The Onus of Ancestry

by Arpita Mogford

  The Parkinsons had been so good to her. She could never repay them for all the kindness they had shown her these past months. She had thanked them again and again, though her gratitude seemed to embarrass them. Jennifer had been very busy the last few weeks – she was rushing around alternating between their two homes. John was in London but had been preoccupied. She was surprised and enquired of Janet if all was well with them both, but Janet had dismissed it by saying they were no doubt finding Dwita’s departure upsetting, as they had grown very fond of her. She had then said tentatively, “They had a little daughter once, called Diana – they lost her in a drowning accident when she was three years old and Jennifer could never have children again. I think you reminded them of her.” She also added that Dwita’s recent loss must have brought back painful memories of Diana’s death too, but said, “Don’t worry too much. They will soon recover. They are very close to each other.”

  Janet had chatted away pleasantly through the flight, but Rusi somehow was not his usual self, bounding with energy, grumbling – he was quiet and withdrawn, and often looked at Dwita with contemplative eyes when he thought she was not looking at him. Dwita thought she was probably reading too much into their behaviour – they were all perhaps exhausted, as she was after the events of the last few weeks.

  As for herself, she felt empty both physically and mentally. She was dreading her return to Calcutta, to facing her family and Nishith’s. She did not really wish to return to the Dutta home, but at present there was no choice. Rusi had asked her to be firm and stay with her mother for a while until the company found her a new home. She however, did not wish to hurt Prithwish and Protima, they had always stood by her in spite of having deceived her in the beginning. She knew that she could not live under the same roof as Nishith any more, it would be unsafe. It was his home and he could not be kept out of it for long.

  The plane landed on time and she was welcomed by her mother, Prithwish and Protima. The office car was there to take the Wadias home. Rusi greeted Parna, but ignored the others, and left saying to Dwita that he would see her on Monday as usual. Parna then insisted on her staying with her for a few days and had taken her home from the airport. Prithwish and Protima had seemed pleased to see her again, Prithwish commenting, “You have lost some weight, they must have worked you hard.”

  Mahama was beside herself with joy and showed Dwita all the postcards she had sent her, which had been preserved carefully. She had prepared every conceivable delicacy to spoil her. Parna too was fussing around, seeing to her every comfort. They asked her a hundred questions, wished to know everything that had happened in the last few months. She accounted for herself as far as possible and finally the exhaustion of the long journey overtook her. Mahama was appalled to see her shorn head. Parna was more tolerant about it.

  The weekend had passed slowly but pleasantly. Friends and family called in to see her. She could read the silent speculation in their eyes about her and Nishith, but they were at least civil enough not to enquire openly. On Monday Parna’s car had dropped her at the office – Bajan Singh was the same as ever, silent and ungiving. Her colleagues in the office however, were very welcoming and Mr Katrak was especially complimentary about the reports she had despatched from London.

  Rusi greeted her by saying, “Thank God, you are back – you can now take over all these musty files whilst I go and bet at the races.” He continued grumpily, “They did not take to me very much in your absence – I was of course being my usual soul of charm.” His eyes twinkled with mischief, “I heard them call me a bear!” Dwita burst out laughing at this. “Laughing? It is all very well for you – a bear of all things?”

  “But they have always called you that – that is because you growl so much all the time. But then, as you know we all like bears.”

  Rusi smiled, shaking his head helplessly. Later that day Mr Katrak had informed her that there was a vacant company flat on Camac Street and Mr Wadia wished her to move into it. It was furnished adequately and she could add a few things to it to suit her taste and convenience. It would be made ready for her before the end of the week and Mr Katrak could take her to see it today, after work, if she so desired. She had gone with him and had liked the flat instantly – small but cosy, and very airy. It was on the first floor of a block where Sunbeam retained several flats for their managers and directors.

