“Where do you get your elixir of life?” He was laughing already. “But who is Dia?”
“Diana – we are great friends already, you see.”
“Which means you were won over as soon as you met her, like the rest of us.”
“Yes, Chris – I sometimes think very unwisely perhaps. But I am truly helpless against my feelings. Just as I am with you.” She decided not to say any more.
“I don’t like competition, not even from Diana.” But he was smiling.
They had chattered away all evening and to Dwita’s relief Christopher lost a lot of his gloom, if not quite all. She had rung Dia to explain why she had to let her down. Dia was not at all pleased with Uncle Christopher, but was soon distracted in asking about Brent, who she had met earlier and liked. Dwita refused to accept Christopher’s idea of a meal out. She had cooked them a very nice Indian dinner which they had enjoyed at the minute table by candlelight. He was touched by every gesture of hers, as though she was bestowing favours on him he had never deserved. When she put a glass of cognac into his hand and sent him away from the loaded sink in the kitchenette, he joked, “Are all Bengali women like you? If my fellow countrymen were to discover, all our poor girls would remain spinsters.”
Dwita accepted the compliment by shaking her head and saying, “No, we are all different – but most of us have learned not to go overboard with women’s rights or feminism when faced with a kitchen sink. We like to keep our men, when we find them!”
The week with Christopher had flown by. Dia had complained bitterly to Christopher when he accompanied Dwita to dine at the Parkinsons – she said that his visit had deprived her of Deeta’s company. Dwita had been able to come only twice very briefly to see her and when Dia phoned to wish her goodnight Deeta had been out. Christopher apologised profusely and said in future he would not forget to include her. Dia’s presence had helped lighten the atmosphere. John and Jennifer noticed that Christopher was looking at Dwita often as though summing up mentally something he did not wish to discuss. He looked at John very hard, just once, but John turned his eyes away.
When they had returned from the Parkinsons Christopher said, “Dwita, do not get too close to Dia, my love, you will get hurt.”
“I cannot help it, Christopher. When I met you first, they had said the same thing to me – not to get involved with you as I would get hurt. I could not help it then as I cannot help it now. I seem to have done all the wrong things in life.” Christopher had decided not to take it further.
When the time came for departure it had been very difficult once again. Christopher told her that he was going to pull out of the projects in South East Asia and change with one of the other partners. Once in England he could perhaps get Julia to see things in their right perspective. Dwita was not so optimistic, but decided to go along with him, to promote his confidence. She did not wish to see him leaving as despondent as when he had first arrived.
*
Her three months in England came to an end very quickly – Ernest Reed returned to work after the recuperative spell in Switzerland. Rusi was quickly in touch with Ernest, asking him to send Dwita back as soon as possible. There were certain personnel issues at the firm which needed her immediate attention. Rusi was not even able to take his planned holiday in England as there were far too many problems to be solved for Sunbeam.
Dwita understood the need for the speedy departure but it would be hard. She was now far too attached to Dia, and the little girl to her. Dia clung to her even more the last few weeks as though she sensed their imminent separation. She had even spent a few nights with her at the bedsit and insisted Dwita spend some weekends with her. Dwita was embarrassed at times in case their relationship might be making Jennifer uncomfortable. Yet the bond between them was inescapable.
When the moment came to leave, Dwita had wanted to escape without saying goodbye, but she felt it would be cowardly and could upset Dia even more. She had explained carefully that she was going away only for a while and they would soon see each other again. She had refused to be taken to the airport by the Parkinsons and instead accepted a lift from Ernest, who wanted to show his appreciation of Dwita’s contribution towards his peaceful convalescence. In his absence Dwita had managed the firm’s affairs well in the Eastern markets. The handover had been meticulous and comprehensive. He now knew why Rusi relied on her so heavily.
Arriving back in Calcutta, she felt very restless and unsettled. Several months passed yet she had not been able to discipline herself to be as absorbed in her work as before. The little face of Dia kept returning to her, and what might lie behind this strong affinity between them haunted her. She was afraid to raise the topic with either the Parkinsons or the Wadias. She felt they were all parties to some conspiracy – and was Christopher too in connivance with them? Why had he asked her to stay away from Dia? But surely Christopher would not conceal anything from her. He was probably suspicious about Dia and Dwita’s physical resemblance, and like her he was afraid to pursue it.
Her mother too, was a worry these days. She looked tired, and was thinking of early retirement, remaining with the firm only as an adviser. She was more and more embroiled in social work, heading one committee after another. Mahama had aged visibly. She found Dwita’s absences more and more irksome, as she was lonely and could not possibly spend all her time talking to Raghu. Raghu had very little to keep him occupied, so he was bored and less patient with Mahama’s cantankerous outbursts.
