Servants of India

by R K Laxman

  The police who knew Ashok very well whispered to themselves that from the way he used to blackmail the servants to keep them in his employ, they knew what was coming to him. The police carried out a search for Shiva the servant boy. Of course, he was never traced.

  A fortnight after Majumdar told this story to Ganesh Shanti the maidservant rushed into the house one afternoon howling and crying her heart out. Ganesh who had been reading a book dropped it and rushed to her. His wife came running from the inner room enquiring anxiously, ‘What happened, Shanti? What happened, my child …?’

  ‘He tried to touch me! That son of a prostitute!’ Shanti yelled amidst cascading tears.

  ‘Who?’ asked Geetha.

  Choking on her words she blurted out: ‘Satish! He tried to touch me!’

  ‘What do you mean … touch you?’ Ganesh asked. Geetha signalled to him to keep quiet and waved him to his room.

  Just then the doorbell rang, Ganesh opened the door and found his neighbour Majumdar. Satish was standing some distance away.

  ‘Come in, come in. What a pleasant surprise,’ Ganesh greeted him.

  ‘I am sorry I am barging in like this! You see I heard your maidservant shouting in our garage. I saw Satish standing with palms pressed together pleading with her to keep quiet. On seeing me she ran out …’

  Satish looked dazed and said, ‘I did nothing, sir. I swear on my father and mother I did nothing …’

  Majumdar said, ‘I came to find out what exactly had happened.’

  Meanwhile the cook had joined the group. Shanti was bawling uncontrollably. Satish was gesturing helplessness, protesting and pleading to the group to believe him. Everyone was talking in a high pitch explaining, theorizing, speculating, drowning out the voices of one another.

  Finally Geetha ordered the cook to withdraw to the kitchen. She persuaded Shanti to go and have a cup of tea and led her in.

  Majumdar similarly asked Satish to go home and attend to his work. Crestfallen, he left, dragging his feet. Ganesh then escorted Majumdar to the gate wondering what the pandemonium was about. But Majumdar seemed to have grasped the situation. He laughed and said, ‘Same old problem!’

  Ganesh asked, ‘She was repeatedly saying the boy tried to touch her. He didn’t try to rape her, did he?’

  ‘No, no, not at all! What a thing to say! Satish is a rogue in many ways. But he certainly won’t do anything like that, Mr Ganesh. I know him well enough.’

  ‘Then what was it she was howling about, saying “he touched me, he touched me”, as if her modesty had been outraged?’

  ‘Oh, that! He tried to hold her hand and tell her that he wanted to marry her. He tried to imitate the Hindi movie heroes … The fellow spends all his spare time in front of the TV. I should not have allowed it …’

  After this episode both the houses were caught in a turmoil. Shanti never recovered fully from her traumatic experience and brooded and moped all day long. One day she said, ‘Nothing against you or master, madam, I like you both. But I want to go back to my village …’ and started crying. The next morning she left carrying her bundle of clothes in a jute bag.

  Some time later Ganesh asked the cook casually about Majumdar’s servant Satish.

  ‘I don’t know, sir! I don’t see him these days. He must have gone back to his village. He too belongs to Shanti’s village …’ the cook left the sentence hanging and smiled meaningfully.

  In the meantime Geetha and Ganesh were hunting for a suitable maidservant. After rejecting, selecting and being rejected several times they found a maid for almost double the salary that they had been paying Shanti. The couple helplessly accepted the whims and eccentricities of the new hand and carried on, hoping someone better would turn up eventually.

  Their neighbour Majumdar, nurturing similar hopes, was trying to cope with his newly acquired manservant.

  Kumar the Actor

  Quite a few persons close to Ganesh had come to know that he was interested in the domestics for a book he was writing. They came to him offering anecdotes about their experiences with their servants. Anand, a friend, had this story to tell.

  He had a cook, Kumar by name—a fair, elegant-looking young fellow with long dark curly hair cascading down his nape. Anand was the head of a joint family that comprised two of his younger brothers, their wives and children. The house they lived in was a big one with many rooms, some of which were not occupied but used for dumping empty cardboard boxes, broken toys, old cricket bats and so on.

