The Onus of Ancestry (29 page)

Dwita was returning from Calcutta. She had gone back after several years at Barun's request. He had assured her that things were better in India – the dark days of Emergency were over, the country was limping back to normal. She had spent a few days with her mother and met Barun frequently to catch up on the years they had missed. He was now quite the business man in his sharkskin suit, moccasins, gold rimmed spectacles and a Dutch cheroot always stuck between his fingers. The aching nostalgia of Harvard was a thing of the past. He was the fun-loving most eligible and most sought after bachelor in Calcutta's highest social circle. His telephone never stopped ringing, invitations never stopped arriving, he was never left alone to brood or fester. But he was still the same Barun underneath all the shine and glitter as far as Dwita was concerned. Barun always dropped his mask in front of her. Her arrival had caused flutters yet again in the maternal hearts of Calcutta – they thought Barun was in danger of being enticed and abducted by this stranger. When Dwita was leaving Barun had said, “The disquiet of the matrons will now be set at rest – but what about me? How long will you go on being a butterfly, never resting for long anywhere? Ask your Sheikh to set you free.”

“My Sheikh is not my keeper, Barun, he bears no responsibility for the sentence on my head. If you like, I am my own prisoner. I have condemned myself.”

“Then come back, Dwita. I said it before, I say it now – I will keep repeating it until you return.”

“I have a home in London, why don't you come and visit me there? I can show you London. I am quite a good guide you know.”

“Are you ever there yourself?”

“Sometimes. I try and make it as often as I can – I miss Dia otherwise.”

“You have always wanted what you could not have, never what you could.”

“Yes, that has been my mistake all my life.”

“Can you not undo it now?”

“Some mistakes made cannot be unmade, dear friend… Now, let us not part on such a morbid note. Pay me a visit soon.”

She had taken a flight to Bombay to connect her to Nairobi, where she had some work to do. Sultan's network of enterprises had expanded now to Africa. His business interests were manifold, across the northern and southern hemispheres. For Dwita the pace and extent of her suitcase existence had also grown rapidly. Raghu complained that he hardly saw her these days and hence had very little to do. He might as well retire, he said, though Dwita knew that he would never willingly leave, the money was too good. But she was becoming very tired of travelling and had not been feeling well lately. She avoided thinking about it and tried to carry on as usual, thinking she would see a doctor soon. There was this nagging pain inside her which bothered her at times.

She spent a few days in Nairobi dealing with the problem that Sultan had entrusted to her care. She also managed to reorganise the management structure to suit local employment regulations and helped recruit some Kenyans into key management posts to establish a more balanced personnel structure within the company. It was for such skills that the Sheikh always insisted on her presence at senior management recruitment exercises in all his companies around the world. He said Dwita had ‘a nose for right people in the right jobs'. After completing the work in Nairobi, she was due in London for another appointment and Sultan was to meet her there to be briefed on her recent activities.

However, she had been unexpectedly delayed in Nairobi. The aircraft developed technical trouble and it was announced that the passengers would have to be taken back to a hotel for the day. Dwita was a little concerned about her next appointment – then she shrugged and said to herself, “Over a decade in the Gulf and you still agitate about schedules?” The man in London would no doubt understand. She could try to telephone from the hotel in due course, once she knew more about the anticipated delay.

The airline bus was not available; the passengers were put in several taxis and despatched to various hotels. She liked Nairobi, the Kenyans were friendly people.

They were brought to a hotel in the centre of the town and she was given a room which was adequate. She would probably need it only for a few hours, with a bit of luck. She had left her case at the airport, just taking the briefcase and the overnight bag with her, and decided to have something to eat at the hotel coffee shop.