Barun had kept in touch through letters. His time for leaving Harvard was drawing nearer and he was most reluctant to return. But paternal pressures still existed and were in fact increasing, as Abani Mitra was tired of carrying the entire responsibility of the business. The sons of his business partners were taking increasing interest in the company and he did not want Barun to be left out. He knew Barun was not interested and would be quite happy to sell his share to the other partners, but he had his family to think of and could not allow his son to ignore his duty to pursue his academic career. Being a thoroughbred businessman, with limited education but a surfeit of commercial acumen, he could not appreciate Barun’s preoccupation with academia – such a life could offer little financial reward or material comfort as Abani Mitra understood it. Hence, he summed it up as unreasonable indulgence born out of his son’s immaturity and extravagant upbringing. He decided to hold his wife responsible for Barun’s escapist behaviour. For his part, Barun wrote long letters to Dwita as an outlet for his frustration and complained of the constant parental interference in his life.
Christopher telephoned her often and wrote from time to time. He had now returned to England and the situation at home had not changed. He sounded more and more despondent.
Finally, Rusi had decided to take his doctor’s advice about retirement. His latest ECG was discouraging, his blood pressure was consistently high and Janet was using all her powers of persuasion to get him to retire. She very much wanted to enlist Dwita’s help, as she was one of the few who had any influence on him. Janet knew that Rusi’s going would affect Dwita considerably and was sorry about that, but she also felt it would take the young woman out of the rut she was firmly stuck in. Janet thought that Dwita would do well to look beyond Sunbeam and Calcutta.
Dwita, on her part, knew that time for decision-making on many fronts was approaching. If she wished to pursue a career to the exclusion of all else, she would have to shake herself out of the cocoon of absorptions that surrounded her. She would have to leave her secure existence at Sunbeam, encounter new situations and new people. She was no doubt doing well there, but she wanted to move into the wider market place of the managerial world. Rusi had trained her well – her negotiating capabilities had developed, her organisational grasp and management performance had been commended by the board, now the time had come to venture out from Rusi’s protecting umbrella. But where could she go? She did not want to return to England – or did she? In the end, once again Rusi had made up her mind for her.
“Well, Sultan, I could recommend you someone straight away, one I can trust truly and entirely, but you will not approve – you chaps do not believe in women or their capabilities.”
“You are recommending a woman to me? Are you mad, Rusi? A woman for my company?” To Rusi’s annoyance he began to laugh noisily.
“I knew it! What is wrong with a woman? She can be as good as a man or even better sometimes – this one is, and I say that as a man.”
“No problem so far as you are concerned, Rusi, but when it concerns an Arab, he likes to keep his women at home.”
“That is a big mistake made in your part of the world, Sultan. Your progress has been considerably retarded by your lack of respect for women’s capability and lack of faith in their potential.”
“Rusi, I am sorry – I cannot change my people, nor my own inherent culture and beliefs for your sake or any one else’s. But surely you can try and find me a good man? You must have so many in your company.”
“No,” Rusi said obstinately. “I can find you one person and I have offered her already.”
“Be reasonable, Rusi – anyway, who is she? Is she single or married? Old or young? Can I see her?”
“She is a Bengali – she is young and single. She was widowed some years ago. You can see her to consider her as a possibility, not to survey her as an object of curiosity.”
“All right – since you recommend her so highly, let us meet then. But you do realise that you put me in some sort of corner.” He paused for a while and then said: “So, shall we meet her now?”
“No – make it tomorrow. I would like to brief her before the meeting. If I give her away, I am giving you my right arm. I am doing this not because I wish to do you a favour but for reasons of my own.”
“Are you in love with her, you wicked old man? What does Janet think? Or are you trying to send her away before Janet finds out?” the Sheikh said with mischief sparkling in his eyes, whilst flicking ash off his expensive silk robes.
“You Arabs have rather a one-track mind when it comes to women,” Rusi said dryly. “She happens to mean a lot to both of us. She is the child we have never had.”
Sultan was silent for some time, then he said, “You are right, Rusi, we are different – I think perhaps we need to move on and look beyond the limitations of our social prejudices and cultural practices, or we shall continue to lose out in the race with the rest of the world. I am sorry, Rusi, I was being naïve. Tomorrow it is then. Inshallah I shall be here at eleven – is that convenient?”
Rusi nodded and waved farewell absent-mindedly. The fledgling had grown wings, he thought, it was time now to let her fly. He managed to speak to Dwita the same afternoon. He told her she was now being thrown into an uncushioned world where women were once objects of barter and were still far from independent. She would have to make her own way and create her own armour. She would have to hide her feminine instincts and only present the hard, unyielding side of her personality – ‘professional schizophrenia’ he called it. He had also told her, “I have watched you the last few months, ever since you got back from England. You have been listless and unsettled. I may be an old man, Dwita, but you cannot hide your feelings from me. Neither Christopher, nor Diana will bring you peace. They will never be entirely yours. You must learn to live outside them and despite them. You must learn to make new friends, new interests.
