This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach, page 34
As Kanak came down to the dining table, her father said, ‘Come, come! Why don’t you have any appetite? I’ve been watching for the last month. You’re getting paler and paler. Have you checked your weight lately? Both of you should go on morning walks with me. It’s been so hot this year.’
Kanak just sat and traced lines with her spoon in the rice-and-daal dish on her plate, and hardly touched the yogurt.
Panditji instructed Kanchan, ‘Make sure she takes a glass of milk at bedtime. Don’t put any ice in it. You girls have ice the whole day long. Ice has a warming effect. Cool the milk instead by placing it in a potful of ice.’
When Kanak refused any breakfast the next morning and sent back a glass of lassi too, the mood in the house became grave.
Her father came to the aangan, and looking up towards her daughters’ room, called, ‘Kanni beta, what’s the matter? Let me take you to Dr Malkani after breakfast.’
Kanchan was in the room with Kanak. She had no reason for not eating. Without waiting for her father to come to breakfast, she had asked Kesari to cook her a parantha. Then she had a glass of lassi, and by 8 o’clock was already at work at her sewing machine. She also said to Kanak, ‘Kanni, don’t be difficult. Have something to eat. Think of pitaji.’
‘What if I don’t feel up to it?’ Kanak said with some irritation, ‘Pitaji wants me to consult a doctor for no reason. I’m bothering no one. Why can’t you all leave me alone?’
They heard the voices of Mansa bua and of Phula, the wife of Vidhichand, from the aangan below. Both of them went to the Ravi River for their morning dip. On Sundays there was no reason to hurry home, so they would stop to pray at the temple of Sheetala devi. Then they would visit Pandit Girdharilal’s wife, give her some prasad, and go home after having a glass of fresh buttermilk.
When Phula heard about Kanak not feeling hungry, she began to tell Kanak’s mother how to cure loss of appetite because of the hot weather, ‘Bahinji, soak some dried plums overnight in water in a fresh clay pot. Give that water to your daughter to drink. Why bother running to doctors for such small matters!’
Mansa bua said in a loud voice, ‘What would a doctor do for this problem? It’s not the hot weather. It’s her age.’
Kanak felt annoyed by her remark. She looked at Kanchan sitting in front of the sewing machine. Kanchan kept her eyes on her sewing, but she was smiling.
‘All right, bua. That’s enough. Let it be,’ Kanak’s mother tried to play down the woman’s words.
‘Why should I let it be? You people can’t bear to hear the truth.’ Mansa bua spoke even more loudly. ‘Have you forgotten the time when you were young yourself? At her age, even after having three children, when you had to spend a couple of months at your parents’ house, it would drive you up the wall.’
Kanak was now angry at the loud-mouthed bua. She looked back at Kanchan, who had stopped sewing and buried her face in the folds of the dress with embarrassment. Kanchan’s laughter infuriated Kanak. She thought, ‘Fine, so what’s wrong? If they think I am ready for marriage, let them marry me off. I’m ready too.’ She began to imagine herself and Puri living as a married couple.
‘All right, bebe! Here, have a glass of lassi,’ said Kanak’s mother to silence the woman.
After a few minutes, the mother called, ‘Kanchi, come downstairs.’
When Kanchan returned to the room, she was carrying a glass of cold lassi. Condensation had misted the outside of the glass. Little blobs of churned butter floated on the surface. She said, ‘Mother says you should drink what she’s sent. Otherwise pitaji will come up and make you take it.’
Kanak sat up on her bed. ‘Why is everyone being so cagey?’ she thought to herself. ‘Such pretence of affection and concern for me! Nobody wants to talk about the real issue.’ But she said, ‘Everyone insists that I force something down my throat. Nobody wants to know how I feel.’
‘All right. Tell me, how do you feel?’ Kanchan asked.
‘I’ll tell pitaji, of course, when he asks. You go and tell him that I don’t need any doctor. I’m fine,’ said Kanak, thinking. ‘What more can I say?’
Around eleven in the morning, Kesari called from downstairs, ‘Kanchi bahinji, Nano has come.’
Kanchan looked at Kanak and asked, ‘Aren’t you coming downstairs?’
