An Obedient Father (26 page)

Once, Anita told me a story of how she fell in and out of love with Rajinder over the course of a day. I found it so sad that I felt blamed and remained quiet, and, I think, appeared uninterested. As if I had missed the point of the story, all I could say was "Do you want to get married again?"

Anita began crying at this. It was the first time I had seen her cry in months. I had just returned from work and was taking off my shoes in the common room. I could not understand how such a sad and serious conversation could take place between my removing my shirt and my starting to unlace my shoes. Asha came into the common room then. Anita was in the kitchen. Seeing Asha, Anita turned so that her back was to us.

"What use would that be? I would still be the same person."

"Marriages are difficult. What happened was not your fault."

"It's not as though other men would be any better. I would have to be the one who changes."

"Are you complaining again?" Asha asked. She looked at me out of the corner of her eye, as if to have me admire her bold sarcasm.

Before I had even seen Anita turn and flash out of the kitchen, she was beside Asha.

I grabbed Asha by the neck and shook her so that I would be the one to hit her and she would not blame Anita.

"Cry, cry as much as you make other people cry," Anita said to Asha.

One night early in 1992, I went to Mr. Mishra's house for dinner. He wanted me to meet his son and daughter-in-law, who were in Delhi on a New Year's holiday. It was the first time I had been to his home. I got an autorickshaw right outside the alleyway and it took me quickly to Tilak Nagar. The night was so cold I sat on my hands.

The house was one story, white, and on a quiet side street amid a network of quiet side streets. There were no streetlights in Mr. Mishra's neighborhood and the autorickshaw's lamp did not work.

Parts of the road were excavated for sewer repair, so the autorick-shaw had to maneuver cautiously. "This is it," the autorickshaw driver kept saying and stopping.

"This is not it. I want a 2/3."

Mr. Mishra was standing on his Ht veranda and he called out, "Mr. Karan?" when the autorickshaw slowed before his house. I had begun thinking I would have to return home.

While Mr. Mishra opened the veranda gate, his wife and son Naveen came out to greet me. Naveen was short with enormously broad shoulders. Like his father, he was wearing a kurta pajama. "These roads are difficult, Uncleji," he said, and put his hands together in namaste.

"If it rains you can fish in the ditches," Mr. Mishra said.

"We think they're building a canal," Mrs. Mishra added. "Any morning we'll wake to a ship's horn. Will you have tea first or are you hungry?" Mrs. Mishra was a physical education teacher and I had once supervised her.

I followed them into a wide room where three sofas in an L surrounded a low table. In the back of the room, near a doorway, was a dining table. Naveen's wife, Lakshmi, sat on one of the sofas with her infant son asleep in her lap. She wore a yellow sari and her hair, which was long and straight, was loose on her shoulders. "Namaste," Lakshmi whispered when I came in. "I'll put him away," she said, and stood. The sofa cushions were shiny from wear, and some of the chairs around the dining table were mismatched. Till then, because Mrs. Mishra worked, and Naveen was an IAS officer, I had always thought of Mr. Mishra as wealthy.

When Lakshmi returned, she went into the kitchen with Mrs. Mishra to prepare tea and samosas before dinner. I asked Naveen if Lakshmi worked in the district where he was stationed and was astonished to learn that she had not studied beyond twelfth standard. "In the beginning my postings changed so much, Uncleji, and I wanted Raul to have the same care that I had as a child. No servant can take care of a baby the way a mother can." Probably Naveen had

been asked this question many times before, for he continued, "Lak-shmi is very smart. She was first in her standard and she went to a good school. She would have continued to college."

"Naveen's mother never went past higher secondary," Mr. Mishra interrupted, "and I have never thought less of her or imagined she could have been a better mother if she had."

"I did not even finish higher secondary," I offered, to eliminate any possibility that I was being condescending.

"But Lakshmi's grandfather wanted her married before he died and he was quite sick," Naveen finished. Because Mr. Mishra was so proud of him and because Naveen was an IAS officer, I had expected that he would want me to acknowledge his stature, but he never gave me that sense.

Lakshmi came out of the kitchen carrying a tray of samosas and papar. Behind her came Mrs. Mishra with a tray of teacups. The samosas were not very good, perhaps because Mr. Mishra could not afford good oil, but the tea was strong and sweet. The only other IAS officer I had ever met ran the docks of Bombay and was so rich that he had built an enormous house for his parents in Model Town.

