This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach, page 43
Nayyar, Kanta and Kanak were bothered by this babble of religious precepts, but had to keep quiet. Nayyar would say, ‘The Hindus don’t want to leave any god unworshipped. After they’ve finished with their own, they don’t mind worshipping the neighbours’ gods too.’
Kanak’s comment was, ‘Despite having innumerable gods to protect them, the Hindus have to run around to save their lives.’
Nayyar would pretend to explain, ‘No, the Hindus don’t expect to be protected by their gods. It’s rather the other way round, the Hindus feed and clothe them, carry them around, and protect them.’
Inside the bungalow the din of prayer and worship rose, and so did the clamour of children’s voices. Outside, the Nainital rain seldom let up. It was not possible to while away the time by taking walks or reading on a bench beside the lake.
Nayyar spent most of his time at the club playing bridge. In the evenings, he would take a peg or two of whisky, and discuss the complexities of legal cases at the Lahore and Allahabad High Courts. Kanchan played carom at the club. She too was fond of bridge, and the players in the beginners’ group sometimes asked her to join them. None of this interested Kanak. She had had enough of Nainital and the club after one week. She wanted to write something on the subject of family interference in the marriage of a daughter. But more than anything else, she wanted to sit and reflect: what next? Only four days remained of the period she had promised Nayyar to observe for not making any contact with Puri. All Nayyar had done during this time was to try to show Kanak that Puri was not fit for her. Kanak avoided Nayyar’s company for that reason. She could not hear anything said against Puri. She was beginning to feel that she had been brought to Nainital to be a prisoner and her resolve in reaction had become even firmer, ‘Let them do what they want. I’ll do what I want.’
When there was some respite from the rain, Kanak left Vimal Villa. She would walk a distance towards Tallital or Mallital, find an unoccupied bench, and sit facing the lake. ‘Maybe I should take a vow never to get married, as a show of protest,’ she would think, ‘and try to find some kind of a job.’ Then she would remember the promise made to Puri as he held her hand, and her repeated assurances to him, and think of leaving her family. She was the cause of nothing but trouble to her family, and felt herself persecuted into the bargain. She must find a job, in view of Puri’s financial situation, and even more in view of his fragile self-esteem.
There was no rain in the afternoon. Kanak was walking on the road that skirted the lake looking for a vacant bench. The road was filled with colourful saris, Punjabi-style women’s shalwar suits, and smartly dressed young men. She saw Awasthi coming from the opposite direction with two other men. He said namaste to her first, and she responded politely. Awasthi stepped away from his companions and asked her how she was doing. Then he said, ‘Come with your sister and brother-in-law and have tea at my bungalow.’ He gave her his address, and asked, ‘When will you come?’
‘I’ll ask jijaji. Whenever he’s free,’ Kanak said with some hesitation.
‘Tomorrow, or the day after, whenever you’ve got the time. Just telephone to confirm.’
Nayyar was pleased at the invitation from the parliamentary secretary. Kanak telephoned to fix a time. Nayyar, Kanta and Kanak dressed with particular care when they went to Awasthi’s bungalow. Awasthi was sitting on a chaise longue in the veranda, surrounded by a small group. Nayyar and Kanak felt awkward at having come at a time when he was busy. Awasthi got up to welcome them and led them inside to the living room, leaving the others to wait outside.
The tea was served without care or ceremony. The china was cheap, chipped and cracked, and the stains of spilt tea and rings on the tablecloth were evidence that no particular care was taken in serving tea. The three of them exchanged glances of surprise. The fair-sized room did not lack furniture, but negligence and sloppiness in housekeeping were evident everywhere. Awasthi was making up for the deficiencies in the chinaware and snacks with his effusive welcome. He inquired about the political past of Kanak’s father and his publishing business in Lahore, about Kanak’s literary efforts and her future plans in considerable detail. He told funny stories. He talked about his experiences on tour with Govind Ballabh Pant and Jawahar Lal Nehru, and many others.
No other member of Awasthi’s family had joined them. After a while Kanta asked with some hesitation, ‘Won’t Mrs Awasthi join us?’
