Phoolsunghi

by Pandey Kapil

  Soon, preparations were afoot for fighting a legal battle and a lawsuit was duly filed. But the expenses of the court were steep, and the litigants were poor. From the very outset, Prasad started lending money to Sahay’s relatives, just as he had promised. However, in public, he pretended to have little to do with the affair. When Gulzaribai got the legal notice, she called for Prasad, as was anticipated. Prasad was thrilled at the invitation, but he decided to conceal his elation and put on a look of nonchalance. When he reached the Red Mansion, he was given a warm welcome. It was the telltale sign that his scheme would bear fruits. Before long, Gulzaribai came out to meet him. She looked disturbed and jittery; one could sense that she was on the verge of breaking down. For Prasad, it was a supremely satisfying sight.

  ‘Rai Sahib, what do you think of the court case? What will happen now?’

  Prasad made a serious face and replied, ‘Bai-ji, this lawsuit is as unpredictable as any other. At this point, I can’t guess the outcome. But you don’t need to worry. I am here for you; you will always find me ready for any help that you might need.’

  A little comforted, Gulzaribai continued, ‘Munshi-ji told me that the very basis of the court case is flimsy. The relatives have no business questioning however Sahib decides to divide his property. Moreover, he hasn’t so much as touched his ancestral deeds. He also said that since Sahib is still alive, these objections cannot be raised in the first place; as of now, they have no claim even on the share that has been set aside for them.’

  ‘What else could one expect from Shivdharilal? The man has grown senile with age. Bai-ji, listen to me carefully. You must put up a strong defence in the law court. Also, you should not get complacent trusting that oldie. Your direct involvement in the matter is crucial. If you need any help, do not hesitate asking me for it. Yes?’ Prasad could see that Gulzaribai was completely entangled in the trap he had laid out for her. Was it possible for her to escape? Where would the wild fox run to, if not to the wilderness? Satisfied at the way things were unfolding, he decided to leave, lest his exhilaration should become apparent to his host. He was truly on cloud nine.

  * * *

  When the vagaries of life make humans fearful, their hearts turn to deities and ancestors for comfort. Gulzaribai’s condition was no different. Not too long ago, she enjoyed a patronage so bounteous and steady that the cares of the world were not for her. But soon, everything went topsy-turvy, almost without a warning. All of a sudden, she found herself burdened with the responsibilities of a huge estate. And the lawsuit, which questioned her rights over that very estate, followed soon afterwards. For Gulzaribai, these were troubled times. All through the day, she would juggle the affairs of the zamindari and visits to the lawyer. It was only in the shrine room that she found a little solace. Meanwhile, Mahendar was called upon to restart the tradition of late-evening devotional recitals. Every day, he would serenade his audience with his velvety voice, new compositions and inventive tunes. People held him in high esteem and Gulzaribai saw to it that all his needs were taken care of.

  Sometimes, during those moments of tranquility in the shrine room, she would sing a snatch from one of his songs. When her placid voice reached Mahendar, piercing through the high walls of the Red Mansion, he would feel himself grow extremely restless. And whenever that happened, Gulzaribai’s nose ring, which always remained in his pocket, appeared to flare up. Choked on his own baffling sentiments, Mahendar would simply pace about his room.

  With each passing day, the court case was getting more and more knotty, as all such cases are known to get. And as the legal process unfolded, Prasad became increasingly indispensable. With great cunning, he managed to appear loyal to both the parties; the new owners of the White Mansion were totally dependent on him for monetary assistance, while Gulzaribai put all her faith in his legal advice. To both of them, he was not just their greatest sympathizer, but their chief counselor too.

  Before long, Prasad became a regular visitor to the Red Mansion. Whenever he came over, he was received with elaborate rites of hospitality; the servants were prompt in attending to all his comforts and he was treated to a variety of expensive foreign wines. But in spite all the ceremonies of affection, Gulzaribai, for her part, remained somewhat distant from him. Prasad found her willed detachment unbearable, yet, like an expert hunter, he remained on the lookout for every opportune moment. For many reasons, Shivdharilal did not quite approve of him. But the worldly-wise old hand chose to remain tight-lipped about it; he was gripped by the realization that since he was a mere servant of the mansion, he must refrain from sticking his nose in the affairs of his employer.