‘I’ll come down shortly,’ Kanak replied.
Kanchan left her sewing and ran downstairs. Kanak stayed in bed. ‘I’ve really pushed matters a long way,’ she was thinking, ‘but now I must see things through. It can’t wait now. Pitaji has read my letter to Puri. His reply must have come back too. They’re pretending not to know anything. I won’t take it any more!’
Kanak knew that her sister and brother-in-law must have come too, but nobody had called her to come down. All she could hear was Kanchan playing with Nano. Then she heard Nano crying, and Kanchan trying to soothe her after the child had apparently fallen, ‘Hai, look at this ant! It was crushed too. Look, Nano, all these ants crushed by your fall.’ Still no call for Kanak. Over fifteen minutes had gone by. Kanak found it difficult to lie still. She picked up a magazine lying nearby, and began to read it in frustration. She could not concentrate, but told herself, ‘I won’t go down unless they call me.’
Until eight or nine months before, Mahendra Nayyar and Kanak often indulged in a little banter. Nayyar would sometimes jokingly call Kanak aadhi sarkar, half wife, and pull at her hair-bun in fun. Kanak would show her irritation, ‘Jijaji, I’ll belt you one back!’ but her tone and laugh would belie her threat. Sometimes she too retaliated with a playful slap or a light punch on his back.
Nayyar would say, ‘It’s not my fault! It’s as the old saying goes, “A younger sister-in-law is one’s half-wife!” Kanak did not mind such antics and banter as she found his attention amusing and pleasing. But after she had confessed her feelings to Puri, she began to find Nayyar’s mock flirtation insulting and his attitude towards her a bit patronizing. She could not bear to be touched by anyone other than Puri. She would retaliate with a disapproving look rather than with pleasure. Kanak’s coolness piqued Nayyar. The reason for the change in her attitude was easy to guess.
When Kanta’s family gave their approval to her attraction to Mahendra and to their friendship by announcing their engagement, she began to feel bashful before her family and friends when he was around. Kanak and Kanchan had heartily accepted him as the brother they never had. After his marriage to Kanta, Nayyar not only became a brother-in-law but also a friend for her younger sisters. Eighteen months after their marriage, during the months when her pregnancy and the birth of her child had confined Kanta to her home, Kanak had become Nayyar’s companion and confidante. There were many things that they could tell only to each other, and there was always something to chat about. After Puri’s arrival, Kanak could neither give Nayyar the same companionship and attention, nor did she find his company as pleasing as before. She expected his approval when she praised Puri in front of him, and ended the conversation abruptly when he refused to accept his brilliance. None of this made Nayyar feel particularly kindly disposed towards Puri.
Nayyar ignored Puri in the same way that a fancy pedigree dog from a big house treats the street mongrel, like a pariah, without caring to fight or even stopping to growl. When Kanak told Nayyar about Puri’s appointment as sub-editor at Pairokaar, all he had inquired about was his salary. Since then, every time Nayyar met Puri, a slight nod was the only sign he gave of their acquaintance. At the mention of Puri, he had once said jokingly to Kanak, ‘He’s just your tutor in the same way as Muttu Baba is Kanchan’s sitar teacher.’
Nayyar’s remark had hurt Kanak, and she had a heated discussion with Nayyar about Puri. Nayyar said, ‘He has an odd arrogance and affectation in his behaviour, and he lacks confidence, like someone travelling on a train without a valid ticket. Haven’t you noticed that? He seems very unsure of himself and nervous, as if he’s undeserving and may be thrown out as a gatecrasher at any moment. He seldom has the courage to start a conversation.’
‘But you can’t have an intelligent conversation about literature or art with him either. What can he talk to you about? You don’t understand politics, except what you read in newspapers. Of course, he can’t make social chit-chat or carry on a silly conversation, because he doesn’t move among that kind of people. That’s not his fault, or his lack of personality. If you don’t like Puriji’s company, he’s not exactly desperate for yours, either.’ Kanak could not hold back without exacting some revenge for the insults meted out to Puri.