Probably because Mr. Mishra and Naveen kept complimenting me by asking my opinion on the IMF negotiations or Narasimha Rao's chances of survival, I had the sense that the entire family was very smart. I was surprised that Lakshmi talked freely in front of her in-laws and that she had opinions on these issues. "Congress will fall after the next elections," she said.

I had known that I, too, was lonely, because of how much I enjoyed talking with Mr. Mishra at work, but only during that dinner, as my face got flushed and I kept smiling and spilling words everywhere, did I feel how extreme my isolation had been.

The snacks and dinner lasted hours. There were always two people watching me and listening or speaking. Through dinner, Lakshmi checked her baby every twenty minutes. There was rice, roti, two dry subjis and two liquid ones. I praised everyone and everything so much that I began wondering if I appeared to be lying.

By ten I was still excited enough to lean forward whenever I spoke. Mrs. Mishra and Naveen periodically put their hands over their mouths to hide yawns. I hoped they would offer another cup of tea even though I knew I should refuse if they did. I went to the bathroom.

The hallway was fifteen feet long, with two doors facing each other at the end. The bathroom was on the left. As I reached the doors, I noticed the one on the right was slightly open.

I saw a partially lit bed, Lakshmi's shoulder, and the side of the baby's head at an angle as if it was feeding. I thought, I can open the door; it might be considered an accident. Lust's mineral taste filled my mouth. I leaned forward to get a better look.

The door swung open without a creak.

Lakshmi looked up. Both her breasts were uncovered. The nipples were black. She stared at me in shock and did not say anything. I thought, Close the door. I made no move to do so. Still holding the baby, Lakshmi reached for a sheet at the foot of the bed. She couldn't get it. Act surprised, I thought. My face remained rigid. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. Finally, I pulled the door shut as I whispered an apology.

A month later, I returned from work one evening. It was February and the sun had already set. There was a garbage heap smoldering outside the compound. I walked through the smoke into the courtyard. There were children playing cricket against a wall, with wickets drawn with coal.

My memory dawdles.

Asha was not waiting on the gallery. I did not notice this then.

My eyes and nose were burning from the smoke. I entered the flat. I crossed Anita and Asha's bedroom. I walked into the common room.

Anita was on the balcony looking at the sky. She entered the common room, her arms wrapped around herself

"Where did you go for lunch?"

I had eaten with Asha. Because I had rehearsed explanations for this confrontion many times, I even felt falsely accused. I had never touched Asha. "I've done nothing."

"I know. I looked. I would have taken her to a doctor." Anita was swaying back and forth slightly.

"I went to her school once for work and her principal told me that Asha cries all the time in class. I began going to see her. I wanted to help. I used to cry like that after Ma died." I started feeling fear.

"Be quiet," she shouted, and waved her hand in front of me as if saying goodbye.

"I visit her sometimes during lunch and talk. Only in a restaurant."

"How many times have you done this?"

I hesitated. "Often. There are always people around. Some of Asha's school friends even come with us and I buy them cold drinks." I stepped forward and Anita moved back. She looked ready to run away. All my explanations were coming out as I had practiced them in my head, but the extent of Anita's fear and anger made them unconvincing even to me. "I would never do anything."

"You did it to me. It was impossible then also."

This was the part I found most difficult to explain in the imaginary conversations I had conducted. "If I were still like that, I would have done something with all the chances I've had." I took off my short-sleeved sweater. I sat down on one of the chairs and sighed. I should have begged.

"Here you have raped your daughter till she bled. And then here you are with your granddaughter, rubbing yourself against her like she's a pillow. You wait twenty years between the two as if nothing has happened. People stop smoking for a decade and then start at a party." I had, of course, thought that perhaps Asha was safe with me only because my disease was latent. Anita held up a hand with the palm facing up, and then turned it down. "Who would trust you with a paisa?"

"I could already have done something if I was going to."

"I don't want explanations," she interrupted. "Look at what you've done to me," she said, and touched her throat.

I took off one shoe, as if continuing the daily routine of returning from work would make things normal. I was going to say I loved Asha, but stopped. "I am different."

"You were different, weren't you, when after twenty-some years you rubbed against Asha?" There was no answer to this.

"I'll give you more money."

"People don't change."

I had not started visiting prostitutes after going into Lakshmi's room. "People do."

Asha, attracted by our voices, came down the ladder onto the balcony. She looked tired. "What are you doing?" Anita shouted. Asha's face was so still it appeared tiny. "Upstairs!" Asha raced to the roof

I took off my other shoe. For me bare feet are always about to step on glass or nails. "Anita, watch me. Guard me. I'll be your prisoner. I won't be able to do a thing."

"I already thought you were my prisoner."

