This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach, page 126
Nath did not ask any question. He did not say anything to express his surprise or to show his sympathy. Sitting still, he listened to her with his eyes half-closed. Several times Tara bit her lip and fell silent. Even then Nath kept his gaze turned away.
When she finished, Nath said, ‘I’m really disappointed in Puri.’ Then asked, ‘How did you reach the camp?’
Tara had never told anyone about the humiliation and degradation that she had suffered. Although people would have sympathized with her for a while, she would have also demeaned herself in their eyes forever. She did not want that to happen. She had invented a story about her past, but she could not tell a lie to Nath. Her head still bowed, she answered him in five sentences, ‘A goonda abducted me from the gali. A retired Muslim gentleman got me out of his clutches. I had to leave the second place because I refused to convert to Islam. Then some Muslim goondas locked up me and some Hindu women in a house. The Indian Army rescued us and took us to a camp.’ Tara did not care what Nath would think of her. She just could not tell him a lie.
Nath spoke only one sentence, ‘Tara, you are really brave and very courageous.’ His voice was full of affection and admiration.
Nath’s words lightened Tara’s mood, ‘Doctor sahib, does your wife, I mean our bhabhiji, cook well?’
‘Barely manages to. He’s no chef. He can make everyday stuff like daal, vegetables and chapattis. There’s always some yogurt when he brings my lunch in the tiffin carrier.’
‘Why so, Doctor sahib? Get someone who knows how to cook. You should have proper meals.’
‘Yes, I do need one, but where to find one? What if he robs me? Actually I had hired a duffer. Although his name was Bhola he was anything but simple. Stole everything except the clothes I was wearing. Also four hundred rupees in cash.’
‘Doctor sahib, didn’t you lock your stuff?’ Tara asked with concern.
‘I did, but he was the one who laid out clothes for me. He was good at his job. He could sew buttons, get the cloths ironed, could manage everything. Sometime I forgot to take back the keys from him. Perhaps that was too great a temptation for him.’ Nath made light of his loss.
‘Doctor sahib, had you given him enough, he would not have stolen from you,’ Tara said in reply to Nath’s joke
‘You take me to be that generous?’
Tara asked, ‘Is bhabhiji able to manage the house?’
‘He’s old. Can’t even thread a needle.’
‘Then how can he be of help to you?’
‘He doesn’t want to let go of me. By living in my house he saves rent, his food expenses also. Probably eats better at my place. I give him fifteen or twenty rupees every month. It won’t be right to ask him to leave. His son’s in school, appearing for his Intermediate exam. Poor soul borrowed fifty rupees from me to send to his son.’
‘Then keep a help for bhabhiji. Doesn’t one keep a servant to help the wife? Bhabhiji will keep an eye on the servant,’ Tara said with a smile.
‘Yes, that’s possible. You’re right,’ Nath agreed, as if it was something he should have thought of himself.
Nath’s straightforwardness touched Tara’s heart. She asked, ‘Doctor sahib, would you like me to get you a servant?’
‘Why, are you running some agency?’
‘Something like an agency, Doctor sahib,’ Tara said, laughing. ‘It seems that my peon Durga Pande is trying to find some job in Delhi for every boy from his home district. Parsu was sent by him. He also found servants for two neighbours.’
‘Then you must get me one.’
Tara inquired about the bus route and the bus stop near Nath’s bungalow.
‘Doctor sahib, would you like some dinner? It’s 8.30.’
‘I was waiting for you to ask me.’
‘Give me a minute,’ Tara said, getting up. She went to the kitchen to see what Purandei had cooked. The food was rather simple. She thought, ‘Why didn’t I ask him earlier?’ She sent out Parsu to get a couple of dishes from a nearby restaurant, and something from the halwai. The dough was ready. Purandei always made fresh, hot chapattis for her. Tara asked her to make some paranthas.
Tara brought food for Nath in a thali.
Nath asked, ‘How about you?’
‘You go ahead. I’ll have some later.’