Nayyar had thought that once Kanak’s passion for literature and her ambition to become a writer was over, the thick clouds of respect for her guru that were befogging her mind would be swept away. But when a whole year passed and nothing like that happened, he asked, exercising his right to the jija-sali intimacy, ‘This devotion for your guru hasn’t turned into anything else, has it?’
Knowing his dislike for Puri, Kanak replied with a stony stare, ‘Absolutely not.’
In the weeks following the riots that had swept the city in March, Kanak had become so increasingly restive and impatient that it often attracted attention. Kanchan had kept her surmises to herself. Nayyar had attempted to question Kanak on the basis of his old intimacy, but Kanak had given nothing away. Nayyar had his suspicions, but in the absence of any evidence, had kept quiet.
‘So Kanni, why are you being so canny with your favours?’ Nayyar asked as he stepped into her room. Kanak was stretched on the bed, and he sat down beside her.
Kanak moved to one side to give him room and closed the magazine she was reading. She said, ‘I’m not being canny.’
Panditji had told Nayyar about the letters she had written, the ones she had received, and about her silent defiance. He knew why Panditji was worried. He also had proof of his suspicions now. He had come to see Kanak and to resolve the matter as a member of the family.
To remind Kanak of their old intimacy, he nudged her in the back with his elbow, ‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘Jijaji, I’ve told you that I don’t like these touchy–feely jokes!’ Kanak said irritably.
‘I’m sorry!’ Nayyar apologized. His face became serious. He removed his elbow. He moved away a little towards the edge of the bed and asked seriously, ‘What’s wrong? You feeling all right?’
‘More or less.’
‘Anything physical?’
Kanak shook her head in denial.
‘Anything tugging at the heart strings?’
Kanak did not reply.
‘Listen, Kanni,’ Nayyar said sympathetically, ‘how can your problem be solved unless you talk about it? If you do something without telling us, it will come out sooner or later.’
Kanak put aside her magazine, sat up and pulled the hem of her kameez over her knees, ‘Pitaji is being unfair to me.’
‘How is he being unfair?’ he asked gently.
‘He’s keeping my mail from me.’
Nayyar asked, after a moment’s thought, ‘You mean he doesn’t give you the letters that come for you?’
‘Yes, and he kept the one I had asked to be mailed.’
‘Who wrote to you and whom did you write to?’
‘To Puriji,’ Kanak said firmly.
‘To Puri? But he comes here to visit you at home.’
‘How can he? You all treat him with such disrespect.’
‘What? I don’t think I’ve ever shown him any disrespect. Anyway, it’s a matter of personal opinion. We have to have a serious talk about this. Come to Model Town with us. We’ll have more time there. Some fresh air will be good for you, too.’
Kanak finally ate something with her sister and jija at their home. She was now even more determined to fight for her rights. They talked several times, briefly, about what was bothering her. It was clear what her problem was. On the fourth day, after afternoon tea, all three drew up chairs in one corner of the lawn to have a heart-to-heart talk.
‘You will agree that pitaji, and both of us too, are only concerned about your happiness, and that pitaji and we too have some experience and common sense.’ It was Kanta who brought the topic up.
Kanak said, ‘That same argument is made by those very people who marry off their daughters when they’re fifteen and think it outrageous when their daughters utter even one word in protest.’
‘But you know we’re not like that,’ Nayyar took over. ‘We accept that when you decide to marry is essentially your prerogative, and that our agreement is necessary only as a sign of our concern for you.’
‘How does it matter what I want, when you can all decide to ignore it?’
‘No, that’s not true. What you want comes first. There’s no question of what we want or agree to, unless you say what you want first,’ Nayyar explained.
‘You know what I want, but you don’t give a damn since you don’t agree with it,’ Kanak said heatedly. ‘What you all want is that you choose someone for me, and I simply say yes, so that you all can say that everything was done just as I wanted.’
Nayyar stayed calm, ‘Achcha, whatever you say. What I mean is that if our choice depends on your consent, your choice should also have our consent. Then the situation will balance out.’