“When we leave Calcutta, as we must when I retire, you will be quite alone. It would be much better for you to face this earlier, of your own accord, rather than finding yourself in that situation unprepared. Our home will always be yours, but you must fly alone first – come back to us whenever you need to.”
Dwita knew Rusi was right. It was time to come to terms with the realities of life – her standing in terms of Christopher, Dia, Barun and others who mattered to her. But before she could fly solo, there were many loose ends to be tied, arrangements to be made. Moreover, the decision was still in the hands of Sheikh Sultan bin Ahmed – and he was an Arab bound by the conservative traditions and conventions of his own world; women formed rather an unimportant part of his daily existence.
Sheikh Sultan had arrived the next morning, but not at eleven as promised – he had come half an hour late. Rusi kept him waiting another fifteen minutes to teach him punctuality. He had told Dwita, “This is your first lesson on patience and Arab time-keeping.”
Sheikh Sultan had apologised and relaxed into the comfort of Rusi’s vast leather armchair. He was a big man of generous proportions and the chair had groaned momentarily under his weight. He lit a cigarette in a long gold-tipped holder, inhaled deeply with satisfaction and took a sip from the cup of espresso coffee in front of him. He made a grimace and added two more cubes of sugar. “Now where is this brainchild of yours?”
“She has been waiting to see you since eleven this morning,” Rusi said pointedly, baring his teeth to smile at the same time. Sheikh Sultan did not have a great sense of humour. Dwita came in when summoned, shook his hand and tried to look and feel twice her size in order to face him with confidence. He began by saying, “Mrs Roy, Rusi I believe has already given you some idea of the post and also perhaps spoken to you of the details of my expectations of the incumbent.”
“Yes, he has, and it sounds interesting to me.”
“Can you cope with such a job? I ask this as you are a woman.”
“Does that make me different in your eyes?”
“Does it not in yours?”
“Not from the point of view of your expectations, which I believe are professional. You are concerned with my competence, not with my sex.” She was busy defending herself once again and this reminded her of her first interview with Mr Katrak, that now seemed so long ago.
“It is not just me, Mrs Roy, but Arabs as you know look at women with different eyes – they are particularly vulnerable to beautiful women.”
He was looking at her with lust in his eyes, Rusi thought and momentarily cursed himself for having recommended her.
“Well, Mr Ahmed, it is not just Arabs, the whole world likes beautiful women and handsome men. But in the face of this universal weakness we have to control ourselves, since all men cannot have all women and vice versa. Arabs as much as others will have to master this simple truth.” She had finished rather savagely she thought.
“Are you not afraid?”
“Not at this stage – I would much rather make my own judgements on your countrymen, even if I am being warned by one of their kind.”
Sheikh Sultan was quite amazed by her impudence, but he was also struck by her honest, forthright manner. “If I made an offer would you accept it?”
“I would if Sunbeam agreed to release me and also if you employ me on the basis of my professional experience and competence and not because you are influenced by my sex.”
“In that case we are in business, I think – provided Mr Wadia is amenable and does not change his mind.”
The meeting had ended, the contract had been signed in due course and Dwita was launched into the hard-headed, ruthless oil-based economy of the Arab world. She was given two months to prepare herself for the changeover and to reorganise her domestic scene.
Parna had refused to have Maheshwari back. Dwita had instead been able to arrange for he
r to join a fraternity of elderly Hindu ladies at a well-run home for the aged. It was a new venture in Calcutta, but already housed a number of ladies between sixty and ninety, who for one reason or another had no family to look after them. Mahama’s minute person was received with interest and amusement. She soon became one of them; and living amongst others of her kind and age she was soon rejuvenated, as if she had managed to shed almost ten years. Dwita had settled her into her new home and when the time came went back to bid farewell to her. For a while Mahama was sad, but still seemed content in her new milieu. Raghu was delighted at the possibility of accompanying Dwita to the Arab world and began to see himself as the next baron of his little village in Andhra.
Sheikh Sultan had in fact been very generous – he and Rusi had worked out terms and conditions carefully. Dwita was offered a furnished apartment in a prestigious block by the sea, a chauffeur-driven car and good emoluments which included a substantial percentage of annual bonus. Her base was going to be Abu Dhabi, the capital of the Emirates where the Sheikh’s family lived. But she would have to travel all around the Gulf and other parts of the world, wherever his interests were centred. Dwita saw herself stepping into another ‘suitcase’ existence, but this time it would be a question of changing cases more frequently and at a faster pace than her previous employers had ever expected.
Her mother, though unhelpful about Mahama, was still very disturbed by the news of her departure for the Gulf. She had discussed it with Rusi over a lunch. He must have succeeded in reassuring her to a certain extent as she had not remonstrated further. When Dwita had mentioned her new prospects to Christopher on the phone he had gone very quiet, so quiet that Dwita thought she had lost the line. “Chris, are you still there?”
The Onus of Ancestry Page 25