Authors: Bani Basu
‘Baba! How late you are! Ma’s been crying in anxiety!’
A cool, pleasant voice. A lot like an adolescent boy’s. Esha was the first one to get out of the car and step forward. Aritra was taking his boots off. Taking Pupu’s hand, Esha said, ‘Your father had to go to a lot of trouble on my account. If I’d known it was so far away I’d never have made such a demand. I’d have gone on to VT, stayed the night, and taken the Deccan Queen.’
Pupu said, ‘Come inside, Mashi. Ma has become very shaky ever since Baba’s accident. In any case she’s very superstitious. She was crying and calling your name, Esha, Esha.’
Neelam wasn’t actually crying anymore. But her face was grey. She sat on the sofa like a corpse. Esha remained where she was. She seemed unable to take another step unless Neelam rose and called out to her. It was agonizing to appear in her vicinity. Neelam sat invincible within a circle of fire. Both their faces were scalded by the heat.
The sight of Aritra standing behind Esha with her suitcase forced Neelam to stand up with great effort. Looking at Aritra, her face ashen, she said, ‘I thought you had had another accident.’
‘Rubbish,’ said Ari. ‘An accident is just that, an accident. It occurs only once in a lifetime. Geetanjali was incredibly late. Thankfully we could take the Siddheshwar. Else I doubt whether we’d have been able to return tonight.’
‘Something terrible would have happened to Ma in that case Baba,’ said Pupu.
Esha said, ‘Come here, Neelam, how are you?’ Suddenly she reached out and hugged Neelam. How fragrant Neelam’s curly hair was. The scent of trembling surrender. A silken warmth, just like a bird, fluttered in Esha’s breast. Intimate, sweet. They deposited their sorrows, fears and doubts with each other. And then, uttering a silent vow in unison, they turned to look at Aritra.
Esha had acquired a girlish animation. She woke up early, before everyone else, changing her clothes quietly, wondering for a minute or two whether it would be right to go out leaving the front door unlocked. Then she remembered Shambhaji. Since he was on the night shift, he was bound to be there till eight at least. Closing the door gingerly behind her, she had a chat with the guard at the main gate, requesting him to keep an eye on the door.
An open road, lined with trees, its smooth surface free of dust. Someone had said that his favourite hobby was walking. He was right. Walking was worthy of becoming a passion. You’re walking, the morning breeze leaving fleeting touches on you, ever so slightly wintry, and the inevitable scents of unfamiliar plants and trees, birds, the sky mingled with the breeze. You’ll try to grasp it but you cannot, it will startle you, raise questions in your mind, and run away. Scattered thoughts will appear in your head as accompaniments to this breeze and these leisurely footsteps. Hill Cart Road, with boulders on the verge. The mountain ranges in the distance, visible through gaps in the pines and firs. Mall Road in Mussoorie, the hill rising on one side, and hotels, houses and deodar trees on the other. Why had she thought of Thomas Hardy’s Tess while walking along Hill Cart Road? The same thoughts came back to her now. There were two kinds of planets—sick and healthy. Which one was ours? Sick. The young Tess was telling her brother all this. Esha did not know why all this came to mind. Along with Mussoorie, she was also reminded of Girindrasekhar Bose’s
Purana-Pravesh
with its historical explanation of the myth of Bhagiratha’s creation of the Ganga. What if a complete picture of ancient India could be drawn by explaining mythology through history? Oh, did Bajirao’s horse canter down these roads? Perhaps these were just mountain trails at the time, not flat roads like today.
No sooner had she turned a corner than a mass of light pounced on her. Bathe me in this cascade of light, the poet had written. This was the eastern side. No trees, a wide avenue. Shops on both sides, the corrugated iron door of one of them being rolled up with a clatter. It was an enormous shop—half of Neelam’s groceries must come from this one. A bus passed at an unbelievable speed. Esha entered the shop, then strolled back.
They had all gathered in the living room. As soon as Esha entered Pupu said, ‘There’s Mashi.’
Anxiety all over his face, Aritra said, ‘How can you go out in an unknown city without telling anyone? What if you’d lost your way? Or got into trouble?’
‘Don’t you ever feel tired, Esha?’ asked Neelam. ‘You arrived late last night after such a long journey in the heat. And you were off again at the crack of dawn.’
Setting the box of ice cream down on the table, Esha smiled. ‘I didn’t fly on a jet plane, so no question of jet lag. The fatigue of the journey wore off during the long cool drive last night, believe me. The little sleep I had was very deep. And Neelam, every new place becomes old in three days. That’s why you have to get a taste of it the very first day.’
‘Becomes old in three days?’ exclaimed Neelam. ‘Oh god!’
‘Yes, as soon as it becomes familiar the romance of the unknown disappears.’
