The Onus of Ancestry

by Arpita Mogford

  Her mother would resort to an occasional frenzy of making Dwita speak English at home continuously for days to improve her command and fluency of the language. As it was, the girls were only allowed to communicate in English for short periods, when they had their Bengali or Hindi lessons at school, so for her mother to inflict her with linguistic restrictions at home seemed a bit of an imposition to Dwita. In order to amuse her Mahama and Dhiru would burst out with their newly acquired skills in the language, “Come, come – do not naughty, finish bath, food time now” and so on.

  Why did she have to speak English all the time? What was wrong with Bengali? She thought Bengali both versatile and lyrical as a language and she enjoyed reading Bengali books which she brought home from the school library. Despite Parna’s surveillance, Dwita spent many a holiday afternoon exploring Tagore, Sharat Chandra and Bankim Chandra. She loved to recite poems from Shishu when no one was about – Tagore was a good friend, she seemed to find solutions to most of her problems in his works and his flights of fancy matched her own.

  Then one day, another little bit of her world disappeared. Bhushan asked to retire. He said he was too old to drive and wished to return to the remnants of his home in Birendrapur. Dwita felt that Bhushan’s decision to retire was not so much due to his age as to Brojen Halder’s increasing control over Parna’s affairs.

  Dwita also missed seeing Uncle Bimal. He rarely came now, he was too old and arthritic to make visits on his own. Parna went to only Nababidhan Bramo Samaj these days, as Brojen Halder went there and thought it a good idea for her to do so.

  Dwita hated those Sundays when she was dragged along by Parna. When she grumbled, her mother would say,“Dima would have liked you to go.” What she could not tell her was that Dima would not have forced her – going with Dima to the other Samaj had been such fun. She always told her stories of Monmotho’s antics. On 11 Maagh, on the special day of the Utsav it was most enjoyable to eat khichuri and chutney with other children, whilst Dima chatted with all her friends. She did not find the old men of Naba Bidhan Samaj very friendly though – they hardly took notice of children of Dwita’s age. She also thought that her mother and Mr Halder were far too intense in their pursuit of religion.

  Bhushan’s retirement was followed by more changes in their household. Ramu left them after all these years to take care of Uncle Bimal, who now lived in his little cottage in Deopur, a small hill resort to the north of Calcutta – he preferred its climate and solitude. Dhiru died suddenly whilst on leave in his village near Birendrapur. Their house was now full of new people. To Dwita, Gajan Singh, the new Nepali driver was just someone who took her to and brought her back from school – even the car was no longer Dima’s old Austin Minor. Gajan Singh drove a Standard. Ramu was replaced by a part-timer and Shivnath was the new cook-bearer. Mahama was her one link with the past.

  The only new arrival Dwita liked was Durwan Bhajan Singh, who sat patiently at the gate all day, sometimes broke his routine to escort Parna to sales meetings, and sang ram kirtans in the evenings. He made his own chapatis and cooked his own vegetables and dhal. He used to give Dwita a hot chapati from his kitchen when her mother was not around. Parna would not have liked it.

  Nirupama had used to say that Parna in her younger days was much quieter and far more composed and Dwita often wondered if she was so different now because she was lonely and unhappy. Parna never relaxed, never stopped being busy and never attempted to make friends outside the circle of Brojen Halder. Gerald Downe and his wife liked Parna and had invited her to join them for Sunday picnics. But Brojen Halder always tried to include himself or find some other alternative – in the end Downe gave up.

  ^ ] Years later when Parna was in a mood to confide in Dwita she told her that Gerald Downe had once suggested remarriage to her. He had said then, “Parna, you have a long, lonely life ahead of you. I know your husband still means a lot to you and your daughter’s interests are dear to you. But you must think of yourself. When she grows up she will have a life of her own, what will you do then?” Parna, in her arrogance, had responded that “her mother had coped”, and Gerald Downe had not raised the topic again. Dwita wondered if Parna had ever regretted seriously her decision later on in life.

  Brojen Halder’s wife died at her next attempt at giving birth. It was sad but not surprising, as the doctors had warned them. He was obviously upset and shed copious tears, but unfortunately his visits to Parna became almost a daily necessity. What was even worse was that he expected her to be involved in his children’s upbringing, which they did not welcome with enthusiasm – Dwita could see their point as she similarly objected to Brojen Halder’s intrusion into her life. Most Sundays became interminable bores as he spent those days relaxing in their home. Dwita used to avoid his company and disappeared into her own domain of books, records and children’s games – Maheshwari quite liked to play a game of Ludo with her.

