The Onus of Ancestry (9 page)

Dwita had to admit the truth of Nishith's observations, she had felt the same for a long time. Absence of a father had left a gap in her upbringing, a certain lack of confidence in a normal way of life. But in Nishith, was she looking for a father? That would be entirely wrong. On the other hand, what was the future that lay ahead of her? A long, lonely path that led nowhere in particular, beset with obstacles, maternal taboos and resistance. She was thoroughly exhausted by the daily pressures of emotional blackmail, perhaps Nishith was right – perhaps he was her way out.

“Dwita, look at me.” He touched her chin and lifted it gently to make her face him.

“Nishith, you may be right. You perhaps hold the key to the world I want – but I am still undecided about the morality of using you as my saviour. I do not wish to sound melodramatic, but how would you like me to accept your offer without the knowledge of absolute love, or even a promise of it?”

“In our country and culture, we marry often without hope of love, at least in our case one of us is certain.”

“But it is amoral, Nishith – my parents married for love.”

“But not your grandparents – and were they not happy?”

“I believe they were, yes. Dima grew to love my grandfather, but those days were different. She had social and paternal pressures, the expectations of her age and the dictates of family position and status. But we need not be subject to those ideas or tenets today.”

“You are mistaken – society is the same, some of us only succeed some of the time in behaving differently. In our case I am in love with you, I am offering you marriage and I am doing this in the full knowledge that your feelings are still uncertain. I am asking for no present commitment, or future assurances.”

“I admire your enlightened approach to matrimony – will it be easy for you to continue to hold on to your side of the bargain when you are husband to a reluctant bride?” She laughed to hide her embarrassment.

“To be absolutely honest, Dwita, all I ask of you is to be my wife, to allow me to love you, to keep you and to make love–”

“Nishith, I question the morality of such a relationship – have we not risen above all this through our religion, our social beliefs, our faith in Brahmo Samaj?”

“Life consists of reality, not religion or any other moral concepts or precepts, you will soon learn.”

“Give me time, Nishith, a little time – maybe I will find out a little more about myself and my feelings.”

“Dwita, as I said, I am not patient by nature. Both our families would like us to form this alliance.”

“You mean my mother is keen to marry me off? But why?”

“Ask her – but I know for sure that your decision to wait and contemplate further is not going to please her.” Nishith sounded less friendly than before.

“What you mean, Nishith, is that this has been planned between you, and I am a mere cog in the wheel of destiny that my mother and you have constructed for me over these months. I should have guessed.”

The rest of the afternoon was far from easy or relaxed for either of them. They drove back to town silently except for a few exchanges of the utmost banality. He left her at the gate and drove away after saying a brief au revoir – she noticed it was not goodbye. She thought her mother was relentless – she had now found a partner for her daughter with her habitual determination and tenacity. Between them they were somehow going to beat her down. Escape? Freedom? How mistaken she was – she saw herself walking into a new life of bondage through the machinations of Nishith and her own mother.

When Dwita arrived back from the picnic Parna looked at her with some expectancy in her eyes. Dwita volunteered nothing, but pleaded a headache and retired to bed early with a glass of water and two aspirins. In the darkness, she heard Maheshwari's voice whispering in her ear, “Do not give into them – it is your life they are playing with, not theirs.” She had then fallen into an exhausted sleep.

Next morning, she did not see Parna as she had left early and Dwita went for her lectures and stayed longer than necessary in the library. Professor Lahiri patted her affectionately on the head and said in passing, “Keep it up – see you next Tuesday.” On her return, she was amazed to see Maheshwari standing outside Parna's room with a lost expression on her face. Doctor Saha was inside. Parna was groaning, it sounded like her usual asthmatic spasms. Seeing Dwita, Dr Saha came out – he knew Dwita well as he lived in the same neighbourhood.