Awasthi replied without embarrassment, ‘She won’t touch chinaware, as she thinks it unclean. She’s not fond of tea either. Women of our family keep to their old-fashioned ways. They observe purdah too. If you’d like to meet her, she’s inside.’
When both Kanta and Kanak said ‘Certainly! Of course!’ Awasthi led them through a curtain to another room inside the house. When they both returned, Nayyar saw that they could barely speak as their cheeks were stuffed with paan.
Awasthi asked Kanta and Kanak, especially Kanak, ‘You’re an educated and enlightened young woman. You should help us in social work and contribute to our nation building. You have time to spare. You’ll be in Nainital for the next couple of months. A certain Mrs K. Pant is doing good work here. You should meet her. She has established a Women’s Arts Centre and other institutions in Nainital. She’ll be here the day after tomorrow at nine in the morning. You should both come then.’
As Nayyar, Kanta and Kanak got up to leave, they were again offered paan. They each picked up one rolled leaf, but Awasthi laughingly pointed out that paan was invariably offered two pieces at a time, and it was polite to accept both at once. As they came out of Awasthi’s bungalow and turned the corner onto the road, Kanta and Kanak went to side and spat out the paan. Four paans were enough for them for a whole month.
Kanta said with irritation, ‘What strange people! They keep their women inside, in purdah, but like to socialize with other people’s wives and daughters. I won’t ever come here again.’ She added in anger, ‘Their wives are to stay indoors, and sit on their bed slicing betel nut to chew with their paan, and we’re supposed to do social work! Did you know,’ she said disapprovingly, ‘that these UP women chew tobacco with their paan?’
Nayyar pacified her, ‘Why get angry? Kanni is finding it difficult to while away her time here. No harm if she meets a few people. Nobody can force her to do anything against her will.’
As they reached the path beside the Grand Hotel that led to their cottage, Nayyar said, ‘Let’s go to the club. It’s only seven o’clock. Why be confined to the house at this hour?’
‘Jijaji, we have time. I wanted to have a talk with you,’ said Kanak. ‘There’s never a chance with that crowd at home. I don’t want you to lose your temper in front of the others, either.’
Kanta guessed what her sister wanted to talk about. She got edgy on such occasions, because Kanak was prone to making sharp comments in the heat of discussion. She said, ‘I’ll go and check on Nano. I’ll send her out for a stroll. You people go on and talk about whatever you want on the way to the club. But don’t be too late. Come home before eleven.’ She began to climb up the hill to the bungalow.
Nayyar knew, but still asked, ‘What do you want to talk about?’
‘You made me promise to keep away from him for sixty days. Tomorrow is the sixtieth day,’ Kanak said what she had been rehearsing in her mind.
‘What’s the point of this warning?’ Nayyar asked after a moment’s reflection.
‘It’s neither a warning nor a challenge,’ Kanak said. ‘The time for me to wait is over.’ She added, ‘I too have a mind and a heart of my own.’
‘Can’t you wait a bit longer? Do you want to get married immediately?’ Nayyar asked.
‘Immediately or not, whether I can wait or not, that’s not the point. I must think of the anxiety and suspense that is tormenting him. Aren’t you bothered at all that pitaji has not sent any letter? Wouldn’t I be bothered?’
Both of them had reached the Capitol, where the road forked off to the club, but Kanak had not finished what she had to say. They turned around. Nayyar thought for a few moments before asking, ‘I told you about Puri’s treatment of his sister. Did you try to find out anything about that? I offered to take you to their gali.’
‘Find out from whom? And what do I do then? I have to trust someone,’ she replied. ‘I have faith in him’
‘You mean, I lied to you?’
‘I can’t believe him to be dishonest.’
They walked for a while in silence. Kanak spoke first, ‘You told me that if I didn’t change my mind you wouldn’t go against me.’
Nayyar made an effort to speak without any emotion in his voice, ‘Yes, I’ll not put any obstacle in your way, but then I won’t support or approve of your decision either. We’ll just tell ourselves that we have no responsibility towards you. What else can we do?’
