The Onus of Ancestry (6 page)

Parna obviously had her reasons for befriending Halder, but as it happened none of them had anything to do with matrimony. She was rather cornered by him – he had not only secured her a job in the Superior Publishing Company but had supported her professionally throughout the years, so that she was now a regional manager of the company. Could she be ungrateful and let him down?

Little did Dwita know then that Parna was her own worst enemy – she erected an insuperable barrier between her and the rest of the world so that common human emotions always stagnated on the other side of the wall, which she could not reach easily. Years later Dwita discovered that love had many definitions, many interpretations to many people. Parna's and her understanding of it were entirely different and diametrically opposite – there was some kind of an impasse between them.

A feeling of possession was indispensable to Parna in all her relationships. She lost interest where she could not possess, she even discarded them without any pain if they did not suit her pattern of possession. She did this not with indecent haste, but with grace and a sense that it was right. Brojen Halder's turn was beginning to draw near. Parna had seen his claws of possession, which she recognised were sharper than hers – the time was ripe to lose him, but it had to be done slowly and steadily without jeopardising her prospects in the company. In the end, quite unexpectedly, Dwita helped to expedite matters.

When Gerald Downe left on another posting, Brojen Halder was promoted to the position of managing director. This was a natural consequence of company plans for Indianisation at senior management level. They were falling in with the demands of the Indian government, whose policy was then to nationalise or Indianise industry and institutions as soon as possible. This was nothing new or unexpected and Brojen Halder's promotion was equally in line. But he took this opportunity to recruit his brother to a senior position in the company. He was from a national steel company and had no knowledge or experience of publishing. He was also made Parna's line manager which infuriated her. She considered it thoughtless and insensitive on Brojen's part. She pointed out her reservations about the appointment to him.

He probably assumed that Parna was so dependent on him that despite initial objections she would no doubt accept his decision in the end. But Parna, if nothing else, knew publishing inside out and was no less ambitious herself. She only had two obsessions in life, work and Dwita, and nothing was allowed to come between her and them, all else was geared to promote or nurture her interests in them. Brojen became aware of the sting – it had begun to burn.

Brojen still came to the house, but his visits were not as frequent, nor as relaxed. Parna did not make open gestures of protest as she wished to play her cards right. She did not want to make it easy for Brojen – she kept her calm and her head in front of him and the public. But she became quite unbearable at home. Her dissensions with Maheshwari increased, Shivnath's
bazaar
accounting became a nightmare and her interest in Dwita's scholastic pursuits became even more obsessive – her meetings with the class teachers were both more earnest and regular.

In addition to all this Dwita's movements were further restricted. Bhajan Singh followed her everywhere, sat patiently outside friends' homes when she visited them and Parna rang them often to verify if she had arrived or departed. Dwita failed to understand and withdrew into herself to avoid discussion or confrontation. Their life at home became more and more difficult as Parna's relationship with Brojen declined and deteriorated.

Then one day he came to invite them to join him and his family on a holiday by the sea in the heart of coastal Orissa. He had rented a house in the hope of their going together. The invitation seemed strange unless Brojen wished to restore their lost friendship. Dwita was sure that under the present circumstances her mother was going to refuse it – but to her complete surprise and consternation she in fact decided to accept.

*

It was the second week of the holiday and Dwita felt the steaming heat and humidity of the summer afternoon, sitting quietly in her own bedroom of the rented villa. She decided to go out into the garden to read and relax under the cool shade of a banyan tree which stood rather regally at the back of the villa. She had no one to talk to; Maheshwari had not accompanied them on this holiday as Parna was well aware of her disposition towards Brojen Halder and she also felt more at ease without Maheshwari's accusing eyes following her every move. The tension between them was silent but unabated.

Dwita stopped reading, hearing voices behind her from an arbour of roses. She raised herself and strolled up to the arbour with no particular thought in mind, but just to satisfy her idle curiosity. What she saw froze her with horror and amazement.

The young woman who worked in the kitchen of the rented villa was lying on the grass, stark naked, laughing and wriggling, whilst Shomnath, Brojen Halder's second son, also naked bent over her, his hands ranging feverishly all over her body, his teeth at her nipples. Dwita tried to move away quietly, but the rustling of the bush drew Shomnath's attention – he saw her before she could make her escape.

His face was distraught and angry, and he left the woman hurriedly and leapt wildly across the bush. Grabbing Dwita by the neck, he flung her to the ground, unbuttoning her blouse and tearing at her skirt, whilst muttering insanely, “Why, that woman? Why not you, the daughter of my father's whore? After all you should not deny me what your mother must give to my father – except that you will give it free, your debt to the Halders is even greater.”