  Like Shivdharilal, Mahendar, too, disliked Prasad. In fact, he loathed his intimate overtures towards Gulzaribai. He felt that Prasad’s daily visits somehow diminished him. Was he not the man in the house? Whenever those visits coincided with his performance, he grew so nervy that his singing went out of tune and he started forgetting the lyrics of his own composition. He often wondered why Gulzaribai had to treat Prasad with such excessive warmth; must he enjoy all those liberties in the Red Mansion? Every time these thoughts crossed his mind, he could feel the piercing presence of Gulzaribai’s nose ring more keenly.

  Soon, Gulzaribai started consulting a lawyer and a tiring routine of visits to his office commenced. Everyday, she would climb into her carriage and set off for the lawyer’s place. During such visits, she was often escorted by Prasad. To Mahendar, this was an insufferable sight. With each passing day, his restlessness grew. And then, one day, when he could no longer hold that deluge of emotions, he decided to confront her.

  It was nearing sunset. Gulzaribai was getting ready to visit her lawyer, and as always, Prasad was to accompany her. A carriage awaited them on the porch. As Gulzaribai approached the vehicle, Mahendar blocked her way and said, ‘There is something that I need to tell you.’

  ‘Please do.’

  ‘Not here. I’ll speak to you alone.’

  Gulzaribai was visibly irked by the suggestion; for a while, she just stared at him. ‘All right, once I come back to the mansion, I’ll hear you out,’ she said, with her brows arched, and her tone solemn. And then, she hopped into the carriage, as did Prasad. The vehicle moved out of the gate, making a rhythmic ‘tik tik’ sound.

  Mahendar was taken aback by her snub; it took him a while to regain his nerves. He could feel blood rush to his head and his entire body shook. He stepped out of the mansion, hoping to escape this feeling of humiliation. As he walked along the river, the cold breeze that blew over the Saryu brought him a little respite. Yet, his heart raced whenever he thought of the episode. When nothing seemed to bring him comfort, he returned to his room, tumbled into his bed and dozed off.

  He was in a quandary; time and again, he regretted his decision to face up to Gulzaribai, but her nose ring ignited a feeling of envy towards Prasad. He felt that he was being slighted on purpose, so that Prasad may feel valued. How come Gulzaribai had no time for him? Humbled by the stinging insult, he kept telling himself that he never should have meddled in the personal affairs of those around him. After much soul-searching, he decided that he would neither breathe a word of what had happened, nor would he broach the subject ever again. But Gulzaribai’s ever-growing closeness with Prasad made him green with envy, and the nose ring in his pocket convinced him that he was free to bare his heart to her.

  When Tiwari-ji woke him up at dinner time, he obliged him by eating a little, albeit disinterestedly. A weird and uneasy feeling had overtaken him. He was unable to extricate himself from that long-drawn-out dilemma. Feeling sorry for himself, he crashed again on his bed and soon, fell asleep.

  Around midnight, Gulzaribai’s carriage rumbled back into the mansion. When Mahendar heard that noise, his heart started pounding. The carriage stopped briefly on the porch, and then proceeded towards the garage. Once again, all was quiet. Mahendar breathed a sigh of relief. But barely fifteen minutes had passed when a servant arrived to summon him, ‘Misir Baba, a
re you asleep? Please come with me, the mistress calls you.’

  The unexpected summon had put Mahendar in a dilemma. Should he snub her back by pretending to be asleep, or should he oblige her? But all his conundrum aside, he was sure of the nose ring; it reminded him of his rights in the Red Mansion. Buoyed by the thought, he decided to accompany the messenger.

  Gulzaribai was waiting for him in the sitting room, sunk in a couch. She was quiet and still. Her beauty, like flames against a dark night, shone brighter under the faint light of the lamp. As Mahendar stepped inside the room, he couldn’t escape being scorched by that flame. She signaled him to sit on the couch opposite hers. He could feel that her composure was insincere. Since their earlier interaction, Mahendar’s own keenness to discuss the matter had simmered down very much. And now, having seen that look of uneasy calm on her face, he felt all the more hesitant.

  ‘Misir-ji, you wanted to say something in private. Well, go ahead,’ Gulzaribai breached that uncomfortable silence.

  Mahendar found her candor quite surprising. He couldn’t bring himself to utter a word of the speech he had been rehearsing in his head. Gulzaribai frowned at his silence. That stern look unsettled him further and he felt a sudden rush of blood. Clearing his throat, he blurted everything out at one go.

