CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
It was about the time the rains began to slacken that Dinesh found our new home. It was a big event for us. A white house with a rusty metal roof. It contained a kitchen and three other rooms to rent. It seemed enormous. Mummy carefully laid out patterns of rice paste to welcome the gods, to whom she made her puja offerings of rice and fruit, which we all tasted afterwards.
Dinesh and the boys slept in a small room at the front of the bungalow. The wall facing the beds screamed its wild colours from a film poster rescued on Dinesh's last Calcutta trip. His was the prize that had his friends glowing with excitement and admiration. There were a few woven mats scattered about the wooden floor, but the pride of the room, was the ancient carved mahogany cupboard, Dinesh had bargained for, with the one of the local hotel managers. Quite an achievement, for it was to have been sold for a higher price in the market. Mummy had worked some white cotton mats to place on top. How deservedly proud Dinesh was of his territory. We kept a room for us all to eat and talk in and the other room was for the women and girls to sleep in. Our bedroom was the largest room since there were more of us. The women slept at top of the beds and girls at the bottom. Sometimes Lipika would wriggle her way up to me in the night, for us to snuggle into each other. There was not much furniture in our room. We did have an old much-loved wooden chair someone had painted blue. The chipped legs fascinated Lipika, who was obsessed with scraping odd shapes on them in quiet undetected moments. She was an early riser. The chair legs were a game that challenged her. It didn't matter. When she had finished, we would paint them again. We also had a long rattan trunk in which we kept clothes and blankets. Dinesh had nailed up a huge misty mirror spotted with age. The children loved to play at making all kinds of silly faces at each other in it.
The kitchen was not large. We had a couple of kerosene stoves that we used for cooking. Along the shelves, lining the walls of the entire kitchen were pots pans kettles, spoons, and pestle and mortar. Mummy had balanced curled and fading pictures of Narayan and Lakshmi among them. She regularly festooned them with marigolds and made pujas for all of us. We had found a cotton dhurrie for the floor. The nicest thing about the kitchen was that we could look out at the hills while we worked. It was a bright room, though small and always alive with chopping, cooking, and singing or the children's chatter, which lingered in the air. Mummy had stayed with us for such a long time now no one talked of her returning home. I was glad she wanted to be with us. She was a warm spirit quietly tending to whatever would make her useful to us.
"Mummy, you are always smiling. I used to wish I would see you smile like this when I was younger." It would have been too painful an admission to have actually said that, at the time.
"I didn't have anything to smile about then. Of course I can smile, Manasa."
I wondered whether she was reassuring herself or me. "I had not even dared hope to see you again, mummy. It is wonderful you are here with us."
"I too used to fear I'd never see you or Kajal ever again. Where did you find all your courage to come and fetch me?" She brushed the back of her hand across her eyes.
My throat constricted. What answer could I give? Instead I asked in a broken voice, "Have you received news of Pratibha or Shreela?"
After a moment's hesitation she said, "I still haven't heard any news of Pratibha since her wedding." Her face looked old and grey. Her eyes stared vacantly at some imaginary scene.
"And Shreela mummy?" I probed gently.
She drifted back to the present, as she attempted to organise her face back into its neat lines. "Shreela has children now, I hear," her voice had lost its lightness. "But no sons. Perhaps when she will have sons your father will allow me to ... " She trailed off. Her voice cracked and she was unable to finish.
I squeezed her shoulder. "You need not go back to father." Her eyes widened at my suggestion. "I know you will think I am wicked to suggest that to you but you have been a dutiful wife all your life. Mummy, what has he done to deserve or reward that devotion? Please stay here with us. We need you and we will love you, and keep you smiling." Her eyes searched mine beseechingly. I could see I was reflecting her own thoughts. There was such pain and confusion in her look. Neither of us could speak.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Dinesh and I enjoyed our teaching. Three mornings a week our handful of pupils came and sat in our main room. Dinesh took his four young men on one side of the room and I sat with my two young women at the other side. A damp cotton screen painted with whorls of purple creeper separated us. It was lively. The girls giggled incessantly, but our students slowly learned all we were able to teach them. Dinesh had a natural command of his class. I found it came to me quite easily too. All I had to do was imagine I was teaching Lipika and then I could make it simple and fun, so that we all enjoyed our lessons. Between these lesson I became aware again of Kajal avoiding me whenever she could, speaking only as much as necessary to prevent anyone else noticing. I scanned my heart for my wrongdoing. The thought that returned to me over and over was that she had lost her husband and the children she had loved. I had a husband and I had Lipika, yet I could not be expected to wish Lipika away. What could I do? I could not change anything. I tried hard to be patient. Patap. Oh, how I wished he had not come between us.
