Children of A Better God

by usmita, Bagchi

  Anupurba had turned stone cold. ‘I am so sorry!’ was all she could say.

  ‘I was completely broken after Soumyaa left me. No one came when she died. It was Mrs Mathur who gave me all support when there was no other help. And her nephew, Prashant.’

  ‘Prashant?’

  ‘He is Mrs Mathur’s elder brother’s son. He used to come to help out a teacher in the school. We got to know each other over time. He stood beside me at each step, gave me support. It’s his help that has kept me going.’

  She said nothing more and Anupurba did not want to know.

  Ranjana stood up. ‘I need another cup of tea. Will you have some?’ she asked. Anupurba nodded.

  This time, she used tea-bags. Placing a cup before Anupurba, she said suddenly, ‘Prashant and I are getting married this July, Anupurba.’

  ‘Congratulations. This is really very good news!’ Anupurba needed the cheer.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Surely Mrs Mathur knows about you two?’

  ‘Not just Mrs Mathur, everyone in her family. Prashant’s parents, his brothers and sisters—they’ve all known since that first day. No one has any objection.’

  Why wasn’t she looking happy? Why the shadow on Ranjana’s face then?

  She seemed to read the unasked question. ‘The doubts are all in my mind. So many unknown fears! I ask myself: can I ever find happiness? Is it my fate to suffer? I never had misgivings in life but the blows life has dealt me have made me superstitious. It isn’t as though I do not want to marry Prashant, but somehow, the thought makes my hands and feet go numb. I’ve been able to strengthen my mind after many years. You know, I have an MA in Psychology but I can’t understand myself!’

  Then, as though remembering something, she suddenly laughed aloud. ‘Do you know who has been raising the strongest objection to my relationship with Prashant these past few years? My own parents!’

  ‘Your parents?’

  ‘Yes. After Prashant and I fell in love, he used to visit me every day. Two years ago, he was transferred to Pune. Even then, he comes here on work every month or so. On holidays as well. And when he comes, he stays here with me and not in his own home. I make no attempt to hide things. Everyone knows that Prashant and I live together. My parents surely know. It can’t have pleased them. Family traditions, moral values, loss of character—all that stuff! If society points a finger at their daughter their own roots are threatened!’

  ‘I’ve always known,’ she went on thoughtfully ‘that their objections would dissolve once Prashant and I decided to get married. But I was unable to accept Prashant’s proposal while a doubt lingered in my mind. Who knows—maybe I had been resisting marriage so I could expose the hollowness of family traditions and disgrace my own parents socially? Then suddenly, it came to my mind: how did anybody’s approval or disapproval matter to me any more? Life is too short. I must live my life on my terms. My mind was made up.’

  ‘Will you move to Pune after your marriage?’

  ‘Perhaps. He’s trying to find a job in Bangalore. If it doesn’t materialize by July, I’ll resign and move to Pune with Prashant.’

  Anupurba suddenly thought of Asha Jyoti. ‘Asha Jyoti without Ranjana?’ The words escaped her lips indistinctly. Hadn’t Shobha told her that Ranjana was carrying the school on her shoulders, entirely of her own volition?

  Ranjana took a deep breath. ‘It will be painful to leave Asha Jyoti, I know. Let us see what plans the Lord has. But there’s one thing I remind myself of always: no one is indispensable. If one Ranjana goes, many others will come.’

  Painting by Deepu © Spastics Society of Karnataka

  Seven

  Jeet and Bobby were hunched forward in front of the computer screen. These days, the two had become even closer than before. Perhaps sometimes a displacement of sorts is needed to know what people mean to each other. With the NRI tag at school and the playground, the two brothers had to create their own support system. When they were in the US, it was difficult to get the two to work together on a school project. Each had his own views on everything and before you knew it, they were fighting instead of making progress, creating problems for Anupurba. But here, they were cooperating and they did many more things together.

  ‘Mama, my school project is on disabled people,’ Jeet had informed her casually.

  ‘That is interesting, how come?’