The clouds had lifted from Aritra’s expression. He said a little too loudly, ‘You’ve missed the morning tea, Esha, make her some tea with your Gujarati masala, Neelam. Give us some too. And give us a tableful of breakfast. If you’re feeling so very well, Esha, I’ll send my car back once I get to work. Neelam can show you some of Pune. While it’s still new.’
‘Yes Mashi, while it’s still new,’ said Pupu.
In the car Aritra turned the stereo on.
Ai mere zahra zavi, tujhe malum nahi
Tu abhi tak hai haseen aur main jawan . . .
Flame-coloured summer petals were being shed from Esha’s head and shoulders on the pavements of Red Road. Picking some of them and finding her way through the rest, Esha walked along a pensive path of colours.
Oh my beloved, you do not know, you do not know that you are still as beautiful and I, still a young man. There was an incantatory dance that everyone performed after a small drink during the Sandhipuja on the night of Ashtami during the Durga Puja—Aritra wished he could dance the same way now to release the joy and thrill, the virility and desire, pent up within himself.
As they climbed the flight of stairs towards the Parvati temple, Neelam sat down on one of the steps. ‘What do you think?’
The town of Pune was spread out far below Esha’s feet. The winding lines of the river, the bridge, gardens—the water and the road indistinguishable with the sun shining on them. ‘Beautiful,’ said Esha.
‘Really?’
‘The truth and nothing but the truth.’
‘In court now?’
‘Why not? So long as I’m not here to be a false witness.’
‘Then let us have your entire testimony.’
‘You’re very tired, aren’t you?’
‘Aren’t you tired too?’
‘I am. The sun’s so strong. I didn’t realize in the morning how hot it would get. What did you mean, my testimony?’
‘Should I speak freely?’ asked Neelam. Looking at her in bewilderment, Esha said, ‘Of course.’
‘But before that, do we look well?’
‘All of you look very well.’ Esha said without hesitation. ‘I came because I want to visit Ajanta. But unless I’d seen your family, especially Pupu, there would have been a gap in my life, Neelam.’
‘Tell me the truth, Esha,’ said Neelam. ‘Are you here only to visit Ajanta? Is that possible? There are other, easier routes to Ajanta. Why did you pick this one?’
Esha said, ‘I cannot say what was in my subconscious mind, Neelam. But as far as the conscious mind goes, I’m here so that you and Ari can show me around. I’m not from the West, my experiences of travelling alone have not been pleasant.’
After some hesitation, Neelam asked, ‘Don’t you bear any grudges, any regrets?’
Suddenly Esha laughed. Neelam’s hair was flying. Tucking them behind Neelam’s ears, Esha said, ‘Believe me, there’s no passion left in me—neither rage nor love. I couldn’t have come if either had remained. Could you have? Tell me.’
‘Please don’t mind, Esha. It’s just that I have lost so much, the ground beneath my feet is so wobbly, that I get afraid easily. Even if you have no passion left, Ari has all of his.’
‘If he does, I promise to throw cold water on it.’
‘But you cannot be blamed for bearing a grudge. What happened was utterly unfair to you, which I must admit if I look at it objectively.’
Esha said, ‘Emotions cannot be stolen, Neelam. It may be ethically correct to be fair in love, but truth is different, reality is different. Besides, what happened was for the best, Neelam. You know what Ari is like. He would have venerated me as a goddess or something all my life, put me on a pedestal. This is a far more natural outcome. Both of us were saved.’
This hurt Neelam deeply. Was she only a flesh-and-blood woman? Someone who met Aritra’s needs, who ran his household for him, while Esha would always be the more valuable one.
She couldn’t put it this way. She had already violated the laws of hospitality by asking Esha why she had come. Ari would raise hell if he found out. But the agony, the suffering in her heart refused to die down. She said, ‘I’m asking a personal question now, please don’t mind. Why did you get divorced? I heard he was the ideal man in every way. Just that he was somewhat older, isn’t that so?’
Esha did not answer. When she saw Neelam still looking at her questioningly, she said, ‘Don’t worry, I didn’t do it for Ari.’
‘Is that what I said?’
‘Not everything can be explained, can it?’
Although Neelam knew she was crossing the bounds of civility, and that Esha would think badly of her, she did not let up. She had disclosed much of her own personal difficulties to Esha in a burst of emotion. Esha too should break her silence and answer.
‘You were in the Gulf, weren’t you?’
‘Yes, Bahrain. Five years.’
‘And then?’
‘Then I went back to Calcutta.’
‘Who else lived there with you?’
‘His parents. He. No one else.’
‘A nice small family. Did your in-laws trouble you? Did they treat you badly?’
With a sigh Esha said, ‘They weren’t bad people, Neelam. But my father-in-law treated me like a paid nurse, and my mother-in-law, like her personal maid.’
‘So you were being forced to serve your in-laws.’