"Ask Asha every day whether I've seen her or talked to her."

"You might get her to lie."

"I don't know what else can be done."

"Neither do I." She was silent and then said, "Why don't you die?" She asked this and slumped. "I hate you. Even if there were no Asha, I would hate you."

We were silent for a long time. The sky lost its blue and became black. There were the noises of the squatters, the crank of a hand pump, and a man complaining loudly about something. Anita's eyes never left me.

Suddenly she said, "I am going to tell everyone. I want everyone to watch you. I am going to tell Mr. Mishra. I am going to tell all our relatives, the neighbors. I want everyone to help me watch you."

I didn't believe she could do it, but I said, "Don't do that."

"What else can I do?"

"You're not angry because of Asha. You're angry because of what I did to you. Nothing can be done about what's happened."

"Ha!" Anita shouted.

We stared at each other. Finally, she left and went up to the roof. Anita and Asha did not come down till the morning.

While Asha bathed, I left my room and came out into the common room. Anita, standing near the kitchen, said, "I am going to tell everyone." Now I believed her. She wore the same sari as last night. Instead of fear I felt sadness. How could my world end like this? We were standing on opposite ends of the room.

"If you do, I won't let you live here. If you do, I won't give you a paisa." My voice quavered.

Anita leaned forward with her shoulders, though she stayed where she was. "I can live somewhere else."

"Where? Who wants you? Who wants Asha? You're stupid if you think they do." I sounded pleading instead of angry and threatening as I wanted to.

A tap which had been splashing in a full bucket now began ringing in an empty one. Because Asha bathed with only one bucket, this meant she would be coming out soon.

Anita left the common room and went into the living room. I followed. "I'll change my will. When I die, which will be soon, you won't get the flat." The windows were closed and the light was slate. Anita went near the windows. I kept several meters away

"I'll put you in jail."

"The police do nothing without money."

I remembered when she demanded I confess, and I shut the windows to muffle her screams.

"I am going to tell Asha when she comes out of her bath."

"We just left the common room, so Asha wouldn't hear."

"So?"

"Who will take you in? Your mother-in-law? If she learns what I did, she'll think Rajinder was cheated and married a whore."

"I have jewelry."

"You had jewelry before." I knew from this bad answer that Anita must realize her few options. "How much is gold selling for?"

"Enough."

"You'll have to stay here. And you know me. I'm shameless. Once your threat of revealing is gone, then what check will you have over me? As long as you have the threat, I'm stopped. Once the threat is gone . . ."I put my hands in my pockets, because they were trembling, and then I jiggled them to suggest sex.

Anita looked at me with disgust and anger for a moment and then walked past me into the common room. She returned almost immediately with Asha. She was cupping the back of Asha's head with one hand and pulling her forward. "Sit," she said, and moved Asha onto a love seat. Asha was wearing her school uniform. Anita sat down beside her.

"Your grandfather wants to touch you here." Anita put her hand on Asha's crotch over her skirt. Asha had no reaction to this. She turned her head in my direction. "Do you want to show her how you touched me?"

"No," I said. I thought that this was so strange, so unbelievable, that it would not be possible to remember it tomorrow. Then I wanted to sob, because this was the end of my life. "What's the good?"

"I want her to know what happened to me," Anita cried gleefully.

"Because it will make things different?"

"For me it will."

Anita gently pressed Asha back in the love seat. She put her hand under Asha's skirt and repeated, "He wants to touch you here. Then he wants to take out his thing. The thing boys have. A penis." Asha kept staring emotionlessly "He wants to put his thing in you, from where you pee, even though it will hurt very much if he does. It will make you bleed."

"I don't want to do that at all."

"Don't let him. Don't let him," Anita said, and paused. She stared into Asha's eyes and asked, "You'll let him, won't you? Yes." Anita smiled softly and nodded. "Yes. Yes. It's fine to say 'Yes.' "

Asha nodded back.

"Stupid girl," Anita hissed.

"She'll say yes to anything you ask," I said.

"Don't let him. If you do, I'll kill you and I'll kill myself. Your grandfather is bad. Will you let him?" Asha shook her head no. "You will, won't you?" Asha continued shaking her head no. "You will?"

"No," Asha whispered.

"It will kill you if he does. I'll kill myself if he does. If you let him. Scream if he tries." Anita looked at me. There was nothing on her face.

Anita decided the first person she was going to speak to was Shakuntala, Radha's sister.

"Why make it worse? Asha wouldn't let me now."