  Kumar occupied one of the rooms at the far end of a long corridor. It suited him because it had private access. He also had the habit of singing songs whenever he had the time. He had marked short vertical lines in a row on the floor with a piece of chalk to serve as keys for an imaginary harmonium. He would run his fingers along them to produce an imaginary background accompaniment while he sang in a low tone.

  He was a great favourite with the children. He sang folk songs and made them dance and showed them tricks with coins and playing cards. The untended garden around the house with its trees and wild bushes offered Kumar and children an excellent playground.

  All this did not come in the way of his rendering help to the ladies in the kitchen with boiling, stirring, grinding, powdering, slicing etc. He also served food in three stages: first the children, then the male members and finally the ladies. After this he was free to retire to his room to read the newspapers, write letters and sing songs. There was a maidservant to take care of washing vessels and tidying up the kitchen.

  Anand’s home was an ideal place to work with school-going children and adults attending offices; the routine in the household revolved round strict lines. The work usually got over early in the evening and Kumar was then free to dress up and go out.

  One night when the whole house was in deep slumber Anand woke up to the creaking noise of the garden gate being opened. He looked out of the window and saw Kumar coming in. The time was 2 a.m.

  One day Kumar was handing over the morning coffee to Anand when the latter noticed pink blotches on his cheeks and neck. There were also purple rings round his eyes. ‘What’s the matter with your skin, Kumar?’ Anand asked.

  Kumar looked embarrassed. Rubbing his cheeks with his hands, he looked at them and dashed into his room. In a few minutes he returned with a shy smile on his lips. ‘It is nothing, sir. Just paint. I did not wash properly.’

  ‘Paint? What paint Kumar?’

  ‘You see, sir, I act in a drama on Saturday nights. I have to wear a costume, crown, wig and paint my face. I forgot to wipe off the paint properly, sir, so sorry …’ he said and laughed.

  ‘You are an actor, Kumar? I did not know that!’

  ‘I have been acting for many years, sir. In social plays, mythologicals …’

  ‘What was your role last night?’ Anand asked.

  ‘Goddess Parvati, sir. Parvati comes to earth in the guise of an old woman to test the King Rahul’s sincerity. Our Sahithya Sangeetha Drama Company is very popular, sir. They always want me. They all like my acting.’

  Anand was very happy to hear all this. He told all the family members about Kumar’s hitherto hidden talent. Everyone had something nice to say about Kumar and paid fulsome tribute to his efficiency in running the house. He rarely absented himself from the routine work. Occasionally when he had a bout of fever or cold he had to be compelled to take the day off and rest in his room.

  It was then that the womenfolk felt helpless in the kitchen. Men became impatient and howled for breakfast before departing for the office and the children felt his absence even more keenly in the garden when they played games. When Kumar recovered and returned to work the whole family heaved a sigh of relief.

  But this Utopian existence could not last long.

  One day after breakfast Anand was sitting and sipping his coffee in a relaxed contented mood. The rest of the family members had drifted away from the dining room to attend to their various jobs. The children had left for school and silence reig
ned in the house.

  Kumar was still standing near Anand and staring at him instead of cleaning the table and going about his business.

  ‘What’s the matter, Kumar?’ Anand asked.

  ‘Nothing sir. Our Sahithya Sangeetha Drama Company’s director Mr Gangadar Naik wants me to give up cooking and join his touring company permanently, sir.’

  Anand could not believe his ears. Blood rushed to his head. His heart began to throb like a tribal drum. He could not contemplate the effect this bit of news would have on the men, the women and the children of his household. A storm raged within him and he lost control of himself. He shouted at Kumar, ‘You ungrateful wretch. You want to follow the advice of that so-called director after growing up like the son of our family in this house, enjoying the comfort and freedom …’

  Kumar was stunned. He had not expected such a volcanic eruption from his master. He could merely mumble, ‘… No, sir … it’s just that I want to become a full-time actor.’