  She broke the news to Parna, who as expected did not take to it kindly. Her first thoughts were,“What would they say?” All those “others” with whom she had been concerned all her life. Dwita could have stayed with her, but that would not be entirely proper – after all Nishith was still officially her husband. Next, she had phoned Prithwish to ascertain his thoughts, but Prithwish had been non-committal. Dwita then asked if they would like her to come back home on Tuesday. At that he said, “No, for the moment stay where you are.”

  “Is he with you?”

  “Yes, he suddenly arrived this evening. I have not told him yet that you are back.” Pritwish promised to phone her the next morning at the office. He had done so and she had then raised the matter of the company flat again. He was more open and frank about it now. “We have no right to keep you with us when we have not been able to protect you.” The person who was best pleased was Mahama. She took this opportunity to let Parna know that it would be wrong for a young girl to live alone so she, Mahama, must go and live with her. Parna had agreed readily as this was one convenient way of getting rid of Maheshwari, whom she was finding increasingly unbearable.

  Mr Katrak, on his part, had not only produced a flat, he had also produced Raghunathan, younger brother of his own cook. He vouched for his character and his conscientiousness. So Raghu joined Dwita’s service. To begin with he was a hesitant, hardworking houseboy, general dogsbody from the depths of Andhra Pradesh, but soon, through Maheshwari’s persistent and painstaking efforts he became not only an expert cook but her bearer-barman-bodyguard, all in one. He was utterly devoted, totally honest and not even a fly could get beyond the threshold of the house without Raghu’s consent. Nishith was the first one to find that out.

  Raghu had also made a convert in Ram, the sweeper. When he retired for a short rest or siesta in the afternoons, Ram became his shadow, his disciple and kept sleepless vigil. Between them they guarded the sanctity of Dwita and the house to everyone’s intense irritation – all except Maheshwari, who was the self-appointed archangel of this triad of domesticity.

  Dwita also brought herself a second-hand Fiat from an office colleague which became a favourite possession of Ram’s, who cleaned it and polished it each time the car returned from a journey, however short or long. Dwita was afraid that one of these days Ram would polish out of existence the sage green of the car and she would find it assuming the shade of the polishing cloth. But she did not have the heart to curb his enthusiasm.

  Dwita now grew a little concerned about her financial position. Although she had been paid a generous allowance by the company for the period of her official programme, she had refused to accept any medical expenses from them. John had not charged a penny for his services, but paying the clinic and the convalescent home had been expensive. She had managed to clear all the bills, but realised that life would have to be frugal for the next few months. She hoped to manage without any real difficulty as she did not foresee many expenses in the near future. She also hoped that her next promotion would bring some extra money.

  She was a little surprised, however, that in Nishith’s absence, Prithwish had offered her no financial support. They had accepted her independence and never attempted to determine her needs. Nishith too had given up his role of provider very quickly, though he had not forgotten to exact his other rights over her. She consoled herself, thinking that the Duttas might have been in financial straits themselves and probably saw no need to offer her anything as she had declared her independence of them and seemed to be surviving well. She could not have it both ways and a family’s responsibilities were not what they had o
nce been. It was only people of her mother’s generation or background who still worried about appearances. Yet Parna too had lived alone and built her own life, in her case the only difference lay in Dima’s having been with her. Dima had been very different to Parna – Dwita dreaded the day her mother would expect to live with her. But she was determined not to succumb to it, whatever the cost. Her life was her own, no one was going to change that for her again. But – “What about Christopher, if he ever offered to share it?” she asked herself. She had no answer to that.

  *

  It had taken her some weeks to make up her mind, but in the end she decided to visit Nishith at the nursing home. She was afraid to meet him at home. She had also asked Prithwish not to give him her address or tell him of her return. Her mother had been nagging her; despite knowing of Nithish’s illness she could scarcely appreciate the real basis of her daughter’s reservations about renewing a relationship with her husband. Parna lived in her own world of righteousness and martyrdom and still dictated to Dwita, expecting her to do what she deemed best or most appropriate. In fact Dwita went to see Nishith in the end with Parna, who had insisted on accompanying her. Parna felt that it would probably be the proper thing to do.