Dwita was helpless in the face of Shomnath's passion and strength. She wanted to scream but he had stuffed his handkerchief into her mouth. Tears of helpless fear blinded her. Her deliverance happened like lightning. She saw a naked female spring from nowhere, brick in hand – but then Dwita knew no more, she passed out from horror and fear. The kind of fear she had never known or tasted before. When she opened her eyes again, she found blood and tufts of hair on her torn blouse. As soon as she recovered her strength, she made her way to the house unseen and unheard by anyone. There was no sign of her attacker, for both Shomnath and the kitchen girl had fled – in different directions, of course. Dwita never met Shomnath again, nor ever saw the inside of Brojen Halder's house again.

When she was sufficiently composed, she went straight to Parna, showed her the torn blouse and merely said, “It was Shomnath. I want to go home to Mahama.” She refused to answer any of Parna's questions. They had both left that evening by train for Calcutta. Brojen was forbidden to see them off at the station. When they were settled in the train, Parna had asked again, “Dwita, do you not wish to talk to me about it?”

“No, never,” she had replied simply in a tone of finality. She had arrived home and when her mother was not around, had cried her heart out to Maheshwari. The wall between daughter and mother went up even higher. Dwita subconsciously blamed Parna for all that had taken place: none of it need have happened if Parna had not agreed to the holiday with Brojen Halder and his family in the first place.

After the incident, Parna also never entered Brojen Halder's house again, nor was he invited to theirs. They only met officially at the Superior Publishing Company as colleagues in the same organisation. Parna's iron claws were out, but being covered in velvet gloves Brojen was not quite able to see or feel them as they sank into his entrails slowly but surely. It took nearly three years for her to get rid of him. Brojen's brother was sacked and he was banished to a smaller subsidiary company in the distant Far East, as second or third in command. He needed his job to support his brood, so he could not resign but accepted the decision of the board rather meekly for Brojen Halder. Parna was promoted. Dwita often wondered if Parna had truly sought her revenge so consciously and systematically, but Dima always said that her mother was well-known for her stubborn patience and perseverance. She had perhaps resolved to pay out Brojen Halder for his numerous faux pas, both personal and professional.

Years later Parna had still not relented. When Brojen Halder, old and infirm, deserted by his large family, had sent a message to Parna to come and see him, she had ignored his plea and not responded to the invitation. Later she had read the entry in the obituary column of a Calcutta daily without any obvious display of emotion or regret.

After the garden incident, there was one further development – her surveillance of Dwita now became a neurotic obsession. She saw ravishers and rapists everywhere and all young males were regarded as marauders and undesirables whose company was most definitely to be avoided. Though she had no knowledge of the extent of Dwita's predicament, she imagined the worst.

Dwita's academic performance was consistent – the new headmistress Irene Bose and her class teacher Stella Smith sent encouraging reports to boost Parna's morale. Though she was delighted with her daughter's progress, she could not resist driving her hard. Dwita was allowed to participate in all extra-curricular activities, but she was not permitted to man stalls at school fêtes or visit the homes of friends with older brothers, as the apprehension of male misbehaviour permeated Parna's waking hours.

When Dwita finished school at sixteen with distinguished results, she turned down all offers of places from high-prestigious institutions as they were mostly coeducational, instead she chose carefully the only Roman Catholic establishment, run by caring Catholic nuns of all ages and sizes, interests and shades of Catholic drive and conviction.

In fact Parna had misconstrued slightly as St Cecilia's College was not exactly a retreat for girls. The nuns, though recluses themselves in principle encouraged all possible contact with the outside world, both academic and cultural. Jesuit priests and their male students freely moved around the campus pursuing nuns and female students for a variety of reasons, some of which were no doubt purely academic. But it was also true that no languid, socially improper inter-sex exchanges were permitted on the campus or within easy visibility of the clerics or parents.

Parna thought it was a suitable prison for her daughter during her dangerous years and Bhajan Singh heaved a sigh of relief as his multiple missions of accompanying Dwita everywhere were considerably reduced. He was an old man and his advancing years were telling upon him. Maheshwari was happy for Dwita, she so obviously enjoyed her university life and Parna had less time these days for interrogation.

Parna had miscalculated the guile of youth and the vagaries of fate, both adept at playing their own games of fortune. “Who is she to manage and manipulate other's lives when she has failed so utterly with her own?” Maheshwari was often heard to mutter to herself, whilst shaking her head and sighing deeply.