  ‘Oh, I see … so what do you expect us to do while you are becoming a great star? Starve? Or is your great drama company going to feed us?’

  Anand was aware he was uttering nonsense. But at that moment it was the sound and fury that mattered, he told himself, not reason and rhyme.

  ‘No, sir … you are bound to get someone, sir …’ Kumar mumbled, on the verge of tears.

  ‘Oh, I see. Thank you! Of course, we will get someone. Surely you are not the only cook in the world? But before I kick you out, get this straight. You can’t leave unless we get a replacement …’

  ‘That is being unreasonable and unkind after all these years I have served you loyally … Nobody has the right to keep a person like a prisoner against his will, sir!’

  Anand was taken aback by Kumar’s retort. He knew the situation was getting from bad to worse.

  ‘How dare you talk to me like that! You won’t get a pie of your salary if you leave, you impertinent rascal …’ he yelled.

  ‘I don’t want it. You can keep it. I am leaving at once,’ Kumar responded.

  ‘Go! You will come back when your drama company collapses and your director becomes a pauper and kicks you out!’

  ‘No, I won’t come back to this house. Don’t worry. I would rather beg on the streets …’ Kumar replied sharply and left. He went to his room, collected his things in his tin trunk and departed without taking leave of Anand.

  Outraged and humiliated, Anand sat helplessly feeling as if it was the servant who had dismissed him.

  It took a long time for the family to reconcile to the loss of Kumar and adjust itself to the new set-up consisting of three servants instead of one Kumar. Anand could not forget the disgrace he had suffered in the hands of Kumar. The only saving grace was that there had been no witnesses to the painful scene.

  Since that time not a day passed when Anand did not think of the episode and smarted silently. The passing of time, months and years did not heal the wound. He tried to twist and remould the occurrence in many ways to see himself emerge triumphant and Kumar vanquished. But nothing worked.

  One day some years later one of the boys came running from the school crying out, ‘Kumar! It’s Kumar! …’

  And everyone who was at home rushed out at once, asking, ‘Where? OurKumar?’

  ‘Yes, near that circle on top of that sweetmeat shop there is a hoarding. On that there is a huge cinema poster of Kumar with two girls …’ Meanwhile the whole household had gathered round the boy to listen to his account.

  Anand put on his chappals and walked to the circle. There, ten times of life size, was Kumar, looking down at him with a gun in his hand and two pretty girls by his side. ‘Dawn of Love, Kumar Chandra in the lead,’ the poster announced.

  Other members of the family came home to announce there was another hoarding in the market square, wall posters at various places, cut-outs etc. A few days later phone calls began pestering Anand asking, ‘Is it the same boy who was your cook in Dawn of Love? Not bad at all … very clever fellow. He acts well. Have you seen the movie? No? Well, you must.’

  Parvati the Ayah

  Ramesh, another friend of Ganesh’s, now took up the narrative. He had a grandson, the apple of the eye of the entire household like all grandchildren were. This brat, though just two years old, was awfully mischievous and intelligent for his age. If for a moment you took your eyes off him he was sure to be trying to get involved in some terrible accident. He would draw the tablecloth with the fruit bowl, cups and saucers, flower vase and water jug on it and jerk these dangerously to the edge of the table and on to his head finally if he was not saved in time. Or he would get entangled in the wire connected to the table fan, or stand on the first step leading to the garden precariously balancing himself.

  Of course, the child’s mother took as much care as possible, feeding him, bathing him, playing with him, telling him stories and putting him to sleep. But each step was a Herculean task as the little fellow protested, howled, kicked about and gave endless trouble all the way. His mother was completely tired out at the end of the day. She had some spare time of her own only when the child slept; this was when she rested and relaxed, took a bath, wrote letters, or read.

  It was a tiresome task for a young person. Her mother-in-law could not be of help in looking after the child as she was suffering from asthma and the slightest strain sent her coughing, doubling her up.

