The Onus of Ancestry (24 page)

“I thought something like that must have happened, though I must admit I was afraid that you had changed your mind and decided not to come.”

“How could you think that? I've been waiting for this for so long, dreaming about it – Dwita you look just the same, only a little thinner. Your neck is even more swan-like.” He ran his hand gently up and down her neck and back. “Why don't we leave all this and run away somewhere?” He spoke with childlike simplicity.

“We can't, and you know it.” Her words were severe but her voice was gentle.

“Why not?”

“Because you would look back and regret it.” He did not answer her at first, then said, “Well, we have tonight and other nights, why think of anything thereafter?” She smiled at this Omar Khayam philosophy of life.

They had spent a divine few days together. They were with each other most of the time except for group activities connected with the working sessions of the conference. The weekend had been utterly peaceful, they had given all of themselves to each other – there was no question of holding back. Dwita did not know the extent of Christopher's happiness, but hers was complete. She did not care if she died afterwards; for the first time she had given and been taken in love. The feeling and the memory of love would be hers forever. Christopher, true to his word, seemed content to live only in the eternity of the present. He would not think of the future.

Dwita's paper on Leadership had been presented on the Tuesday morning and was received well. The audience had applauded warmly. Christopher congratulated her repeatedly. The delegates had thrown questions at her, he thought she had fielded them well. They broke up for lunch and as they were walking towards the buffet, there was a man's voice in her ear, “Ah, I knew it would be you – you never cease to be a sensation!”

“Barun, what a marvellous surprise – when did you arrive?”

“You mean you are actually pleased to see me? I thought you would not speak to me.”

“Why not? I am the forgiving kind,” she teased, then asked, “are you back now for good?”

“No, not yet. Perhaps next year if my father insists.”

Dwita was so carried away by this sudden encounter that she had forgotten to introduce Christopher, who now took her arm rather possessively.

“Oh, I am sorry, please meet Christopher Ashton from Ashton, Browne and Hastings, and Chris, this is Barun Mitra – still at Harvard?”

“That is correct. I am an old friend, Mr Ashton, once the best, but now forgotten, and way down in the line of priorities.”

“More like a best friend gone astray!” She laughed.

“So Dwita, when are we going to meet again to catch up on the missed years?”

“I am booked solidly till the end of the conference. Are you now on your way to Calcutta?”

“Yes, I have come out on leave.”

“Fine, then, Calcutta it shall be.”

“Who have you sold your time to meanwhile?”

“Sold my soul, not just time,” she said, without looking at Christopher.

When Barun left them, he said, “You seem to know that chap well.”

“Very well – are you jealous?” she asked, winking at him.

“Yes I am, I think. I hope he leaves for Harvard soon.”

“We were at university together, he was two years my senior. He wanted to marry me once. I said no.”

“Why?”

“I was not in love… ”

“Could you now?”

“I do not think so. Why do you ask?”

“I think he still cares for you.”

“I care too, but only as friends. I am now too old to marry without love. Why are you suddenly keen on marrying me off ?”

“I'm not – I am just afraid to lose you. You see you are free now and I am still tied to my stake.”

“I think I know best the extent of my freedom. No one is truly free – I am tied to a stake of my own making. Now, stop fretting or there will be nothing left to eat.”

They spent some more time together, but it was coming to an end. The last night was drowned in desperate demands of each other. They both knew it would be a long time before they would meet again. Christopher's return to England had been further postponed as the company contract had been extended and the Singapore firm did not wish to lose him.

“I wish we could meet more frequently – it took years this time, and you do not even write these days,” he said. “After the last few days together, Dwita, you must want that too. Are you still in touch with John and Jennifer?”

“Yes, of course. They have been promising to come to India for some time, but never seem to make it.”

“I doubt if they will ever leave Diana behind to come to India, and she is still too young to travel.”

“Diana? Who is Diana?”

“Their daughter, of course.”

“Christopher, was Diana not the name of the daughter they lost in the drowning accident?”