Dwita was eighteen. A voice had suddenly cut across her literary communion with Browning's
Grammarian
, “By Jove, you are stunning! They had said so and what is more, they were right.” Standing on the green lawns of Calcutta's National Library, waiting for Mother Marie-Michael and others to emerge, she had been addressed by a young man. “I am Barun Mitra, in case you wonder, a humble student of Economics in my final year at St Augustus,” he added with mock humility. “And I know who you are – Adwitiya Roy Chowdhury, Dwita for short, brilliant, beautiful, incomparable and champion of all you attempt to do! You probably do not know me, but I have known you for a long time – from a distance of course. Well, I fear distant it will remain, for the time being in any case, as I see the Holy Mother with her divine charges approaching us.” He vanished as quickly and efficiently as he had appeared, leaving Dwita in a certain state of euphoric confusion. Who was Barun Mitra? What right had he to leave her in an aura of mystery and excitement? She went over his words – stunning, brilliant, incomparable – was she? She had never seen herself in any one of these possible roles, nor been led to believe this of herself by any of her friends and family. Only Mahama sometimes said when she was exasperated with Dwita that she would be more presentable if she spent more time looking after herself, instead of reading for ever in the bath. This was usually thrown at her when Mahama grabbed hold of her on Sundays to rub cream of milk and turmeric paste on her.

Mother Marie-Michael's voice cut through her reverie. “Dwita, my dear, here you are! I have been looking for you everywhere to hand over this critique to you – you will find it useful for your essay on Robert Browning. Ah, I see, you have found one too – good!” She continued to speak whilst Dwita's thoughts wandered, trying in vain to chase away Barun Mitra's lingering shadow and generous compliments.

Chandni, who was still a friend and classmate muttered, “Saw Barun speaking to you – why did he beat a retreat so quickly – was it Mother's emergence or your usual ice-water treatment? But, my dear friend, Barun Mitra is not thwarted so easily, he will reappear in time, I warn you! Will the iceberg melt? He is quite terrific you know.”

“Maybe – but who is the iceberg?”

“Don't you know? That is your nickname, lovingly donated by the boys of St Augustus – and all the others corroborate, those who have seen you in the course of your cultural pursuits – ‘The Miss Dwita Roy Chowdhury, actress, debater, sportswoman, stunning and beautiful, a brilliant iceberg',” Chandni mimicked, to Dwita's annoyance. Then she concluded by saying, “But Barun may now report otherwise –”

“Don't be absurd Chandni – I have never even met him until this minute – and in future, in view of our long and undying friendship, I hope you will be kind enough to report proceedings more promptly. Or is it too much to expect in the face of your equally-undying loyalty to some others?”

They went on in this vein though Dwita's mind was still preoccupied with Barun and his hasty shower of compliments. It was a strange feeling for Dwita at eighteen to be made aware of herself. Apart from her brief encounter with Brojen Halder her sheltered existence had predominantly been crowded with past and present shadows of women. In her life she had known only three men – Dibendra, Monmotho and Brojen. Two of them inhabited her recreated world of illusion and intangibility and the third was the remnant of a bad dream, unwholesome and distasteful.

She returned home in the evening after a disturbing, thoughtful day at college. Mother Marie-Michael's lectures on Browning's poetic spirituality had not registered very well. The French lessons at the Ècole Française, which she was attending these days to fill her free hours in the evening had also been less absorbing. M. Armand had commented upon it. “Dwita, my gem, where are you today? What are you busy thinking? I have been calling you all of five minutes.” Maheshwari had also complained.

“Oh, sorry Mahama, very sorry, have I been ignoring you today?” she said, bringing herself back to reality – she embraced Maheshwari's minute, withered form affectionately as a gesture of apology.

“No use flattering me now – the last few hours I have really been speaking to a spirit – where have you been wandering? Who and what are you thinking of?”

“Nothing and no one.”

“You can deceive your mother, my own, but not your Mahama.”

“Tell me something then – do you like my face? What do I look like?”

“What a question to ask – I have been caring for that face all these years, rubbing cream and olive oil on it – why should I do so if I did not like it?”

“Mahama, what I meant was, would you call it nice or even say pretty?”

“What worms have been eating your young head lately?” Maheshwari asked her suspiciously.

“Worms? I have none left in my head, what with your constant brushing and combing!”

“Something has been worrying you, come and sit here, tell me all, whilst I comb those wild tresses.” She put Dwita down on the nearest seat, and ran the comb gently through her hair, separating each strand to disentangle the dark, thick mass that covered her head, wild, knotted and unmanageable.

“It has grown too thick and long, what a tangle, we must trim it soon – no wonder the thoughts are unable to escape – now tell me, girl, what is it that worries you?”

“But you have still not answered me – am I pretty?”

“Oh dear, what can I say to this madness of yours? Yes, my child, you are pretty, you are growing more beautiful each day. Why do you think your mother guards you like an Alsatian?” She laughed as she finished speaking. She also grabbed a black pencil from Dwita's dresser and put a dot on her chin with it.

“What's that for, Mahama?”

“To keep the evil eye of the devil away.”

*

Barun Mitra was probably a devil, Dwita had mused later, for he had not appeared again for some weeks, until she found him one evening in the corridors of the Ecole Française, outside her classroom.