‘Responsibility? Or keeping me shut up and dependent? Why should everybody go on feeling responsible for me?’ Kanak was boiling inwardly, but she kept silent. They both walked in silence up to the post office and towards Mallital.
Nayyar said, ‘I can’t do anything to help you at the moment. I want to go to the club. I’m going back.’ Kanak too turned around. When they reached the path leading to their cottage, Kanak went on, and Nayyar continued on his way to the club.
Kanak halted halfway along the path to the cottage. It was not yet dark, cloudy but not raining. ‘What’ll I do at the cottage?’ she thought. She came back to the road and walked in the direction of the library, looking for an unoccupied bench facing the lake. ‘Jijaji doesn’t even want to talk about us! What’ll I do?’ she sat thinking. Puri’s mental anguish, the promise she had made as he held her hand; what she had told him in Lawrence Garden… Just the two of them living as a couple in a small house, oblivious to everything around them, she in Puri’s arms…She peered at her wristwatch; it was 8.30. She got up and went back to the cottage.
A light drizzle had begun to fall the next night, and had not stopped by half past eight in the morning. The weather did not encourage Kanak to go to Awasthi’s house and meet Mrs Pant. She did not feel much inclined to discuss social work in her troubled state of mind, but neither did she want to sit quietly and feel imprisoned in the cottage.
Nayyar, Kanta and Kanchan did not seem willing to accompany Kanak as an escort to Awasthi’s house. Kanak had seen a rickshaw carriage pulled by four persons for the first time in Nainital. The thought of riding in one, and seeing the coolies wheeze and gasp, especially on roads that climbed steeply, revolted her. She borrowed Kanta’s raincoat, took a small umbrella and set out alone to Awasthi’s bungalow.
Two persons, wearing khadi kurta-dhoti, the Gandhi cap and wrapped in shawls, were waiting in the veranda of Awasthi’s bungalow. He was in his office. When the orderly told him about Kanak’s arrival, he sent for her.
Awasthi did not get up when she entered, but just raised his eyes from a file before him and said, ‘Come, have a seat.’
Kanak said namaste and took a chair across from his desk. Awasthi went on, ‘I thought you mightn’t come because of the rain. You Punjabi women are really brave, real go-getters. The women from our own community are good-for-nothing. Someone must always accompany them as if they were a piece of baggage. Let’s get you some tea.’ He thumped at the bell on his desk.
Remembering the tea served to her two days before, Kanak put her palms together and made an excuse, ‘I’ve just had some with my breakfast. I’m not used to tea anyway. Don’t send for it, please.’
‘Yes, yes. You people like yogurt lassi.’ He let out a loud guffaw, then became serious and added, ‘Of course, lassi is very healthy. Achcha, have a paan.’ Awasthi opened a book-sized paan-box and offered it to Kanak.
Kanak had to accept one.
Mrs Pant was late, probably because of the rain. Awasthi talked about other people from Punjab he had met in Delhi and Lucknow. He told Kanak, ‘Some Punjabi women are hired for government jobs in our province. They’re good workers.’
Kanak found an opening, ‘I do want to help with the social work. I’ve worked with the Congress organization in the past, and at the time of the Quit India movement of 1942. If my family has to leave Lahore, I’d feel better if I had some kind of job elsewhere.’
‘Wah, there’s no shortage of jobs or employment for you. Capable young women like you can help so much in the building of our nation. Just now it’s a patriotic thing to work for the government. The education department is being expanded. Then there’s my own department. There are jobs everywhere. You should come to Lucknow. You’ll definitely get some job. Just tell me what kind of work will suit you. No problem whatsoever.’
Awasthi pulled his feet up onto his chair and began to reminisce, ‘I’m really fond of Punjab. I was at the Congress convention in Lahore in 1929. Punjabi girls are so full of life. Their behaviour is so uninhibited.’ Some memory of that time brought a smile to his lips. ‘I always remember those times. I became friendly with many Punjabi families at the time of the Tripuri and Ramgarh conventions. Once I sent them parcels of Lucknow’s dussehri mangoes. Now the season’s over, otherwise I’d have got some for you too. The real fun is in eating mangoes in a mango grove. I’ll take you to one …’
Awasthi’s face took on a strange look, and his eyes were half-shut in a recollection of something. ‘Perhaps his mouth is watering at the thought of juicy Lucknow mangoes,’ Kanak thought.