“I thought you must have known – John and Jennifer adopted a baby girl soon after your departure. Your visit and the tragic circumstances somehow made them feel a terrible yearning for their own lost child and they decided to adopt this little girl and call her Diana. She is oriental too, very pretty. I must say I thought it was a strange and rather rash thing to do, especially at their time of life – but then who are we to decide… ”

“Christopher, why on earth have they not told me?” she cut in. She felt stunned and rather hurt.

“Perhaps they did not want to remind you, Dwita, of your own loss. They said to me that they had grown so fond of you that they wanted to have someone who would remind them of you.”

“I am still very surprised. Even the Wadias have not mentioned anything to me – and surely they must know. As you say, John and Jennifer are not young any more. It seems a little odd to me that they should go into adoption so late in their life and then take an oriental baby girl at that. I fail somehow to understand–” Dwita's mind suddenly returned to her days in the clinic, and scenes she had tried to forget were reforming in her head.

“Dwita, come back, darling – don't look so distracted. I should never have mentioned the Parkinsons – I really thought you knew all about the adoption.”

“Where did they find Diana, Christopher?” she asked absent-mindedly.

“I truly do not know the details. I have never asked them. I've been away such a lot as you know–”

“If she had lived, she would surely be about Diana's age.”

“Do you miss your child, my love?” he said gently, pulling her to himself.

“I had not thought of her very much lately. She usually comes back to me through the nightmares of those unhappy times. But I feel guilty sometimes that I had not carried her with enough love.”

“How could you, as things were? You must not blame yourself.”

“I wish I had made her with love – babies should be like captured moments of love, like exquisite cameos of passion immortalised. Even if the people who make them fall apart or separate later, those moments then could not be changed, spoilt or eradicated.”

“Yes, I agree with you. They should be conceived in love ideally but it is not always so – they are also often born of the simple physical needs of two people.”

“But not often of vengeful passion and unwilling repugnance?” She spoke rather bitterly.

“What can I say, my love? I know how you feel. Perhaps it is better for all concerned that she did not live – it would have been very difficult for you, Dwita, to live with the memory of that.”

“Yes, and yet there is always this desire in mankind to leave something of oneself behind. It can be very lonely, Christopher, not to have someone to share life with, to bestow or receive love, to have no sense of continuity in relationships, not to return to familiar faces after a hard day's work.”

“I do understand this craving inside you. And I have proved useless even though I know we could have made a good life together.” It was his turn to sound bitter. “We are attuned to each other, love each other, enjoy the same things in life, but destiny seems to have wanted things otherwise. Perhaps I should stay away from you to give you a chance, let you rebuild your life.”

“My feelings for you will not change if you stay away, or if I did not see you for a thousand years. I am really rather obsessive.” She finished lightly to cheer him up. He was now finding it very difficult to face up to his imminent departure and the prospect of not meeting for a long time. Dwita, on the other hand, had received so little of what she had ever wanted for herself in life that she was wallowing in the present shamelessly, pushing aside any thought of the bleak future.

Some time later he said, “Dwita, are you asleep?”

“No – I thought you were. I was trying to breathe quietly.”

“I've been lying here thinking. My plane leaves in a few hours.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Are you coming to the airport with me?”

“No – you must excuse me. I am not good at saying good-bye. I hate a note of finality in my life.”

“Maybe better that way. But when shall we see each other again?”

“I am a Bengali fatalist – an inveterate fatalist.” She drew a line on her forehead and his. “It is all there.”

“But we have to make the effort. Why don't you come to live and work in England? What keeps you here?”

“Nothing really – except I like working for Sunbeam and I am very fond of the Wadias. My mother and my old nanny are here too. Anyway, why are you sending me to England when you are in Singapore?”

“I won't be in Singapore for ever. Be serious, Dwita – think about it. I am sure Rusi can find you something interesting to do in England. He will leave Sunbeam in any case when he retires. That cannot be far away.”