‘No, that’s not what it was, Neelam. My father-in-law was very fond of me, he needed me even to fetch him a glass of water. Say the jug was in his room, within arm’s reach. And I was having a bath. He wouldn’t have a drink of water till I poured him a glass. And my mother-in-law? I had to hear her criticize my family and neighbours for hours on end. I didn’t even know all of these people. I had to accompany her to every Hindi and Bangla film she wanted to watch. Sit with her during every TV serial. I used to do all that too, but Neelam, if you’re born a human you need some time to yourself, to do your own things. But they just wouldn’t allow me that time. I had to divide my entire time, my entire life, between the three of them. Not even my sleep was my own, it used to be interrupted without warning. I insisted on taking my final exam. Surreptitiously I sent off the application that got me a college job. They couldn’t accept this.’
‘It’s sounding most primitive, Esha, not modern at all.’
‘So what? A husband and his parents accept dowry, ask for thousands of rupees more, and then kill the bride. That’s not modern either, in fact it sounds quite medieval. Doesn’t it? But it happens all the time. Many parents get their sons married because they need a high-class maid. It’s an eternal idea in our country, Neelam—a man gets married so that his wife can look after his parents. Looking after them is not the issue, that’s an aspect of daily life. But how can you look for a wife with the same objective as for a maid or a nurse? Think about it, Neelam. And then, chewing on her paan and zarda, that smile, and her endless criticism of inter-caste love. I wanted to scream.’
‘You could have objected.’
‘You have no idea, no matter how well-educated you are, no matter how much of an adult you are, expressing your own opinion or taste is completely forbidden. Whenever I tried, I was accused of arrogance and rudeness. I was compared at every step to the woman married to our neighbours. Mind you, she had tried to get friendly with me specifically to badmouth her mother-in-law. She handed over her two children to her in-laws unconditionally to secure her own release from them.’
‘You’d have survived if you had children, Esha.’
‘I would have died some more, Neelam. I wouldn’t have been able to give them the chance to bloom, the one your Pupu has had. My anguish would have been multiplied. Some of us simply cannot suppress our taste, our learning, our personality, no matter how hard we try.’
‘But why did your parents pick such a strange family?’
‘They didn’t seem strange. You cannot make out these things beforehand. My mother-in-law was a college graduate. My father-in-law, a retired judge. So what? Just the one son. And that too was agony. Working out how much of him belonged to me and how much to his parents was a daily battle.’
‘Was the son mostly his parents’, then?’ Neelam’s voice was taunting.
‘No,’ answered Esha briefly.
‘Well then? Did he also use you as a goddess?’
‘No, he used me as his bathroom.’ Esha’s face lost colour as soon as she blurted this out. Agony was written so large on her face, a deep sense of shame, sadness and ineffable humiliation had aged her so much at this moment, that Neelam bowed her head. Realizing that she should not have interrogated Esha this way, Neelam felt very sorry. But she had not asked the questions out of feminine inquisitiveness, she needed to know where Esha stood today, what her relationship with Aritra could be like. Knowing in advance would enable her to ward off danger. It was a matter of life and death for her. Esha would forgive her if she understood. Forgive me, Esha. I have been the cause of your suffering earlier too. Great suffering. Even now I continue to torment you. Poor Esha, how downcast you look. Have you gone back to the exhausting memory of giving unwanted company to your former in-laws even though it went against your grain, or perhaps of desire-less cohabitation with your husband? Forgive me for taking you back to your nightmare. You are probably a tiny bird, but even if you are, you die if you cannot swim in the sky. I have understood you a little bit, Esha. And it is because you fly that I dare to ask you for forgiveness again and again.
They had lunch at a small, clean restaurant near the Deccan Gymkhana. Both of them silent. Both of them melancholy. Back home Neelam unlocked the front door, while Esha stood absently next to her. Neelam did not know how deep Esha’s despair and depression ran. Every time they hit Esha she exhausted her strength to combat them, expending the last drop of her blood. But she was determined to conquer them. With all her effort she said, I am deep in the heart of darkness, but I am ascending towards the light. The more extreme, the more dense, the more impenetrable the darkness was, the more her resolve grew. The light, the light—eventually she would reach the light, she would. Neelam did not know. But what Neelam could see now in her beautiful portico was a tree felled by lightning. No leaves, the branches fallen off, only a black trunk with the ancient remnants of leaves and boughs on its gnarled surface. Tears streamed from Neelam’s eyes. Reaching out, she said, ‘Come, Esha, I shall never bring up the past again.’
A mass of clouds were gathering in Esha’s sky. These were not Rabindranath’s romantic clouds, but Sudhindranath Dutta’s cataclysmic ones. With all her strength Esha tried to break out of the vaporous web. Where is the sun, where are you, do not hide your face repeatedly in the vessel of mud.
Tatwam pushan apavrinu jyotidharma drishaye
. Uncover the light so that the seeker may see it.