The coffee shop was on the terrace of the hotel and commanded a splendid view of the town. She chose a table near an enormous potted plant, ordered coffee and sandwiches, and sat admiring the view before her. Then she took a writing case out of her briefcase, to catch up on some correspondence. She chose a postcard out of a few she had picked up at the airport to send to Dia. The girl loved receiving postcards from Dwita's ports of call, and pinned them all up on a board in her room. Concentrating on the card she became suddenly aware of a presence next to her – the feel and fragrance of that presence she knew well. After all these years her heart lurched the same way – she felt weak-kneed and afraid. She raised her head very slowly, taking as long as she could over it, and their eyes met. There was nothing she could say that would sound right or adequate. “Would you like to sit down?” was all she managed.

“I may as well – I can't leave until my plane decides to take off.”

“Are we on the same plane then? Bound for London?” He shook his head.

“How are you?”

“Well – thank you, and you? I see you are still flying around the world.”

“Yes – just the same. Just a little older, a little more tired, that's all,” she said, a sigh had escaped her. He looked tired too – drawn and pale, dark rings formed shadows round his eyes, his hair had a few streaks of grey. He looked a little thinner, otherwise the same Christopher.

“What are you staring at, Dwita? Do you not recognise me any more?”

“You look just the same to me.”

“And you – are you happy? Still enjoying yourself?”

“Happy? That is not a word in my dictionary any more – you may say content, perhaps tranquil some of the time. I have discovered a new formula for tranquillity for the hopeless and the helpless.”

“You mean the tranquillity of fatalism?”

“What you cannot fight, you accept.” She looked at him with steady eyes. “Tell me, are you still working hard, flying around like me?”

“Yes, that's my life. The boys have set me free, they don't need me any more. Jean-Claude is an aspiring architect. He found himself an assignment in Brazil and left a few months ago. Brent has been called to the Bar, he seems to have found good chambers in the City. Have you seen Diana lately?”

Dwita nodded silently.

“She reminds me of you – the same pride, the same aloofness. There is even a strong physical resemblance.”

She wondered if he knew.

“Well, perhaps I see too much of her, more than is good for her, you know?” She threw it more or less into the air. He looked hard at her and she dropped her gaze.

“I have known for a long time, Dwita – the Parkinsons could not fool me. But I was afraid to ask you lest you were not aware yourself.”

“I too knew in my subconscious, but Rusi confirmed it formally in a letter just before he died. I always felt a strong inexplicable attachment to Dia, but somehow could not bring myself to believe that professional conspiracy could be taken so far. However I now feel what they did to me was for the best. Dia was given a chance in life that she could not have had with me. The memories connected with her father would have lingered as an indelible reminder of the past. Christopher, please promise not to breathe a word of all this to Dia, even if I am no longer there.”

“Of course I will not. Diana is a wonderful girl, but like you she is far too independent and wants a career for herself.”

“There is nothing wrong in that – the important thing is to find love and to keep it.”

“But you did not believe in keeping it, how can you expect it of her?”

“I had no choice, Christopher – you must see that my presence only served to complicate things for you. I decided that I had no place in your life except as a usurper. I did not enjoy my role of adulteress or ‘the other woman'.”

“You did not think of asking my opinion in all this?”

“I took a coward's way out. Please forgive me if you can.”

“No, I won't forgive you so easily. Your leaving me like that may have restored me to the family in principle, but you took my peace of mind with you and turned me into a restless wanderer like yourself – and unfortunately I do not have your detachment or fatalism to live it with tranquillity.”

“Christopher, I have never succeeded in doing things quite right. I married Nishith to do right by my mother, I gave away Dia to do right by her and all the others, I gave you up to do right by your family – but all to nothing. Would you call that fatalism or is it more like incompetence? A good Hindu would call it
karma
or maybe
prayashchit
– atonement – but I am not even a good enough Hindu to find solace in its expedient philosophy. I do not believe in anything or anyone any more. My past has quietly dropped away, my present is dubious, and who knows what the future holds anyway?”

“Dwita, give up your vain pursuits and this solitary existence, and come back to me – come back for both our sakes before it is too late.”

“You speak like Barun – he wants me to go back to India, you want me to return to you and England. Perhaps the time has come to choose a new way of life, a different place, I don't know where… ”

“How long are you planning to be in London this time?”