  Ramesh’s son was employed in a firm in Dubai and so decided to hire an ayah to provide some relief to the young mother. The first one agreed cheerfully to do everything, look after the child, wash the clothes, collect the scattered toys from various corners of the house and arrange them. But she lasted exactly one day. She left when both the mother and baby were asleep without even taking leave. The next one who came would ask for tea every half an hour. When it was refused she created a scene and called her prospective employers miserly. She said the previous house she had worked in not only gave her tea but biscuits and bread. Of course, she was rejected.

  The next applicant suited the family by way of salary and work schedule. She was employed but during the short time she lasted in the household as ayah she nearly killed the child through sheer neglect. She would simply look on unperturbed while the child unsteadily climbed the steep steps of the staircase or played in the water in a tub large enough to drown him or put stone pebbles in his mouth. The ayah was quite happy to work in the house but for the sake of the child she was dismissed.

  Finally an experienced looking middle-aged woman arrived on the scene. Within a day she endeared herself to the child as well as to the family. She hardly made any demands, and spoke only when spoken to. She suited the job ideally. But she rarely smiled. She went about playing with the child, telling him stories, humming while putting him to sleep, all with a sorrowful face. When the child slept she sat next to the cot staring into the void with a fixed gaze for hours.

  Gradually it was learnt she was a war widow. Her husband had died in one of the border skirmishes with the neighbouring country.

  She had no children, nor any relatives to care for her. In course of time she had wandered away from her village looking for a job along with a few others with similar missions.

  Among other jobs she did she had hauled bricks at a building construction area. For a time she chopped wood at a fuel depot. Then at a rice mill she filled husk in gunny bags. After doing some such odd jobs she became an ayah at Ramesh’s house to look after the two-year-old.

  As days went by the child seemed to grow more attached to the ayah than he was to his mother. Soon the mother, freed from the responsibility of looking after the child, became socially active; she spent time visiting friends and going to movies. She also became interested in handicrafts and learnt to make paper flowers, fans and soft toys. These she donated to charity homes. Thus the young lady lived a happy existence, cuddling and playing with the child only when she was free from her other activities.

  The ayah was now in complete charge and the ch
ild did not seem to miss its mother. When she had to look after the child one constantly heard her shouting, ‘Don’t do this, don’t do that! No! No! No! Look out! Don’t touch that! Don’t stand on it! You will get hurt!’ All her anxiety did not seem to evoke any response from the little fellow.

  But the avail seemed to have some hypnotic influence over the child. Sitting down in one place she conducted the child without raising her voice in a safe path through the cluster of furniture, thorny bushes in the garden, steps in the house and other hazards of which a child was prone to be a victim.

  One morning Ramesh standing in the veranda of the house was watching his grandson playing with the ayah under the margosa tree. He saw a tall bearded man in a white shirt and khaki pants held up by a broad leather belt approach the gate hesitantly. He stood watching the child and the ayah. Ramesh got anxious; he might be a child lifter! He caught the attention of the ayah and signalled to her. She looked puzzled for a moment and then suddenly covered her head with the saree in one sweep, picked up the child and dashed to the veranda.

  Ramesh got alarmed, dropped the book he was reading and asked, ‘Why are you running away? Who is that fellow?’

  The ayah set the child down and with a bashful smile said, ‘My husband!’

  Ramesh had never seen such an expression on her face. He said, ‘But he died in the war! Didn’t he?’

  The ayah looked perplexed and looked helplessly at her husband and at the master alternately. Then the visitor said, ‘No, sir. Actually I was taken a prisoner.’ He stood grinning.

  Meanwhile the child was tugging at the end of the ayah’s saree, trying to take her back to the shade under the tree. He would not let her talk to her resurrected husband. He stamped his feet and screamed. No amount of pleading and cajoling would help. His mother came out hearing the cries and gave him a couple of smart slaps on the bottom and started shouting; but still the child refused to get into the house and leave the couple alone. The ayah was caught between her affection for the child and the duty she owed her husband.