When Nath insisted, Tara got a thali for herself.
Nath said looking at her thali, ‘You’re serving me restaurant food. You did the same on the night of Sita’s wedding.’
Tara’s thali had two katoris and Nath’s had four.
Tara nearly died of embarrassment. Had she known he’d notice, she’d have taken a small portion for herself.
She offered a sort of apology, ‘Doctor sahib, I forgot to check if there was enough for all of us. Achcha, I’ll cook for you one day. How about this Sunday?’
‘Not this Sunday. I’m off to Patna for a week. We’ll fix a date when I return.’ Ignoring Tara’s ‘no, no,’ Nath gave her half a share from his katoris.
Tara let the next Sunday pass. Narottam was also away from Delhi and, she thought, that she’ll invite him too when calling Nath over for dinner the Sunday after. On Tuesday Tara was in her office when Durga Pande came to her, showed her the slip of paper with Nath’s address on it, and said, ‘Huzoor mataji, I had obeyed your order to send a servant to the bungalow of the sahib. Huzoor, the sahib has gone to Simla. Now whenever huzoor orders me to.’
Tara thought irritably, ‘Why didn’t Doctor sahib tell me? He had said that he’d call me on returning from Patna. At least he could have given me his address in Simla. Now he won’t be back before September.’ Then she told herself, ‘But who am I to complain and get angry? One should be happy with what one gets without asking.’ She remembered Mrs Agarwal’s words, ‘A lemon becomes bitter if squeezed too much.’ She thought, ‘Doctor sahib is surely an old friend, but when I have borne in silence the loss of my parents and my brother, why should I have any claims on him.’
Tara sometimes felt pangs of regret, ‘Is there someone I can call my own?’ Then she would think, ‘Shyama, Narottam, Mercy, Mathur … I can call them as my own. Then there is Rawat Sahib and Doctor sahib.’ But was there anyone with whom she could quarrel, for whose well-being she could worry?
The object of Tara’s worry and concern for the past three months had been her car. She had at first felt embarrassed at the suggestions to get a second-hand small car for herself, but a car had become a necessity after her promotion to the position of undersecretary.
After examining and rejecting several cars during the past year, she could no longer resist the urge to buy a brand-new sedan. The car had cost Tara all her savings and she had to take out a loan against her salary to pay for it. Shining like a black gem, with strips of chromium all around and seats upholstered in red velvet corduroy, the car had become the focal point of her life. In the beginning she had hired a chauffeur so that the car won’t get scratched or dented, but it was Narottam who had been teaching her to drive and to look after her car. Tara had also bought two manuals on maintaining and driving a car.
The car had brought a new sense of excitement into Tara’s life. Hardly two months had passed before she could recognize various noises that the car made. When she touched the starter button, the engine responded with a faint raspy sound. When she nudged the accelerator with her foot, the car growled louder, as if it was alive and responding to her touch. At Tara’s command it could go swift as wind, with her ensconced in its lap, in sun or in rain. All its power was under Tara’s control. She sat in its lap, but loved it like a baby. When she parked the car in an unfamiliar area, she was always concerned that some kid might scratch its paint, or some careless driver might dent its body. It was like a powerful but silent partner that shared her sad secrets. If she was lonely she went for a thirty-or forty-mile-long drive, and felt the thrill of the speed. When the speedometer needle went past 60 mph, she praised herself by saying ‘Bravo!’, and gently told the car, ‘That’s enough!’
When Narottam had been posted in Calcutta, he used to write to Tara every two weeks. Tara also used to get letters from Tewari in Aligarh. At first she had answered two of his letters. Tewari eventually stopped writing when his letters went unanswered. Tara seldom received any other mail. Everyone she knew in her new life was in Delhi. In July a letter came to her home address from Miss Deva. She had met Deva through Narottam and they had become good friends. Deva had got a good job in Lucknow and had moved to that city. Her letter was about her new job, and included a bill of lading for a parcel of mangoes she had sent for Tara.