  ‘I told my teacher, I would work on that one. She was asking us to think of something new and different.’

  ‘So why disability?’

  ‘Because Bobby and I saw so much stuff on the Internet, Mama.’

  She had no idea how her work had affected the two. It was not as if she spoke a lot about her work but the household now knew a little about development disorders, cerebral palsy and, more importantly, the problem of inclusion in society that plagued everyone.

  ‘When I grow up and become the President, there would be mandatory parking space for disabled people and ramps for wheelchairs,’ the little one had declared with the assured authority of a Head of State.

  ‘Why is India different, Mama?’ the older one asked. ‘Why don’t people care?’

  Anupurba did not have an answer. Whenever she said, ‘We have many people, a big population with many problems and disability is just one of them,’ the two boys did not understand. They were convinced that something was really wrong with a country in which no one seemed to care. Anupurba dreaded opinionated conclusions like that. But she also knew now that at least twelve per cent Indians had a pronounced disability and yet, no one really cared.

  ‘Mama, that makes India the most handicapped country in this world!’ Jeet exclaimed.

  She said nothing. One day, she must take the boys to her school, she told herself. The only problem was that both the schools were open on pretty much the same days and had the same vacations. Should she ask them to miss class for a day, she wondered.

  The phone started ringing just at that moment. It was Arunav, her brother, who had called from Cuttack. Whether they were in the US or in India, he made it a point to call every week. But his inquiries were always brief: ‘How are you doing?’, ‘What news of the children?’, ‘Has Amrit returned from his tour?’ The reports from his side were equally terse. It was his wife, Anupurba’s sister-in-law, who would always fill in the details. And of course, her mother.

  He had made his weekly phone call only two days back. This had to be out of the normal. ‘Is everything all right?’ Anupurba anxiously asked.

  ‘I had told you that I would be taking Ma for a routine check-up.’

  So he had. He had even joked, rather unusual for him, ‘Ma doesn’t agree to a comprehensive medical test. She says she’s only sixty-six; she does not want us to make her feel old.’

  Anupurba had tried explaining to her mother. ‘Annual check-ups are common now, Ma. I had mine after I returned from the US and another one only a month ago. Does that mean I am a tottering old wreck? Ma, it’s much better to be careful; who knows what could happen?’

  Her mother had finally agreed after a lot of cajoling. So, what was it now that her brother was trying to convey?

  ‘Arun, is everything normal?’

  He was quiet for a moment. Then he said ‘There’s a blockage in her heart.’

  ‘Blockage? What are you saying? Are you serious?’ her voice was shaking.

  ‘Purba, don’t panic now. When the report showed an abnormality I took her to Dr Mohapatra. He confirmed that there was a blockage.’

  ‘Oh God, now what?’ She was about to cry.

  ‘Calm down and listen to me, Purba. She doesn’t have any discomfort—no chest pain. But we can’t afford to neglect things. Dr Mohapatra recommends an angioplasty on Monday.’

  ‘Angioplasty? Monday? I’ll get there tomorrow!’ Her throat felt tight.

  ‘Don’t panic, Purba,’ he tried to calm her once again. ‘There’s nothing to get upset about. I would have asked you to come if there was any reason to. Listen, angi
oplasty has become a routine procedure these days. Dr Mohapatra says she’ll be back home in a day or two.’

  Maybe. But her mind refused to calm down. Was he hiding something from her? Was he trying to stop her from coming because he knew Amrit was away on tour? No, she would have to go. If necessary, she would leave her children in a friend’s care for a few days.

  ‘No, I am coming! Ma must be in pain. You’re not telling me the truth!’

  ‘No, no, Purba. She has no pain at all. Didn’t you speak to her this morning? You don’t believe me? Okay then, speak to her.’

  Her mother came on the line.

  ‘What happened, Purba? Now you don’t get upset. There was nothing wrong until this morning—I have no idea where all this came from!’

  It was just the same, her ordinary, everyday matter-of-fact voice. No trace of pain there.