  The visit had been awkward but not unmanageable. Nishith had been polite towards his mother-in-law but far from friendly. Dwita observed that he looked less settled, slightly aggressive, but physically unfit and flabby. His breathing was irregular and his eyes sunken and dull. Prolonged medication was having its effect as Dr Mitra had predicted. In spite of everything, she felt pity for him. His parting shot was, “Now that you are so capable and qualified, why do you not take my job at Hutchinson’s? At least by doing that you could repay the Duttas a little!”

  “Repay what, Nishith?” But she did not wait for his answer, leaving so as not to prolong a conversation that could only end unpleasantly. On her way out she was given a message by the nurse that Dr Mitra wished to see her the next day. Could she join him for a cup of tea at the club after the office? She scribbled a reply accepting his invitation, promising to meet him there at six the following evening.

  She turned up as promised. The Wadias were there too. She went up to speak to them, “What a small world! I cannot even go for a cup of tea without my boss keeping a beady eye on me.”

  “Can’t let you go astray, you see. Come and join us,” Rusi said.

  “Not this evening, thanks – I am actually meeting Dr Mitra in a few minutes.”

  “Any problems on that front?” Janet asked anxiously.

  “I don’t know. I saw him at the clinic yesterday. He looked far from well to me.”

  “Let us know if we can do anything.” Dwita smiled and nodded.

  “Don’t be so proprietorial, Rusi.” Dr Mitra’s voice boomed from behind her. “I can also have a rendezvous with your beautiful protégée.” He patted her arm affectionately. “We shall see you both later – now we must have a little chat of our own. Come, my dear, let’s take that table in the garden, it will be cooler outside.”

  They sat down and he ordered some tea and a plate of chicken patties. “I am famished, how about you?”

  “I would love some tea and to share one of your patties. They make them well here.”

  “As we both know why we are here I will avoid a preamble. Nishith is not responding to the drugs as he used to. I have changed them around for him as far as possible, but he is now immune to nearly all of them. I honestly do not know how long I can keep up this juggling act with the medicines. As you know these drugs are pretty powerful as well, and I am afraid he has now begun to develop cardiac problems, which you may have noticed signs of yesterday. This makes me unhappy. We may reach a stage when I shall have to reduce his intake of drugs and hence his behaviour will be more consistently uncontrollable. We shall then have to think in terms of an institution, as my nursing home could not cope. Prithwish has been warned of this some time ago, but I avoided telling you until your return – you had enough on your hands without my adding to your problems.”

  “Has Prithwish said anything?”

  “Not really. He has left everything to me. You see, we have to accept that Nishith is incurable. I discussed his case at length again with British and American specialists during my last visit, and they were of the same opinion. There is no real hope for someone like him.”

  “What would you wish me to do?”

  “You? In fact you are my only problem, you are stubborn as ever and will never learn to take your concerns lightly. His total obsession is centred on you. His feelings for you vary from a sense of guilt to avenging hatred. He cannot give you up, or forget you even for a moment. He is always looking for opportunities to see you, be with you. I am particularly worried because he has managed to find out from his mother that you have moved out of their house. He also forced her to give your address to him. This is bad news, Dwita. You must avoid him – you have to be firm, my girl. He can be very violent and hurt you badly.”

  “What can I do? He is still my husband – and he is a sick man.” She shook her head helplessly. “I have no shame in confessing to you that I am truly afraid of Nishith, ever since that night–” She shuddered. “But I cannot seem to make myself give him up.”

  “I understand, my child, but he knows that too – look you must be sensible about it. Have you got someone who can keep an eye open at home and ward him off if he turns up?”

  “Well, Raghunathan, my cook-bearer is there, but he does not know Nishith – my nanny is there too.”