“Dwita, I do not like what I see, I must call a cardiologist. Her blood pressure is high and she is very upset about something. I have given her a mild sedative.” Dr Saha disappeared to make a telephone call from the living room. Dwita looked with questioning eyes at Maheshwari. Maheshwari said, “She came home round lunchtime, refused food or drink, burst into tears, then cried on and on, saying you were killing her and I was deliberately encouraging you to go astray – then she became quite uncontrollable and had attacks of spasms and hiccoughs and began to choke. I asked Bhajan Singh to get the doctor. I do not understand anything – what has happened suddenly? What have you done, my girl?”

Dr Saha emerged saying, “Dr Bose is on his way – he will take an ECG and we can then decide if she should be removed to a nursing home or not.” The ECG was duly taken when Dr Bose arrived, and revealed signs of stress and a trace of a minor coronary tension.

“Mrs Roy Chowdhury – it will be better if we can move you to the Health Care Clinic for a few days.”

“No, absolutely not,” Parna said with agitation, “I won't go anywhere, I shall die in my home, if I must!”

“You are not dying – it is not serious enough for you to die, but we must be careful – we can keep you under observation at the clinic.”

“No – Dwita can look after me.”

“But she is not a doctor. Well, if you are going to be stubborn about it, we have to post nurses here, day and night.”

They wrote out prescriptions, arranged for nurses through the agency, briefed Dwita on do's and don'ts and left, adding, “Keep her absolutely quiet – she is very upset and excited about something.” Dwita did not have to try hard to guess what had upset her mother or the reasons behind her behaviour – she realised that the emotional blackmail had begun. She went back to Parna's room.

“Are you happy now? You will be the cause of my death. Your father's sacred charge. You are far too self-opinionated.”

“Please, Ma, you are not well–”

“So what? What's that to you?
You
are well and strong. All you care for are your own whims and aspirations. You are selfish and uncaring.”

“Please mother – have a little orange juice.”

“I will not eat or drink ever again – let the world find out what I have produced out of a widow's womb, what I have bred, my burden, my folly–”

She went on ranting and raving. Dwita listened with helpless exasperation.

“Wandering round immorally with him, leading an innocent man up the garden path, shameless and unscrupulous, a veritable tramp – now refusing the respectability of marriage – blackening family names of all Chowdhurys. I would rather die than live to see the decline and disintegration of all I have held precious in my life – God, o God, spare me the shame, the humiliation!”

“Mother, please try and be calm.”

“You don't call me mother. I am not your mother, your mother is dead. Maheshwari is your mother; that woman, who has made you what you are – that woman – the instigator and promoter of evil and shame.” Parna was crying louder now, shrieking abuse at the same time. Dwita and Maheshwari stood in helpless wonder and consternation. The nurse arrived. Parna quietened down a little but refused to touch water, medicine or food. The nurse had no authority to exert force, but somehow managed to give her an injection to make her sleep.

Dwita passed a sleepless night, she had not spoken a word even to Maheshwari. She tried to see a way out of all this but without success. She finally decided to ring the bell outside Mother Marie-Michael's office at St Cecilia's College. She felt she had to talk to someone, someone who was wiser and more detached, but who also knew her as a person. Reverend Mother answered her summons immediately.

“Dwita, my girl, what brings you here – how nice to see you again, how are you?”

“Mother, I have come to you out of desperation as I have lost the power to think or decide for myself.”

“Come in, come with me. Tell me everything, however long it may take.” Dwita did tell the Reverend Mother everything; she felt a tremendous urge to confess all she could think of about herself and her family, her life, behaviour, and relationships with family and with her friends, Barun and Nishith.

Mother Marie let her talk and talk. Dwita was at last washing out her life, her feelings, her thoughts to another human being. She knew Dwita well and understood it could not have been easy for her to do this. Dwita continued to unravel the secret alleyways of her existence without emotion – only her voice choked a little from time to time. When she had finished she felt naked and forlorn, but clean and cool as though she had emerged from bathing in the holy waters of the Ganges.

“Mother, tell me, would it be right to accept Nishith's offer of love and marriage when I feel no love for him in my heart? In the end would I not be deceiving him in order to please my mother? How can I live with my conscience, knowing I am giving so little in return?”