After another hour’s wait, Kanak spoke up, ‘Mrs Pant probably won’t come now because of the rain.’
‘Yes, it seems unlikely. But don’t worry,’ Awasthi said to reassure her. ‘I’ll take you to her place some day. She comes here often. She’s a member of the UP Legislative Assembly. Feel free to come here whenever you want.’ As Kanak was leaving, Awasthi gave her the address of Mrs Pant’s bungalow.
So now Kanak had Awasthi’s promise of finding her a job. That took some load off her mind, and her thoughts were filled with plans for the future. In the hope of beginning her new life soon, she went to visit Mrs Pant in the afternoon of the third day after her meeting with Awasthi. Awasthi was there too, with another rather stout man with a huge paunch wearing khadi kurta-dhoti and cap, and a young woman in a khadi sari. Tea and freshly fried pakoras were on the table.
Awasthi introduced Kanak to Mrs Pant with great enthusiasm. The heavily built man too praised the courage and dedication of Punjabi women. The young woman began to describe how her school in Nainital had not received proper funding from the government. She asked Awasthi to help her. Munching on a pakora, Awasthi said to her dryly, ‘Why do you worry? If funding is due according to the rules, you’ll get it. You should first petition the director of the department. Wait for his reply before coming to me for help.’ Despite his gruffness, the young woman’s smile showed she felt obliged to him for his consideration.
The man and the young woman got up and bid respectful farewells to Awasthi. After they left, Awasthi repeated his praise of Kanak, and said to Mrs Pant that she could have Kanak help her in the work of the Women’s Arts Centre.
Awasthi shook off his chappals, drew his feet up and sprawled on the big sofa chair. Kanak was sitting opposite him, occupying barely half of a similar chair. He said, ‘You make up your own mind about moving to Lucknow. You’ll surely get a job. I’m leaving for Lucknow on Sunday. You can come whenever you want. If you want, you can teach at some school. There are plenty of jobs, lots of them in the Public Relations Department. A salary of a hundred-and-fifty or two hundred rupees a month can easily be arranged. You can stay in Lucknow with Mrs Pant. What do you say, Mrs Pant?’
‘Arrey, why not? My home is her home too,’ Mrs Pant agreed.
Awasthi suddenly had an idea, ‘Let’s have a picnic, Mrs Pant, if the sky clears up the day after tomorrow as it did today. Have you seen the Naukuchia Lake?’ He asked Kanak, turning to her.
Kanak admitted that she had never even heard of it.
Awasthi said, ‘What’s so great about Nainital? The really scenic places are some distance away. And what lovely views! Mrs Pant, you’ll take care of the food. Same delicious chicken curry as last time.’ He turned and looked at Kanak, ‘You’re not vegetarian, are you? Punjabis usually don’t have such prejudices.’
Kanak admitted that she had no particular problem about eating meat.
Mrs Pant reminded Awasthi, ‘You’ll have to arrange for the motorcars.’
‘Don’t worry about that. How many motorcars?’
‘Let’s invite Shakuntala, and ask Verma too. What do you think? Maybe not, for it would get too crowded… You be at the bus station by nine o’clock,’ Mrs Pant said to Kanak.
Kanak could not refuse. As she walked back home, she was thinking, ‘What simple and well-meaning people! A bit unconventional, though. They still follow the Indian style of doing things. He’s a parliamentary secretary, but not at all officious.’ On reaching home she told Kanta and Nayyar about the promise of getting a job at a salary of two hundred rupees, and about the invitation to the picnic.
Both were silent for a while. Then Kanta asked, ‘You’ll go alone that far with them? There won’t be anybody else. Awasthi’s wife won’t go along for sure.’