“Only a few days – the Sheikh is coming down as well. We are planning a meeting to decide on a major reorganisation of resources for some of his companies in Europe. Then I am sure he will despatch me to the next destination without delay.”

“Why do you still work like a maniac, Dwita? Is it money?”

“Not any more – I have enough to last a lifetime and more. But what else would I do?”

Christopher looked thoughtful and Dwita checked her watch, aware it was growing late.

“Chris, we really must find out about that plane, and I must ring London.”

“I don't much care, no one is expecting me.”

“I do, Sultan is expecting me. You wait here, I will go and find out.”

It turned out that her plane was nearly ready and she could expect to be taken to the airport shortly. There was no point in telephoning London then. She heard her flight being called by the airport driver.

“Goodbye Christopher, I must leave now. I cannot run as I used to before. I suppose I am losing speed and motivation with age.” Christopher looked at her strangely and did not say goodbye.

Although it was Saturday the next day, Dwita had to leave early to meet up with Sultan, who had summoned his troops to his hotel suite to pursue his business objectives. Dwita knew Sultan well, holiday or not, work would be resumed. She had guessed right and Sultan had ordered lunch in the suite and the meeting carried on until early evening. They were asked to report again on Monday. Dwita was relieved the next day was going to be free – it was surprising, as being an Arab, Sultan was not used to the idea of Sunday being a rest day. However on this occasion he was visiting a relative who happened to own a house somewhere in Surrey. Fawzia was not with him, nor any of his other women. Hence he was at a loose end.

“Dwita, have dinner with me tonight?” Sultan generously extended an invitation to her.

“I am sorry, Sultan, I am already doing something.” She had made up her mind to visit Dia that evening.

“Why do you not postpone that to tomorrow?”

“Sorry, Sultan, cannot make tonight.” She smiled to make her refusal less blunt.

“It is special, is it? I have always been curious to find out how you spend your time away from us.”

“Do you wish to catch me out or something?”

“No! I'm just curious. You have always been perfectly behaved – far too proper for someone single and unattached.”

“Maybe I am not so single, nor so unattached as you think.” She laughed.

“Sometimes I hope that is the case. You have been working non-stop well over a decade with me and earlier with Rusi, you have hardly stopped or taken leave, where do you find all this steam?”

“I am getting a little tired these days – maybe I should think of retiring soon.”

“And leave me? Not a hope. Retire! You make me laugh. You have another twenty years to go. You cannot be old because you think so, you have to look it too.”

“They say you are as old as you feel – I feel a hundred.”

“Look, my dear, there is no easy escape from Sultan. I can let you off dinner tonight and perhaps let you have a few extra days in London, but that is the extent of my generosity.”

“You mean, I could have a few days leave here?”

“Have two weeks if you like, give yourself a break. Go to the South of France and stay at my villa in Cannes, so that when I see you you feel twenty again and no thoughts of retirement plague your mind.”

“Thank you, Sultan – and in return you may be my guest for dinner on Monday night. You can meet Dia again.”

She thought she could use those few days leave to have the ‘medical' done, she was still not feeling quite herself. The nagging pain in the stomach kept returning from time to time.

A couple of days later Dwita had just returned from her appointment with the specialist recommended by her doctor. He had been worried and amazed that Dwita had failed to consult anyone earlier. Was she not in pain, he had asked.

Yes, she was, but she had tried not to pay much attention to it. She had been far too busy to give it much thought – at this he shook his head in disapproval and said he suspected that the womb was infected and the infection could very well have spread. She ought to have exploratory surgery, and he could not be sanguine as to what he would find. It should happen “immediately” he said sternly, but she had asked for three weeks' grace so that she could return to Abu Dhabi to organise her affairs first. She would go through it alone – it would be very unfair of her to burden anyone else with her illness, she thought. Dr Mitra was no longer alive to lend a medical ear to her predicament, but the specialist had agreed to make all arrangements. She also wished to go to Calcutta for a few days, in case something happened to her. She was worried; she was not used to being ill or an invalid.