leaves her neighbourhood behind and moves towards her destination.
She is now on the main road and the wind is behind her, pushing her forward with a force that makes it difficult to maintain her balance. The wet sari, clinging around her legs, also does not help matters as she tries to sidestep one puddle after another. Twice, she stumbles and almost falls but somehow manages to regain her balance in the nick of time.
Babu Mohalla has been left far behind and she is now going past Kunj Lal Street before approaching Maakhnia’s Centre where Waryam Singh lives. She can see a light coming from his house, indicating that the front door is open.
She is going to turn towards his house when she sees a man cross the street a few yards away. She has traversed the entire journey from Babu Mohalla without running into anyone and thinks that she has safely managed to overcome an important hurdle. But her heart skips a beat as she sees the silhouette of the stranger. Is it someone who might know me? she wonders. Peering into the darkness, she realizes to her horror that it isn’t just anybody. It is Kuldeep. Wearing a raincoat, a kerosene lamp in hand, he seems to be hurrying somewhere. Their eyes meet for a brief second as they cross each other before they avert their glances, pretending that they have seen nothing. Kuldeep’s footsteps slow momentarily before regaining speed as he goes past her. Struggling to get a grip on herself, Saroj approaches Waryam Singh’s house.
Heart still pounding, she enters his room. This is the first time that she has actually stepped inside his place. It is a fairly small room, with a door at the back that seems to lead into an even smaller chamber. A cursory glance reveals a minimalist set-up that certainly appears inadequate for the needs of any individual. One corner is occupied by a cheap sort of bed, covered by a rough-looking sheet. An alcove in the wall next to the bed provides a base for a small lamp. Some well-worn clothes and two pairs of old shoes are strewn in another corner. The untidy appearance of the room suggests that it has been quite a while since anyone has bothered to clean it and put things in an orderly fashion.
A doorless cupboard with three wooden shelves nestles against the wall opposite the bed. An assortment of medical supplies – bandages, cartons with medicines, some cotton, a few bottles with tincture, lotion and such like – occupies most of the space on the shelves. The room has no windows, a small ventilator shaft near the ceiling providing the only possible access to some fresh air. With the bed occupying much of the room, it is clearly a place that the inhabitant uses for sleeping only.
As she takes in her surroundings, Saroj recoils with a sense of disgust. I had no idea that Waryam Singh was so careless, that he maintained such a shabby lifestyle, she thinks. The sounds of a painful groan emanating from the little chamber at the back of his room interrupt her thoughts.