  ‘I wanted to say that Lachhman Babu isn’t a good man. Spending too much of your time with him would be unwise.’

  Gulzaribai straightened her back, sat upright, and stared at him coldly. Then, in a grave voice, she said, ‘Misir-ji, I am not a child who needs to be told good from bad. I will do whatever I consider right and proper. I will make friends with whoever I wish to get friendly with. Who are you to place restrictions on me? What right do you have to interfere in my affairs? Also, I want you to get this straight: I am not a petty-minded person like you. Before you set out to sermonize, please be advised to look at your own conduct.’

  * * *

  Mahendar stood stunned by that response, unable to believe his ears. So searing were her words that he felt as if someone had poured molten glass straight into his eardrums. His throat went dry. All of his agitation and envy had evaporated in the space of a few moments. He pictured himself in free fall, plummeting to his certain demise, with no one to rescue him.

  ‘O’ God, what just happened? O’ what have you done, Mahendar?’

  He was at his wit’s end; he didn’t know how to react to that terrible insult. Faced with that impossible quandary, he unmindfully slid his hands into the pockets of his coat and sat motionless in intense embarrassment. The packet containing Gulzaribai’s nose ring was still there. When he felt it with his fingers, he pulled it out, and for a while, kept tossing it about—from one hand to another. Once his throbbing head had cooled down, he put it on the centre-table and got up to leave. Gulzaribai’s couch was lying vacant. As he stepped out of the sitting room, recalling the scene that had just ended, he could not stop cursing himself.

  ‘O’ Ram, how did all this happen? Why did I lose my mind?’

  His world had been turned upside down; one moment, he was flying high in the sky, the next moment, he had sunk into a dark pit within the earth. He had finally awakened to the seamy side of life and his natural simplicity was corroded. That onerous shame threatened to bury him under its own weight. He stepped out of the mansion and stopped for a while on the porch. The ground beneath his feet felt like embers and the place had become insufferable. Instead of returning to his room, he headed out of the gate and kept walking frantically. Bursting with regret, he merely followed his feet and went in whatever direction they took him. He was too mortified to cast even one last glance at the Red Mansion.

  When he composed himself, he realized that he was standing at the Chhapra station. A train was waiting on the platform. For a while, he just stood there, in a state of indecision. The train whistled and its compartments began to move. As the last compartment was about to trundle past him, he hopped in unthinkingly. The train sped off.

  12

  A Brief Stopover

  By the time the train reached Banaras City, it was already afternoon. Mahendar looked listless and sad. Taking pity on him, a concerned co-passenger decided to offer a practical advice and said, ‘Baba, why don’t you alight here itself, instead of the going to the next station? The next stop is a major junction. They might catch you there. I can see that you are travelling without a ticket, aren’t you?’

  Mahendar heeded the advice. Once he got down, that very co-passenger had another suggestion: he asked him to wait on the platform till the crowd dispersed. It took barely two minutes for the crowd to thin out. Soon the stationmaster ended his watch at the exit gate and strolled back to his office. Sensing an opportunity, he slipped out of the railway station.

  The place was totally unfamiliar. There were no acquaintances either. He loitered about the city, a pain searing in his heart. His savings were so meager that living in Banaras was sure to prove extremely challenging. Where to rest, where to go, he was without a clue.

  He wandered aimlessly for the whole day, and when evening came, he found himself at the famous Dashaswamegh ghat. The soothing sight of the Ganga-ji brought a sense of calm. He plunged in the cool water of the river and feeling somewhat rejuvenated, settled on the steps of the ghat. As he sat there, quietly idling his time away, evening gave way to night, but the crowd kept surging. It was the day of the Budhwa Mangal fair and the entire city had converged on the ghat. As far as the eyes could see, spectacularly bedecked houseboats floated all over the Ganga-ji’s bosom. And each of these houseboats hosted private mehfils of the patricians of Banaras. It appeared as if the kingdom of Indra, with all its divine opulence, had descended on the earth.

  On one of the houseboats he spotted Vidyadharibai. And then, on a second, he saw Kesarbai. There were so many of those dazzling houseboats, and each played host to a famous tawaif of Banaras. How was he supposed to recognize all of them? As he stood mesmerized by the grandeur of the night, someone thrust a plate of pooris in his hand. He had been starving since morning; that toothsome fragrance of ghee was all the joy his heart craved for at the moment. How could anyone starve in this great city of Annapurna, the presiding deity of plentitude?