“No, my child, you are not deceiving anyone for you have explained everything honestly to Nishith.”

“But, Mother, how can I live with someone without being in love? It would be like resorting to prostitution, pardon me, Mother.”

“No, it will not be living in sin, but in sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice?”

“Yes – as your mother is asking this of you, in giving in to her, you are making a supreme sacrifice. You may be buying a lifelong sentence of disquiet and unhappiness, but some of us are asked to go through such things. Dwita, you have been chosen I think and it is perhaps your turn to give.”

“Mother, can I not leave everything and go away, or join you here and work with you in the convent?”

“No, my girl, you cannot run away from life. I joined my vocation as a conscious decision, not to escape from life or responsibility. In your case, you have to face what comes and not try to run away or hide. It is a matter of personal decision and you have to make up your mind whether you accept your mother's choice, as so many do in your country, or if you will ignore all and stand firm by your own beliefs. The latter may mean living with the shadow of death throughout your life. You cannot know, and will never find out, we are surrounded by unpredictability.”

“You are right, I must decide. I must choose out of the options open to me. Have I the strength to live with the memory of causing my mother's death? After all, one can always learn to love – but who has ever won a fight against fate?”

“Dwita, go away and do what your spirit dictates and your strength can bear. Come back again if you wish to or need to – I am always here. Maybe one day you will find your own niche, but not today, you still have a long way to go and a longer path in life to cover.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

She had returned home cleansed but not rescued and found Doctor Saha waiting. “We cannot cope with her here, we must remove her today – the ECG is worse. She has to be force-fed.”

“That will not be necessary, Doctor Saha – just leave her with me for a little longer.”

“Are you sure you can cope?”

“I would like to try just once more.”

“All right, I shall be back at five in the evening, and by then we must decide.” He left. Dwita went to the living room and lifted the receiver.

“Don't Dwita, don't – you only have one life now, even if you have several rebirths. Don't give it away–” Maheshwari had followed her.

“Mahama, we have no choice. You are a good woman, Mahama, you pray for both of us.”

She phoned Nishith's office. His secretary answered, “Mr Dutta is on leave today.” She rang his house and Prithwish his younger brother answered. He sounded a little hesitant at the other end, “Yes, Dada is at home, but resting.”

“Not to worry – I can ring later.”

“Is it urgent? Well, here he is, he has just come out. You may as well speak to him.”

“What is it, Dwita?” Nishith's voice sounded thick and sleepy.

“Sorry to disturb you – I rang,” she hesitated, “I rang to say I accept your offer if it still stands.”

“Thank you, I am grateful. May I call you later?”

“Yes, of course.” How flat he had sounded – well who could blame Nishith? He was hurt and perhaps humiliated. She went in to see Parna.

“Ma, I have rung Nishith and accepted his offer of marriage.”

“Are you trying to do me a favour? I have no need of your sympathy.”

“No, mother. I am sorry for all this. Please drink a little juice, you must get well quickly. You see, Nishith is not patient, he would like to marry soon–”

“Your sarcasm is worse than your sympathy.”

“I am not being sarcastic, nor am I offering you sympathy. I merely accept your decision and honour your wishes. In return I ask a very small favour – please do not kill yourself! I have been left with very few people in the world, so I do not wish to lose you as well – have some juice and take your medicine.”

Dr Saha had returned as promised. Parna was sitting up in bed, sipping her orange juice. He found it hard to believe his eyes.

“Dwita, whatever your secret may be, I can only say ‘wonderful'. The blood pressure is a lot better, the pulse is under control. Just repeat the medicines, nurse, and keep me posted. I shall drop in to check tomorrow morning, on my way to the clinic.”

Dwita had just condemned herself for life and Parna had won her victory. Maheshwari stood apart and shuddered with a mother's heart. She could see the blade of the guillotine over Dwita's head, but had no means to prevent the disaster that lay ahead – the girl's own mother was her executioner.