Anita did not respond as she pulled a sandal strap around an ankle. She was sitting on her bed. Asha, still in her uniform, was standing beside her. "All this will do is destroy your only weapon."

"And if I don't do it?"

"I won't do anything." Anita watched me for a second and stood. I continued, "Nobody will help. People cry with you one day, two days. Then they say, 'She's always crying. Why does she bring her unlucky face here?' "

Anita left the flat. I had to lock the door, and by the time I caught up with them, they were in the alley. Asha was sobbing. I followed next to them, pleading. I was so confused by what was happening that I could not tell whether I was merely saying things or whether I believed them. "I'll make a deed turning over everything to you in three years. Even if I'm not dead, you'll have everything." People were noticing us, the rapidly walking woman holding the crying girl by the hand and the old, bald man beside them whispering feverishly, "I'll sell you the flat for five rupees if you come back home."

At the bus stop, like a child who does not want to go to school, I felt relief every time a bus approached and it was not for us. By then I had stopped talking. There was nothing to say. It was a hot bright morning. The road was as crowded as always and seven or eight people stood with us. We waited and waited. Sweat leaked down my back. "I've only been kind to Asha."

Anita snorted.

The bus came and we got on.

Anita did not look at me as the bus moved. Asha stood by herself. There were a few people between us. We disembarked in Morris Nagar near the Big Round-About. We walked on the sidewalk along the red-brick wall that encloses University Quarters. The trees that stretch over the wall were leafless. Occasionally a bus or an autorick-shaw went by, but most of the sounds were birds chirping. I felt as though we were walking along a beach.

We entered University Quarters through a small gate. There were two rows of single- and double-story red-brick houses separated by fifteen or twenty meters of grass. The brick paths in front of the houses had long since disintegrated into yellow dirt. Shakuntala's husband was an administrator in the registrar's office of Delhi University. At one point I stopped walking and watched them proceed without me. Then, because I did not know what would be said, I followed.

Shakuntala opened the door. She was less than five feet tall, with an enormous wrinkled face. I became so afraid that I felt blood tingling through my hands and face. Shakuntala looked surprised.

"I must tell you something," Anita said, and Shakuntala led us across the courtyard into a room. The room was dark and had a television against one wall and cots along two others. Shakuntala sat on a cot and Anita, Asha, and I on another. Shakuntala had her head covered with a fold of her sari, because even though Radha was dead, I was still her family's son-in-law. I wondered if this was the last time I would have any social status.

"Water?" Shakuntala asked.

"No," Anita answered for us all.

I thought, I have to interrupt this. "You won't be able to keep the house after Sharmaji retires?" I asked.

"Maybe for one year. There are rules we must follow."

"He retires next year?"

"Yes. Why?"

Anita glared at me and then turned back to Shakuntala. "When I was Asha's age, Pitaji raped me. He did this many times." Anita said it so steadily, I was amazed. Shakuntala's mouth opened. She looked at me, and all I could think of was to protest that Anita had been older than Asha. I said nothing, and she turned back to Anita. It was done. I wondered where I would sleep in the new world that had just been formed.

"There used to be blood everywhere after he finished with me."

"Put Asha in another room," Shakuntala said.

"I've told her everything." Shakuntala looked uncertain. "It was like having a knife put in. When I first menstruated, I thought it was an old wound that had broken." Asha lay down on the cot and closed her eyes. "Ma found out, but what could she do? She had two other children. She sent Kusum to be raised by Naniji."

"Yes," Shakuntala said.

I wondered whether the "yes" meant she agreed with Radha's reasonableness or whether it was intended to comfort Anita by saying that the fact of Kusum being sent away was confirmable and Anita was believed.

"But Ma had to stay with him." Anita turned toward me and slapped me. I wanted to become invisible and didn't even touch my cheek. When I didn't respond, Anita hit me again.

"Of course." Shakuntala only cast brief glances at me.

"Last year, in May, I caught him touching Asha. I told him not to do it. Yesterday I learned he's been going to see Asha at school."

"I didn't know people like you existed in real life," Shakuntala said to me. She used the familiar you.

"I haven't done anything to Asha." The more times I repeated this, the more times I felt that this was just an excuse, that if not now then sometime later I would have touched Asha.

"Come here, daughter." Anita went and sat by Shakuntala, who embraced her. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you." Anita whimpered and started crying against Shakuntala's neck. "What unhappinesses God has given you." Anita cried and repeated her story with more details. Shakuntala occasionally rocked Anita back and forth.

In the early afternoon the doorbell rang. "It's him. Coming home for lunch," Shakuntala said, too traditional to use her husband's name. She got up.