  ‘Ma, there’s no need to worry at all. Medical science has made unbelievable progress,’ Anupurba said, more to convince herself.

  ‘Who’s worried? My only problem here is that Arun and Trupti will be unnecessarily bothered.’

  ‘Shall I come, Ma?’

  ‘No, I don’t want you to be troubled. Why should you come here for just a few days? You can come with Amrit and the children during the summer holidays and stay on longer. That will be much better.’

  Now she felt better after she had spoken to her mother. Her mother’s voice didn’t contain any panic. Whatever shortcomings they might have, in her family no one hid things from one another. Neither her mother nor her brother would lie to her.

  ‘Ma, will you give the phone to Arun?’

  ‘Yes, Purba?’ he said.

  ‘What time is the operation on Monday?’

  ‘Why do you call it an operation, Purba? It isn’t exactly an operation. Ma will remain conscious; only a small incision will be made under local anaesthesia and then a balloon catheter will be inserted into an artery. The catheter will open out and remove the blockage.’ He was repeating to his sister what the doctors had told him.

  But the sister wasn’t listening.

  ‘Okay, okay. I don’t want to hear all this.’

  ‘Don’t get so upset, Purba.’

  She tried to calm herself. How would her anxiety help? Removing the tremor in her voice she asked, ‘When will the angioplasty thing be done?’

  ‘At about one, may be a little after. They are still working things out. Once I know for sure from the doctors, I will let you know.’

  ‘Arun, please call me on my cell phone the moment the angioplasty is over.’

  ‘I will. You take care of yourself now. Bye.’

  She put the phone down, but her mind remained anxious. She felt very restless inside, and she also felt very afraid. Would her mother be all right? After all, she knew so many healthy people who never recovered from even minor surgery . . .

  No. No such thing could happen to her mother! Nothing would happen. Her brother had even told her this wasn’t an operation. But then . . .

  ~

  Amrit returned on Friday after spending three days in Mumbai. She usually cooked something especially for him whenever he came back from a business trip. But that day she just did not feel up to it. She did not want to do anything.

  Amrit ate whatever Kamakshi had cooked. The children too were unusually cooperative that day—no fuss over ‘We won’t eat this—give us burgers and fries!’ They knew she was very perturbed. Except for meal times, the two boys stayed in their bedroom. They took care of themselves; their homework was done before she could remind them. Even the room was spotlessly clean.

  Anupurba was in no mood to talk to anyone.

  Three anxious days passed. And then Monday arrived. She woke up with a throbbing headache. Was this her migraine coming back? She had suffered for eleven years, ever since she left for America, but thankfully, it had not recurred for the last five years after she had undergone homeopathic treatment.

  She pressed the thumb and index finger of her right hand to her temple. A vein was throbbing away inside. How could she go to Asha Jyoti like this? If she didn’t go today, would anything really happen? Should she ring up Mrs Mathur?

  She got out of bed and pulled the heavy curtain aside. It looked like a nice, bright day outside.

  No, she would go, she told herself.

  Once she had made up her mind, it wasn’t difficult. She bathed, changed into a pink Lucknow cotton sari, had her toast and orange juice as she read the newspaper and then she left. She would only fret if she remained at home—it was a much better idea to immerse herself in work.

  Usually she switched off her cell phone when she entered the school but today she kept it on. Arunabh might call at any moment.

  Inside the classroom, she took out the half-finished drawings and placed them in front of each child after checking the names.

  Shweta had started a pencil-sketch the week before. She hadn’t completed that yet. How could she? Her chattering and her giggling never stopped. Even today, she was busy tying Prabha’s ribbon into a flower instead of working on her own drawing. On another day, Anupurba might have reprimanded her but today she didn’t feel up to it. She simply handed out all the drawings and sat back.

  She did not feel like speaking to anyone. The last time Bijon had many questions about the type of colours to use. Anupurba had told him she would show him how to mix two colours together to make a third. The moment she entered the classroom he had stammered, ‘Aahnty, show me hhaaow to mmake a nnew caahllar . . .’