Although more lively these days: she often returned home before the others to sleep. Some days she didn't get up. We were all indulgent of her unreasonable behaviour because she had been through so much unhappiness. To my delight mummy was still with us and would stay with us now. I hoped I had misread Kajal too. She would forgive me when she fully recovered and then we could be close again. She would be part of the family and take a share in our joys. As much as Kajal was cold and distant, Dinesh was warm and caring. It was in small comforts that meant so much to me. He made sure I had the best books to use, the newest pencils, the largest share of the room for our teaching even though he had more pupils. He prepared the room like a devoted servant. Although I enjoyed it all, it made me uneasy.
One morning before our pupils arrived I asked, "Dear husband, I am very happy but I am also puzzled."
"You're happy? I'm glad." His face crinkled. "I love to see joy in your eyes and in your singing so there is nothing you should be worrying about."
"Do you remember our sworn oaths when we were married?" I hesitated, shyly, since neither of us had ever referred to our unconventional wedding but he continued to look at me steadily, as though we talked like this every morning, before lessons. I continued more confidently. "We agreed that we would be equal."
"Yes, of course I remember." His face relaxed.
"But you are always far more considerate and kind to me, than I am to you. That is not being equal."
"You don't like it?"
"I like it very much, but I am not unselfish enough to return it as often."
"You've done your share. You've been courageous and unselfish, enough for a lifetime. It is I who am unequal to you."
"No. Please be yourself. It was my choice too. I don't expect you to be indebted to me. You will become resentful of me and in the end I shall be the loser."
"I am being myself. You deserve better than I can possibly give you."
I decided not to say any more. I didn't understand why he was behaving as though I had suddenly become a goddess. Our students were arriving so I stored my thoughts away. Perhaps I would mention it to mummy later. She would give me good advice.
I loved the lessons. While my two pupils chanted the days of the week or counted to one hundred in English, Lipika would sit on my knee. An avid pupil, she liked to join in at the top of her voice. The hours melted. We all chatted, laughed, and drank cha at the end of the morning, before they left. I had never felt so contented.
Occasionally Kajal began to give more help in the market even then our mother would often bring Kajal home because she was "not well", leaving Supriya and Dinesh to cope with both the work and the children. Kajal had become self-indulgent b
ut I hoped it would all be resolved, without me making a fuss. After all, Supriya did not complain, while I felt torn between guilt and anger that nothing changed.
"Mummy," I said catching her alone for a moment in the kitchen while Kajal slept. "You are making too much fuss of Kajal. She might get used to it and remain an invalid."
"I don't think so. Manasa, remember you have Dinesh and Lipika. She has no one of her own now."
I felt the guilt grind into the pit of my stomach. It was true, I was more then fortunate in contrast to Kajal who had lost everything, even little Ch'en. I decided not to dwell too much on the ups and downs of Kajal's moods or her resentfulness towards me. There was a price to pay for everything. I was still paying mine.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
I put all my energy into my work. It had been decided that we should give our employers a demonstration of what we had achieved with our pupils. Dinesh and I invited them to attend the next class we were to hold. A colourless man as thin as wire, the trek organiser, accompanied the hotelier, a barrel-stomached man whose eyebrows were perpetually raised in surprise or alarm. His shiny suit steamed with damp from the wet streets. Dinesh had removed the screen so that our employers could get a clearer view. I fetched cha from the kitchen and a tray of sandesh for him to enjoy, while we set about our demonstration lesson. The trek organiser sat rigid in his seat. The hotelier sat back on the blue wooden chair with a huge grin, which with his raised eyebrows gave him a comic expression. Our pupils enjoyed having an audience for whom to show off their new language skills. First the men chanted their numbers and days of the week. Then the women sang "Ten Green Bottles" and "One Man Went To Mow". The words were clear although nobody understood them fully but we all clapped and cheered when it was over. I had looked forward to the next part of the lesson. The women were to have a conversation in English for use in the market.
"I would like to fly a kite. Where can I purchase it?"
"Ah, You must buy a beautiful one from Dinesh at his market stall."
"Where shall I find ... "
A huge commotion interrupted the flow of the lesson. Kajal returned from the market, with mother and Supriya all shouting and flapping about. I was furious. They knew this was an important day for our work. I made my pupils begin again whilst Dinesh slipped out. He soon returned looking flushed and shaken. He whispered something to our employers. The wiry one looked blank while the hotelier's eyebrows rose even higher. The women hesitated, then seeing they had lost the attention of their audiences trailed to a halt. I was becoming angrier by the second. Kajal and the others continued creating a din, rushing about like a pack of hyenas. Dinesh called for attention to address us all. He had to shout to make himself audible above the noise from the other room, and the speculative chatter among our curious pupils. "We will stop our demonstration lesson now. Your English has been excellent." He ushered them all away with impatient haste. Although the employers seemed unmoved they rushed off too as though fleeing disaster.
"This is terrible, Dinesh. I am ashamed. Why have you allowed this?" I leaned against the wall defeated.
Dinesh, oblivious to the shouting and dashing about, hobbled restlessly from the screen to the window, picking up a book here and there, and putting it down again. He seemed to have retreated nervously into an imaginary place, unable to look at me.