“I know that and I have been dreading it. It will be so strange to see someone else in Rusi's place.”

“Dwita, please think about it. Promise me you will.”

“Chris, can you not go back to Julia again? I mean emotionally. You are so fond of the children. It could be possible perhaps, and you will feel less lonely.”

“No, never. I know I have made two bad marriages, so people may lay the blame at my door. No doubt it is my fault, but in both cases I seemed to sleepwalk into it rather than marry consciously or deliberately. Perhaps I should believe in fate, like you. I have been with other women as well, but I've never been in love before. You must believe this and not try to send me away–”

“I was not sending you away – I was trying to find you peace and security away from me.”

“That is beyond possibility.”

“Well, I suppose you must get ready for your flight now or you will end up missing it. Mine leaves two hours after yours.”

Parting had been very painful. They remained for a long time in each other's arms silently, like entangled eternity, and finally Christopher drew back and left abruptly without looking back once. She stood at the window gazing at the blue expanse of the sea, awaiting her turn to leave.

The telephone rang to announce the time of departure of the coach taking the delegates to the airport for their flights home. She asked for a porter to take her bags down and slowly walked to the elevator to begin another phase of her itinerant existence.

*

It turned out Barun was on the same flight. He was sitting beside her. He had not changed very much over the years, except for his black-rimmed spectacles and a few extra pounds on his formerly slim frame. He was still the same Barun, good-looking, suave, eyes glinting with fun and alert intellect. He still talked quickly, teasing Dwita from time to time, trying to recapture the moments of youthful abandonment of their long past university days. Dwita was grateful for his company as Barun was a good distraction from the hollow feeling she had inside.

He talked of his Harvard experiences, his friends, his desires for continuing his academic existence, and of his apprehensions about his impending return to Calcutta. He did not wish to be embroiled in his father's business, yet he knew he did not have a choice in the end. He had taken a few months' leave to find out if he could really bear it. Dwita listened to him quietly, offering an occasional comment.

Their flight landed at Dum Dum and the chaos of passengers and baggage soon overtook them. She saw a herd of people waving at Barun, amongst them Dr Bijit Mitra. As they were emerging with their cases, Barun became lost in the embraces of a vast multitude of friends and relatives, whereas she was quietly received by the chauffeur from Sunbeam, who took the cases from her and tried to lead her to the car. Dr Mitra suddenly noticed her and detached himself from the crowd to greet her, “Have you just got back from Bombay as well? I am here to receive my nephew, returning from Harvard.”

“That must be Barun – we travelled together after attending the same conference in Bombay,” she said.

“Dwita and I are old friends from university days,” a voice declared from behind them.

“How wonderful–” Dr Mitra smiled benignly.

“You seem to know each other well,” Barun said.

“Dwita and I are good friends also,” Dr Mitra replied with a wink, “I never miss out on a beautiful girl in Calcutta, Barun.”

They all laughed and Barun asked Dwita if she needed a lift.

“No thanks – I am all right,” she said, pointing at the chauffeur.

“I forgot you are a bigwig here. I shall be in touch very soon.” He touched her lightly on the shoulder and disappeared with his family.

Calcutta was no city, she thought to herself. It was the biggest village in Bengal. A city with over eight million people, yet it was quite impossible to be incognito. You could never escape here from the familiar clutches of the past. Never a minute's respite. Christopher was right in asking her to venture beyond her present surroundings. She could only live here with tranquillity if amnesia were to strike her down.

Barun was as good as his word. He had rung her at the office and was a little peeved that she could not see him immediately. Her official commitments and the desk piled high with files and documents made lunch impossible for the next three or four days and the next three nights were taken up as well – her mother was dining with her the next day, she was giving a small dinner party for the Wadias and a few of their friends the night after that, and the third night was taken up by a dinner given by the chairman of the Sunbeam Board, which she obviously had to attend. She finally arranged to meet Barun on the Friday night. He sounded a little like a sullen child but she decided to ignore it. He had not changed, he still did not like to be denied what he wanted.