  “Well, it is reassuring that you are not completely alone. I shall see that the bearer recognises him. I am afraid I have to brief him, without telling him very much, but enough for him to understand that he is in as much danger as you. He may be more motivated to self-protection than you are. Had you been my daughter, I would have forced a few decisions on you.”

  They finished their tea, strolled back to the Wadias for a short exchange of pleasantries, and he then took his leave of Dwita, having made her promise that she would send Raghu to the clinic to be briefed by him.

  Dr Mitra’s apprehensions proved right. A few weeks later Nishith, whilst visiting his mother, had crept out to the car and driven to Dwita’s. She had just returned from work and was sipping a glass of nimbu-pani when the doorbell rang. Raghu peeped through the eyehole and turned back to her saying, “Memsaab, please go in for a minute, I have to speak to someone.” He looked embarrassed and she knew immediately who it was.

  “Let me deal with it, Raghu.”

  “No, Memsaab, Doctor Saab said not safe. You must excuse me this time, I only obey Doctor Saab’s orders.”

  Whilst this conversation was in progress, the bell continued to ring relentlessly, as though the caller had guessed that they were conspiring against his coming in. In the end Dwita gave in and disappeared into her bedroom, glass in hand. Maheshwari rushed out from the kitchen, and stood within easy reach of the bedroom. Raghunathan opened the door.

  “You take a long time to hear,” a familiar voice barked. “Is this Mrs Dutta’s house?”

  “No Saab – you make mistake.”

  “I make no mistake.” He had seen Maheshwari, who had been too slow to retreat. He pushed Raghu aside and tried to come in.

  “I am sorry, Sir, but I cannot let you in. I do not know you.”

  “Move aside or–”

  Dwita came out. It was impossible not to, hearing the raised voices in the corridor. “Shut the door, Raghu. Come in, Nishith” she said calmly even though she was feeling far from calm. He looked demented and furious.

  “May I indeed, madam?” he spoke with bitter sarcasm. “You bitch,” he added, under his breath. “Go away, all of you!” he screamed at Raghu and Maheshwari. Raghu looked at Maheshwari and she disappeared out of the front door as though she had received a signal of some kind. Raghu refused to budge and stood firm. “Have you not heard me?”

  “There is no need to shout at him, Nishith. He is only obeying orders. I liv
e alone here as you know, he has strict orders not to let any strangers in – surely you cannot object to that?”

  He strode up to her, gripped her arm viciously and pushed her inside the bedroom, then shut the door. He was looking for the key to lock it. It was not there, someone must have removed it quickly unobserved by either of them.

  Dwita tried to breathe normally and maintain her calm. “Nishith, why don’t you sit down instead of being unpleasant. You must have come to see me and not to behave unreasonably. Why don’t we talk sensibly instead of your losing your temper for nothing.”

  “I have come to tell you that if our home is not good enough for you, I shall come and stay here.” She heard the sound of the outside door close again and a shuffling of feet just outside the bedroom door.

  “This is a company flat – I do not have permission to keep anyone here.”

  “Not even your husband? Or is it because you have your assignations here and it will not do to have your husband around to spoil them?” She bit her lip and said nothing. “Speak up, you bitch, you whore!” He shook her violently and pushed her towards the cupboard. She fell hard against it.

  “Nishith, that is enough. Leave at once.”

  “I shall go when I want to.”

  The door now opened quietly behind Nishith. Raghu and Ram crept in and both took hold of him. He struggled to free himself, but the two together were stronger than him. They took him out of the room and put him in an armchair, then looked at her awaiting her instructions. She was far too upset and humiliated to say anything.

  Maheshwari was nowhere to be seen. She had not known the extent of Nishith’s illness, having not seen him for some time. Her strength had left her and she had broken down, weeping not for herself, but for the child of her spirit, if not of her womb, and one whom she had brought up with every breath of love in her heart. Dwita picked up the telephone and rang Nishith’s house. Prithwish was at the other end. “Please come here in a taxi – your car and brother are here,” she said flatly and put the receiver down.