  Brojen Halder was anxious to win Dwita’s favour and tried to draw her into their company, much against her wishes. He invited her to join them for a visit to the cinema or for a treat of ice cream or faluda on the Strand. She usually accepted to avoid incurring her mother’s displeasure. Dwita quite liked their outings to the Strand where on a quiet evening she could count the boats on the river or watch the progress of the orange sun setting over the Ganges. She sometimes listened to the nostalgic singing of the boatmen in the distance, or the laughter of the fishermen displaying their day’s catch accompanied by incomprehensible dialectical exchanges amongst themselves. She felt happily detached from the mundane world of Parna and Brojen, they did not matter – even Brojen’s presence could not take away the magic of that brief twilight hour. She wished to answer the call of the distant enchantment that beckoned her – her grandfather must have felt the same urge when he left the safety of these shores for a tryst with the unknown.

  Then it would be time to return home and they invariably ended up buying several hilsa fish which Maheshwari would have to turn into various culinary delights – such as hilsa teljhol, hilsa in mustard sauce, smoked hilsa and so many other delicacies. Maheshwari was an excellent cook and handled her art with both versatility and sensitivity.

  In the old days Dwita had loved her Sunday lunches, the happy, relaxed eating at Dima’s table was very enjoyable. Although Parna had introduced many new aspects of non-Bengali living into their lives, she had retained the Bengali muse and Bengali food. They still followed Dima’s traditional approach – Basmati rice, fried greens, a clot of fried bitter neem with sautéed aubergines, or a few bits of fried bitter gourd (Dima said a taste of that purified the system), one of the many varieties of lentils, an assortment of spiced vegetables, fish in mouthwatering sauces, deep-fried pakoras, chicken or mutton in fragrant mughlai style, chutneys, yoghurt and sandesh – a never-ending flow of delicacies to please the palate. They had to be eaten and relished in their order of priority, without haste or any sense of urgency. Dhiru was used to Nirupama’s style of living and entertaining but Shivnath was new, hence Maheshwari ended up supervising or even cooking most of the items on the menu. Nowadays the Sunday lunches were more a matter of habit than a special weekly event awaited with a sense of anticipation or enjoyment. Brojen Halder sat at the head of the table, making noises of approval, whilst the others ate in silence. Life was becoming very boring with Mr Halder’s constant, unwanted presence – and now frequent interference – in all affairs. He was increasingly assuming a paternal role in her life.

  Dwita was now well past twelve; puberty had come early and with it a certain amount of knowledge and maturity. It was not her mother who had thought it necessary to explain to her the pangs of shame and embarrassment she experienced with the first onslaught of puberty. It was Mrs Owen, the elderly school nurse who had talked to her about it lightly and sensibly, as a minor but regular and unavoidable nuisance. When Dwita had turned up a second time, doubled up with pain, she had given her an analgesic pill and sent her off to the games field saying, “The i
nfirmary will only make it worse, learn to put up with it the normal way, and you will soon cope – nothing like a good game of basketball to drive away the monthly blues.” The practicality of her approach had helped relax Dwita and further exchanges with her friend Chandni cured her aches and pains altogether. Maheshwari, too, did not fuss, but tackled the first awkward spells through simple advice and instructions. Parna, on the other hand appeared inept and embarrassed and quite unable to cope.

  Dwita’s growing up brought new questions to her mind and gave new facets to old relationships. She now realised the possibility of Brojen Halder’s assuming a more positive and a permanent role in her life. Was Parna going to marry him? Her friend Amina’s father had died recently and her mother had remarried. But Amina was a Muslim, Dwita believed that Hindus were more conservative about remarriage, although Brahmos promulgated remarriage of widows – she had read it in her history book. They advocated resettlement of young widows into normal marital circumstances. Dwita felt sorry for her mother, whose life of hard work and small pleasures depressed her. She gave herself no other enjoyment but the duties of conscientious motherhood. Perhaps she could be happy if she married again. But Dwita had her doubts about Brojen Halder as her mother’s choice. Would Dima and her father approve of her mother’s remarriage or would they provide divine interference? She somehow felt that they would support her.

  Although Nirupama had chosen to remain a widow, had practised all the tenets of widowhood – wearing her widow’s white, eating out of black and white marble, observing fasts and total vegetarianism – she had never insisted on imposing them on her daughter. In fact she had persuaded her gradually to change from white thans to bordered white sarees and also into non-vegetarianism. Parna began to wear quiet patterns on white and followed no dietary restrictions. In fact she dressed carefully and expensively – her sarees were the best in cottons, silks or chiffons; her sandals, always elegant and high-heeled, bags made out of the softest of leather. She wore nothing in the form of jewellery except for a pair of pearl solitaires in her ears and a bangle on one of her wrists, the other sported a minute gold watch given to her by Monmotho. Her abundant hair was always coiled into a neat bun, poised precariously just above the nape of her neck. Dwita always liked to watch her mother fully turned out – she looked proud and elegant, soignée, and quite beautiful. If she ever decided to remarry, Dwita would not try to stop her, she felt she had no right to do so – but still she could never accept Brojen Halder as her new father, nor his numerous offspring as her brothers and sisters. Were there no other eligible men around?

  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 t
o 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.