I snapped. "You have sent our employers away. They will dismiss us now." His silence infuriated me. "What is going on out there? I shall go and speak to mummy and Kajal."
"No. Wait! Manasa, I thought you might guess what's happening." He looked as though someone had hit him. I noticed that his hand trembled. The book he was holding slid to the floor. He seemed unable to form the words he needed. Then I knew someone was badly hurt. That was what it was all about and he was afraid of upsetting me. I pushed past him and ran to the bedroom. Kajal lay writhing and screaming out, on her bed. I froze. They need not tell me now. I understood clearly.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
"Manasa. Help us." Mummy shouted.
"No! Not her. Send her away!" Kajal screamed and turned her head away.
"Don't worry. You'll be alright, Kajal. We will look after you." Supriya soothed her, as she dabbed at her face with a wet cloth. Kajal preferred Supriya to me? It was too much to take in. I looked round for Dinesh but he had gone. I rushed off in tears. Mummy came out to me.
"The baby's coming fast, Manasa, she doesn't mean what she says. Stay close by in case you must go for help." Mummy and I had assisted at many deliveries. I stood by the open door and watched. Kajal was crushing Supriya's hand. The baby's head was almost out now. I slipped into the room and stood with mummy. She smiled at me. "It's almost here." She pressed down on Kajal's stomach. Kajal heaved and panted, and gave one last groan with which mummy's grandson entered the world. "Kajal, you have a son, a son! You've been blessed with another son, Kajal." Mummy made him gasp for his first breath. She wiped the mucus from his eyes, nose, and mouth, and lay him in Kajal's arms. Kajal was exhausted but she put him to her breast. Soft warm tears coursed down her cheeks as she looked at him and stroked his head.
I went and knelt beside her. "Kajal, you have a new son. I am very, very happy." I could see pain in her eyes. I guessed she was remembering her first son and maybe Ch'en too. I held her hand and kissed her very tiny son. "You didn't know, Kajal that you were pregnant?" She turned her face away and sobbed hard.
"No! No!" She screamed at me.
I didn't know what to do. Mummy came and pulled me away. She led me to the kitchen while Supriya stayed to look after Kajal.
"Mummy she is troubled. We have not told you about what happened in Calcutta. Oh I wish I had found the courage to tell you."
Mummy's fearful eyes searched mine. "Then tell me now, Manasa." We sat down and I told her all that had happened since Kajal and I had left home. I tried to keep the account simple but she took in much more than my words. When I had finished I looked at her and waited for her response. In those awful minutes her body seemed to have shrunk, her face to have grown heavy and drawn. "I can't believe all these things could have befallen you both or that you've survived them. My life was bad but yours have been worse." She sobbed into her hands. I was unable to move. Finally she said, "Then we don't know whose baby Kajal has given birth to. It's a very sad thing that she and her son will not know his father. He's such a small baby; I believe he has come early. I hope he'll survive. A son will be a help to her."
I thought back carefully over all I had told her. "I think Kajal would not want to know the father. She is upset to have given birth to a child of one of those bad men that killed Ch'en. Poor Kajal."
"Manasa, you have never told me about this. I'm lost. What shall we do?" She looked afraid and vulnerable as I had seen her look, when my father came back drunk and she knew she was powerless to stop him hurting her. I sat silently letting my feelings tumble over each other to find some kind of meaning. It was an unspeakable thought. The child would have evil blood.
"Let me go and talk to her, mummy. I shall tell her you know all that has happened, that you understand, and that I do too. Everyone already knows she is in mourning. We will say she became pregnant just before her husband died. Then they will be glad for her. She will be safe and so will her son. No matter if he has bad blood in him. We shall teach him a different way."
Drawn and sad she agreed. "Kajal deserves some comfort in her son. You speak to her I am too exhausted."
Kajal lay staring at the ceiling. The baby rested beside her like a forgotten parcel. Supriya remained in the room, silent and still.
"Kajal." I murmured "It is alright. You will be safe here with your son. How clever you are to have managed another boy. There is no need to worry about the father. He is of your blood too, Kajal."
She fixed cold hard eyes on me. "You say I should be proud of my son?"
"He will be good for you. No one will know what happened to you. We will say your husband died before we left Calcutta. Dinesh will
agree. He has always been kind. I have explained to mummy about all that happened to us in Calcutta. She is sad and upset because she loves you." I waited for some response but none came. "We shall take care of you. You will grow to love your son and then you will be glad." I spoke more confidently than I felt. In Kajal's position I too might despair. After all the shame those men had forced upon her, how could she love a child by one of them? Perhaps it was, after all, too much to ask of her.
"Take him away. I don't want him." Tears glistened in her eyes. I bent and kissed her. She closed her eyes to sleep. Supriya picked up the dozing baby and clasped him to her protecting him from Kajal's rejection. I saw anger on her face as she walked past with the child firmly cradled against her.
Sari Caste Page 24