A couple of days later a telegram came for Tara at her office. Tara was astonished: ‘Who would send a telegram? Why?’ She thought of her parents and her brother. Maybe…
The telegram read: ‘Could not meet you before leaving. Give news about your well-being. Pran Nath.’
He had included his address in Simla.
Tara was overjoyed and thrilled to pieces. Her heart was filled with serenity and contentment, as if there was someone whose kindness and good wishes would protect her forever from every problem and danger. Her eyes saw the telegram’s message in English written on every file on her desk. She wanted to reply immediately to the telegram, but decided to take her time and write a long and detailed reply.
She stayed up late at night to write the letter to Nath. She complained about his going away without informing her, and not showing up after accepting her dinner invitation. So many other things. She filled up eight pages, but felt she hadn’t said what she wanted to say. ‘This is pretty inane,’ she thought. ‘The purpose of writing to him should not be to bother him with silly details. I’ll just send a telegram in reply.’ It was eleven o’clock. She picked up the phone and sent an express telegram: ‘Many thanks for your kindness. Am perfectly happy and well. Letter follows. Tara.’
Despite tingling with excitement, she wrote the letter with care, leaving out unnecessary details. She knew that Nath’s knowledge of Hindi was rudimentary, but what she wanted to say could not be said in English. She took care to write legibly, printing the letters:
Most Respected Doctor Sahib,
I received your telegram as a token of your boundless good wishes and blessings for me. How can I ever thank you for it? You have very kindly never expected such formalities from me. Many years ago when I was seeking admission in college, you had advised that I should learn to be financially independent. Under your kind and generous guidance I have managed to become capable of earning enough so as to stand on my two feet.
I am quite well due to your good wishes and blessings, and free from worries at present. I used to feel that the circumstances had left me all by myself. That complaint was removed on the day I met you in Delhi. I felt that I had met my guardian angel. My family has always been recipient of your kindness. I have continued to be a recipient of the same. How can I thank you for something that I regard as my right to receive from you.
Whenever Narottam and I meet, he remembers you respectfully. So do Chaddha, Mercy didi and Mathur bhai. When they say nice things about you, I feel good at heart because I know that you have favoured me most with your kindness and generosity. I know your time is important. You have been entrusted with the responsibility of drawing the Plan to solve our country’s problems or with doing what is needed most by our country. How useful you are for the country and society. I feel that I have become self-supporting, but have not been useful for the society! I hope you will guide me also in future.
You will probably return after two months, but I feel overwhelmed with your kindness even when you are far away. That feeling is always close to my heart.
I hope to receive your blessings as I’ve done in the past and which I consider to be rightfully mine.
Your student,
Tara
Tara’s guess was that in a week or so she would receive a reply from Nath. She began waiting for his letter after a week had passed. When no reply came for two weeks, she wanted to remind him, but thought, ‘What’s the point of reminding him if he’s not in Simla or is very busy. I can’t ask him to explain himself when he’s been so kind to me.’
When no letter came from Nath until the third week of August, she tried to comfort herself, ‘Perhaps all he wanted was to find out whether I was unwell or was facing any problem. He got the answer. That’s fine with me. What did I write that was so important that he had to write back?’
Towards the end of September Tara got a telephone call from Nath that he was back and would come over that afternoon around six o’clock.
Nath came carrying a bundle wrapped in a towel. He held it out to Tara and said, ‘Here, this is for you.’
The aroma of apples filled the room. Tara’s heart was filled with joy and gratitude, and she was overcome by Nath’s concern for her. She took the bundle, held it reverently next to her heart and asked in mock anger, ‘Why didn’t you reply to my letter?’
‘You didn’t ask me anything so what I could say in reply? And such chaste Hindi! It was almost Sanskrit. I had difficulty figuring it out even with a dictionary. Felt as if I was reading a homily on the importance of devotion. By the grace of God and His help, I’ll learn Hindi. It’s going to be the official language. You’ll have to tutor me.’
