Gently Falls the Bakula

by Sudha Murty

  Prabha was a friendly, open, person. Though Shrimati and she were different in nature they were very good friends. Prabha did not take life seriously. She did not think too deeply about anything either. Whenever Harish went on tour, she would go to Agra. She had a big friends’ circle even in Bombay. All of them would often go out for lunch or shopping.

  ‘Prabha, why don’t you have another child? Amol will also have company.’

  ‘Are you mad, Shrimati! I had a lot of problems during pregnancy and I do not want to go through it again. ‘

  The conversation was interrupted by Meher Engineer.

  ‘Hi, Shrimati! You are looking so beautiful. How do you manage to stay so slim? Do you go to Figurette at Bandra? It seems all film stars go there. I wish I were in Bandra,’ Mrs Engineer said wistfully, looking down at her obese body. Mr Engineer was a well-known builder.

  They were joined by Prema Malhotra, wife of an advertising executive. ‘Shrimati! How nice to see you again. What are your plans for the weekend? It seems there is a diamond jewellery exhibition on at Tribhuvandas Zaveri. All of us have decided to go. Why don’t you come with us?’ she said.

  ‘Sorry, I may not be able to come. Shri might be at home.’

  ‘Oh c’mon Shrimati! You behave like a perfect housewife. When our men don’t bother about us and travel all the time for their work, we also should spend our time the way we want.’ That was the advice given by the elderly, in fact seniormost lady, Indumathi Sukhtankar.

  Shrimati was feeling sick. Sarees, jewellery always brought her bad memories. They would remind her of Gangakka’s taunts. Gangakka wanted her daughter-in-law to be simple but her daughter could wear the best of sarees and loads of gold ornaments. If Shrimati bought an expensive saree, Gangakka would shout at her for wasting Shrikant’s money.

  Rama had an indirect way of mocking her, ‘Shrimati, for your complexion, pearl jewellery might be better than gold!’ suggesting that Shrimati was darker than Shrikant. But there is no use thinking of all that now, thought Shrimati, and went back to the guests.

  Shrikant had noticed that his wife was not her normal self that day and on the pretext of taking his wallet from her, he went up to Shrimati and softly but firmly told her in Kannada, ‘Shrimati, what’s wrong with you? You have not spoken to Jacob! Go and talk to him and his wife immediately.’

  The chief guests for the evening, Jacob and Dolly Lynes, had arrived a few minutes earlier. Dolly had an artificial smile on her lips. She was a party person. She attended and hosted a hundred such parties throughout the year.

  Shrimati went up to them and with a smile, greeted them. After some small talk, Dolly said to Shrimati, ‘It seems you are very knowledgeable in history? You must have got your doctorate in America. ‘

  Shrimati replied curtly, ‘No, I am just an MA from my hometown.’

  ‘Oh, is that so? Then how did you manage to acquire so much knowledge and sophistication?’

  Shrimati did not bother to answer that question.

  For Dolly, the answer was not important. She was just making conversation.

  ‘Well, Shrimati, then you must study the ancient and splendid history of America.’

  ‘Excuse me, Dolly. Your history is neither ancient nor splendid. The success of America is the result of technical progress and implementation of the innovative ideas that were born in some other country. Your country’s history is the youngest in the world.’

  ‘I don’t understand . . .’

  ‘Take the example of SAP software. It was innovated in Germany but implemented in the US and today the whole world thinks it is an American invention . . .’

  Shrikant’s sharp ears caught Shrimati’s cold and harsh remarks.

  What was Shrimati talking about? This was not the kind of thing to say at a party. Dolly was the power behind Jacob. Why argue with such a person?

  Here he was trying to please everyone, and there was Shrimati being so blunt. Shrikant was worried that she might spoil things for him and ruin his business dealings. A man of great common sense, he knew that if someone’s clothes were stuck on a thorn bush, it was better to gently free the garment than pull it off.

  Shrikant joined the conversation.

  ‘Hello, Dolly! You look wonderful! How was your trip to Jaipur?’

  This was an indication for Shrimati to stop being blunt. But she deliberately ignored it.