  ‘Later!’

  She was equally abrupt with Lata. ‘Not today.’

  For quite a few weeks now Lata had been dissatisfied with her own drawing. So many ideas came to her, but not a single one could she get on to paper! At times she felt like giving up the art class. She had sulked. Anupurba knew she needed to speak to her, reassure her, boost her self-confidence, but today was not the day.

  Luckily, there weren’t many questions from the other children today. They were all absorbed in their own work. Anupurba sat at her desk and just looked around at the classroom. All the heads were bent over sheets of drawing paper.

  Except for one child. It was Uma. She was half sitting, half reclining at her desk, with her two hands resting on the desktop. Her eyes were unfocused. A corner of her drawing was fluttering in the breeze from the ceiling fan.

  Anupurba’s patience was running out with her. She felt annoyed. Yet she tried to calm her own voice as she asked ‘What’s the matter, Uma? Aren’t you feeling well?’

  ‘I’m all right,’ Uma replied, gruff as usual. ‘I forgot my pencil box at home.’

  ‘Then borrow a pencil from someone.’

  Uma sat with lips clenched. She wasn’t going to ask anyone.

  ‘Here, Uma! Will this one do?’ Srinivas, sitting next to Uma, asked her.

  She didn’t even look at him.

  ‘What’s the matter? Is it too short? All right, here’s another.’ He took a shiny purple-coloured pencil out of his bag. ‘Take this one. It’s brand new.’

  In a harsh voice Uma replied, ‘I don’t want it. You’ll lend it to me now and tell me later that the point is broken or the eraser has become dirty.’

  Surprised, Srinivas said ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘Okay, okay, you needn’t show how generous you are,’ Uma said with a shake of her head. ‘I’ve seen a lot of goody-goody people.’

  Srinivas looked hurt. He quietly put the pencil back in his bag and went back to his drawing.

  Anupurba flinched. To everyone, Srinivas was the affectionate, uncomplicated friend. Even Anupurba got a sense of it in just a matter of a few weeks. How could Uma not know that even after years of being together in the same class? Why did she have to hurt him?

  Well, let her do what she pleased, Anupurba told herself. Let her sit out the entire class doing nothing. Let her go to sleep with her head on the desk. Anupurba wasn’t going to tell her anything.

  ‘Didi!’

  Anupurba tu
rned around to see who it was. A woman stood at the door. She held a two-year-old baby in her arms. Who was she? What was she doing here? Anupurba walked up to the door.

  ‘Are you looking for someone?’

  ‘I am Uma’s mother.’ She held out a pencil box, towards Anupurba. ‘She left this behind at home.’

  Before Anupurba could take the pencil box Uma pounced on it.

  Anupurba hadn’t noticed that she had clambered off her seat onto her wheeled plank and pushed herself to the door.

  ‘Can’t you arrange my things in my bag in the morning?’ Uma stormed at her mother. ‘Sometimes my note-book is missing and sometimes my pencil box. Are you so busy that you can’t take care of my things?’

  Anupurba was stunned.

  ‘Ravi has a fever, Uma. Can’t you see how he’s been clinging to me since yesterday? That was why I forgot to arrange your things. Don’t be angry, dear,’ Uma’s mother pleaded.

  ‘You have enough time for Ravi and Sumi, but none for me!’ Uma sounded very bitter.

  ‘I made a mistake, Uma.’

  ‘Mistake! My lunch comes late; you forget to pack my things in my school bag. Are all of you doing me a big favour or what?’

  Why was she so harsh? Anupurba was shocked at Uma’s attitude.

  ‘From now on I’ll have everything ready, I promise. Please don’t be angry, Uma!’ Uma’s mother turned to Anupurba now. ‘Didi, I’ll take leave now. Thank you.’ She left.

  Muttering to herself, Uma was wheeling herself back to her seat, making no attempt to hide her anger. She was in a rage. Her eyes were on fire.