Kanak became agitated, ‘How will it balance out? You’re invading my privacy and trampling on my rights. You cut my rights in half, and try to tell me that the two sides are equal. It’s like the British saying that their rights and the Indians’ rights are equal when it comes to deciding the future of this country. Or the Muslim League claiming the same rights as the Congress over all the provinces of India. Would you accept that? It’s my whole life that’s at stake, so what does any other consideration matter?’
Nayyar sounded resentful, ‘How can you say such a thing? The question of our permission wouldn’t arise unless we were concerned about you as family. Do you suppose that pitaji or any of us stand to profit in some way from your marriage? We see that your choice is not in your best interests. If it had been, we’d have been very pleased.’
‘It’s me who is getting married. What if you don’t approve of my choice?’
‘You speak as if we have no connection with you. You mean our advice goes for nothing? Isn’t it a shortcoming in Puri’s personality that he can’t fit in with us? He comes from a different class. We want you to marry at you own level, or even higher. If you’re bent on ruining your future, how can we stand aside and just look on in silence?’
‘I’ve chosen him to make a success of my life,’ Kanak said, dropping her gaze.
‘I can’t see what success he’d be able to bring to you,’ Kanta objected. ‘Standing next to you, he doesn’t seem suitable for you. Hardly reaches up to,’ she looked at her husband, ‘his chin. The rest of his physique, too, is skinny; as if he was made up from leftovers during the wartime shortages when there wasn’t enough of anything.’
‘That’s enough, bahinji!’ Kanak stopped her angrily. ‘What right you have to criticize others? How would you feel if I said that jijaji looks like a walking beanpole?’
‘Hai, may he have my life!’ Kanta laughed. ‘I now must wave seven pods of dry red chilli round his head and throw them into the fire to ward off the evil eye.’
Kanak was determined not to let laughter sidetrack her, ‘All you can see is someone’s outsides. Just someone’s wealth, car, bungalow, social standing.’
‘Achcha baba, what do you see in him? Won’t you be married to his body?’ Kanta asked, as she leant her chin on her closed fist.
‘Why, what about his literary talent, his sense of dignity, self-respect, his generosity? Does all of that go for nothing?’ Kanak replied.
‘You’ve discovered all that in such a short time?’ Kanta joked.
‘A person’s qualities can’t remain hidden for long,’ Kanak said without hesitation.
‘Listen, Kanni,’ Nayyar said affectionately and with a serious expression. ‘I admit he’s a brilliant writer. I too can appreciate good writing. I took literary studies in my BA courses. He has talent, I agree. And some day he might even become a great writer. But what matters more in a marriage is not such qualities and abilities, but a person’s social status and personality. Kanchi is fond of music. His teacher Muttu Baba has plenty of musical talent, but should Kanchi marry Muttu Baba? Tell me, would you approve if Kanchi were to do that? Other people have other talents. You may have respect for someone’s talent, but you marry somebody with a view to making your marriage work. Do you follow me? Did you know about Tolstoy, that his wife tried to commit suicide several times because of his abuse? Tolstoy had no lack of literary talent and brilliance. Just think! Art is one thing and human qualities something else.’
‘I do respect him for his human qualities,’ Kanak replied with her head down.
‘Listen,’ Nayyar’s tone became grave, ‘You’ve known him for one year at the most. If my guess is right, the attraction between you two can’t have lasted longer than seven or eight months. And that too with times in between when you couldn’t see or meet one another. You may have met once in two weeks, or maybe twice in one week. In the past two or two-and-a-half months, there’s been no meeting because of the riots in the city. It’s quite difficult to know a person in that much time, especially when the other person is doing his best to create a good impression. Try to know the inner qualities of a person.’
‘You people don’t give anybody a chance for closeness to get to know the other person.’
‘If you’ve made up your mind, what’s the point of getting to know him any better?’
‘Yes, my mind is made up,’ Kanak said bluntly.
Kanta said pleadingly, ‘You won’t listen even to those who wish you well. You won’t even learn from the experience of those who have been through more than you.’
‘Bahinji, if all the people in this world listened to what their elders had to say, we’d still be living in the times when the Sikhs ruled the Punjab. Don’t mind my saying so, but Mansa bua is the eldest in the family, but would you pay any heed to what she has to say to you?’