Tara did not mind the friendly reproach from Nath. It crossed her mind, ‘Perhaps I wrote too much about my expectations and I may have come across a bit too assertive.’
The mundan ceremony of Mercy’s son Ashok was on the first Sunday of June 1953.
Marcy had asked a Hindu pundit to perform the rites of havan and pooja. After the havan ceremony, Ashok’s black, silky-soft curly hair was cut and his head was shaved with a straight razor.
Heera Lal didn’t let go of the chance to have a friendly quibble with Mercy. He said, ‘Bhabhi, what a shame! After marrying a Hindu you also have turned into a Hindu. Have you lost your senses? You’ve made his pretty face look like an earthen pot.’
Mercy said, flashing her eyes at Heera Lal, ‘How have I turned into a Hindu? How could I let the boy stay hirsute when his uncle had cut his hair?’
The pundit could not help but preach, ‘Hair from mother’s womb are contaminated and bad for the health of the baby. They make the baby hot-tempered. All Aryan practices have a scientific…’
Mercy could not stand the pundit’s lecture. She said, ‘The ritual of mundan is performed nowhere in the world except India. You mean the brains of rest of the world are heated up. I didn’t have a mundan. Do you think I’m hot-headed?’ ‘Maybe a little bit,’ Narottam said quietly.
Mercy gave Narottam a look, but continued, ‘The boy had an itchy scalp, his head needed to be shaved.’
The pundit joined in enthusiastically, ‘That’s the scientific explanation. The Aryans had…’
Narottam barged in, ‘Didi, instead of burning a pao of ghee in the fire as offering, you could have used it to make paranthas.’
Mercy blew up, ‘Doesn’t your government spend millions on the Republic Day celebrations! And you mind my using up just a little ghee for my son? How could I shave such a lovely head of hair without any ritual?’
The moment he heard the words ‘government’ and ‘republic day’, Mathur spoke up, ‘PM has a fetish for grandiose ideas.’
That was the start of a political discussion.
Tara took Ashok in her arms, and said as she took off his shirt, ‘The custom is that after the child’s hair is cut, he wears new clothes sent by his nani, maternal grandmother. Instead of nani Ashok will wear clothes given by his masi, aunt.’ She had brought along a romper suit as a present. She changed the boy’s clothes and sat him again in her lap.
‘Listen everybody!’ Mercy said to attract the gathering’s attention, and then pointed to Tara, ‘What do you think? An empty lap looks better or one with a child in it?’
Tara turned crimson with embarrassment. ‘Didi, you…!’ she said, pretending to leave with the child. ‘All right, I’m going and taking Ashok with me.’
The guests began to leave after refreshments were served around ten o’clock. Mercy asked Tara and Narottam to stay on for lunch.
Tara said to Narottam, ‘What’s the point of sitting here and listening to the comrades’ discussion for the next three hours! Since I have come this far, let’s go and visit Kanchan.’ When Kanak had come to visit Tara in November, Tara had gone to drop her off in order to see the location of her father’s house. She explained to Mercy that she was going to visit someone in Faiz Bazaar, and will be back in an hour.
Tara and Narottam made their way downstairs and walked to the car. Narottam turned the ignition on, then said abruptly, ‘Didi, this may not be a good time to visit Kanchan.’
Narottam’s reluctance to visit Kanchan surprised Tara, ‘Why, what’s the matter?’
‘Let me first get out of here.’ He seemed distracted as they drove off.
‘What is it?’ Tara again asked.
‘Kanak bhabhi is at her parent’s home.’
‘When did she come?’
‘About a month ago.’
‘Hain! No one told me.’
‘I didn’t know either.’
‘When did you find out?’
‘I had gone yesterday evening to their home. Bhabhi didn’t say much, seemed a bit quiet. Panditji was also very quiet. Everyone was speaking in hushed tones. When Kanchan came with me to the spot where I was parked to see me off, she told me that bhabhi had been in Delhi for the past month. Kanchan didn’t mention anything when she had come to visit you that Sunday.’