  By morning, the festivities of the Budhwa Mangal were over, but Mahendar stayed on. He had found a permanent refuge on the ghat. Thenceforth, he would roam around the city all day long, and once it got dark, he would return to the ghat and sleep on its broad steps.

  * * *

  One day, as he was sitting purposelessly on the ghat, he reached into his pocket, perhaps out of habit. But there was nothing to be found. His empty pocket prompted him to reflect on how, until that unfortunate night, he had always treasured Gulzaribai’s nose ring. But, consumed by shame, he had abandoned it on a table and walked away from it, with no regrets whatsoever. Indeed, this is what saint Kabir meant when he said, ‘At the journey’s end, I surrendered my shawl, in the same form that I had found it.’ Mahendar felt a sudden urge to sing and started crooning one of his own old compositions.

  ‘O’ beloved,

  As I kneaded your head,

  Shoved by your elbow,

  My nose ring got mislaid.’

  There was a small temple dedicated to the goddess Annapurna, not too far from the spot on the ghat where Mahendar usually lazed about. That day, as Kesarbai was stepping out of that temple, she heard the words of a memorable song, sung in a fairly familiar voice. As she turned back elatedly, looking for the source of that unforgettable melody, her eyes fell on Mahendar. He was sitting right ahead of her, completely engrossed in his music. She hurried to greet him, but decided to wait for the song to end. Once it came to a close and Mahendar opened his eyes, she exclaimed, ‘Misir-ji, what brings you . . . ?’

  Mahendar had a nodding acquaintance with Kesarbai. On a few occasions, he had seen her at the Red Mansion in Chhapra. The moment he recognized her, he respectfully rose to his feet, but chose not to say anything in reply. His face appeared parched and s
ad. Kesarbai could read his situation.

  ‘Misir-ji, when did you come to Banaras?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, four or five days ago.’

  ‘And where are you staying, Misir-ji?’

  Mahendar had no answer to her question. After a moment of silence, he looked up and replied in an impassive tone, ‘I stay in the company of my body.’

  Kesarbai looked at him intently, smiled and said, ‘In that case, allow me invite you to my place. Please come with me.’

  Indeed, a drowning man will clutch at a straw; homeless for days, Mahendar could not decline the offer and followed her in silence. Soon, the two reached Dalmandi, the notorious neighborhood of the tawaifs of Banaras. Mahendar was quite fascinated by the rows of glittering shops that sat pompously on either side of the narrow lane. Kesarbai directed him to a stairway which stood huddled between two shops and led to the first floor of a rickety building. Mahendar obliged and climbed up the steps unthinkingly. However, once he reached the doorway, he was astonished to find that a house, which appeared so gloomy from the outside, had such ornate interiors; it was nearly as stunning as its owner.

  Kesarbai had keen eyes. With a simple glance, she could easily guess what a patron was worth. It took her no time to figure out Mahendar’s condition; that he was completely helpless became instantly obvious to her. It was this remarkable gift of observation that had aided her numerous conquests as a tawaif. Today, however, it was of no use to her. To every question that she could possibly ask, there was only one invariable response: silence.

  * * *

  In the heart of hearts, Kesarbai nurtured a monumental ambition. She longed to surpass Vidyadharibai’s musical abilities and outshine her. To this end, she had trained under several renowned gurus. Yet, she could not achieve total mastery over the elusive rasas. Although she was quite aware of Pandit Ramnarayan Misir’s high reputation as a singer, and on a few occasions, she had even heard him sing, but by then, Ramnarayan had restricted himself to only devotional compositions. However, Mahendar, his disciple, was in the prime of his musical prowess. When Kesarbai had first heard his voice at Haliwant Sahay’s durbar in Chhapra, she was awestruck and quick to conclude that if the celestial ambrosia indeed existed in the world, it had to be found in Mahendar’s throat. Today, when that same person stood before her in flesh and blood, she felt that all her prayers have been answered and an omniscient God had quietly created a golden opportunity for her; on the auspicious the day of the goddess Annapurna—the deity had blessed her with a mentor who would help her accomplish her long-standing personal quest. Putting the ceremonial platter away, she turned to Mahendar and pleaded, ‘Misir-ji, where would you go, leaving behind this city of Lord Vishwanath and goddess Annapurna? Stay here and accept me as your disciple.’ Mahendar’s silence indicated his consent.