  ‘Oh, Shrikant, it was lovely. I can see so much Western influence in India. Look at the name of this room for instance. It is such a beautiful French name.’

  Neither Dolly nor Shrikant knew what La Giaconda meant.

  Shrimati could not resist. ‘It is not a mere French name. It is the name of the world-famous painting of Leonardo da Vinci, the Mona Lisa, the lady with the enigmatic smile. It is her the room is named after. If one goes to Paris and one has the time and the inclination to visit the Louvre, one can see the Mona Lisa there.’

  Shrikant was taken aback. He felt that this was an insult to Dolly. Shrimati was not behaving like a charming hostess. On the contrary, she was being rude to his guest!

  How did it matter if it was La Giaconda or Mona Lisa. Getting business was Shrikant’s ultimate intention.

  The party went on as usual. Shrikant did not disturb Shrimati again.

  TWENTY-THREE

  While returning from the party, Shrikant was not his placid self. He was fuming. He wanted to talk to Shrimati. He could not wait till they reached home so he started the conversation in Kannada. Even in that situation he took care that Maruthi, his driver, should not understand the contents of the conversation.

  ‘Shrimati, what is the matter with you? Why did you insult Dolly? Who wanted your knowledge of history?’

  ‘Shri, I did not go there to exhibit my knowledge. For that matter, I did not even want to go. Even if I had wanted to show off, there was no one there who would have understood it. Look at Dolly! Look at her arrogance! The way she looks down upon India—she believes that we have to learn everything from their country. Look at Professor Collins or Dorothy. They are so knowledgeable and yet humble. Education should bring simplicity and modesty.’

  ‘Enough of your lecture, Shrimati. Don’t talk about your worthless subject. The world of business is so different from yours. History cannot feed you. Don’t behave like a historian at such parties. You should remember that you represent our company and must be loyal to it. After all, what is there in India’s history to boast so much about?’ Shrikant paused.

  Shrimati was tremendously hurt. She did not answer. Whatever language they had spoken in, Maruthi would know that husband and wife were quarrelling. When they reached home, Shrikant changed into his night-dress and picked up the Economic Times. He usually glanced at the headlines in the morning as there wasn’t enough time to read in detail. But at night he read it carefully. That day, he was so upset by the incident that though he was holding the paper, he was unable to read.

  Shrimati was more upset than him. Her mind was seething. For the first time in ten years of marriage, Shrikant had attacked her individual freedom. What had he said? Shrimati recalled his words. Don’t talk about your worthless history. The world of business is so different from yours. History cannot feed you. Don’t behave like a historian at such parties. You should remember that you represent our company . . . After all, what is there in India’s history to boast so much about?

  She too could have said many things to him, ‘Shri, do not forget that you are not only the director of a company. You are also the husband of Shrimati who is sensitive and sentimental about Indian history. Do not measure everything in terms of profit and loss.’ But she had not said that. She had never talked ill of anybody, or deliberately hurt Shrikant. But today his sharp words had chopped the tender tree of their relationship.

  Shrimati snatched the paper that Shrikant was trying to read.

  ‘Shri, tell me what was your intention in saying all that in the car? I have not done anything to bring down your prestige.’ The norma
lly quiet Shrimati was bursting like a cracker torched by a flame. She was so upset and emotional that her hands were trembling. Shrikant took her hands and made her sit next to him. He was cool and calculative in his words. ‘Shrimati, we Indians live on our past glory. Once upon a time, it is said, India was the most prosperous country, the land of honey and nectar. Diamonds and pearls were sold on the streets of Hampi. The doormen of Nalanda University would conduct the entrance examinations for students. Whether there is any truth in that or not, I do not know. But these are things of the past. Forget the past. What we are today is what is relevant and important.We have a very rigid caste system, superstitions abound and to top it all, a highly corrupt society. Look at the West. They are scientific, systematic and progressive. You talk so much about history, let me ask you a simple question. Which is more important, the Kalinga war which your Emperor Ashoka fought or present-day terrorism which we have to stop? We must think of the ways by which we can make India a modern, scientific and developed country.

  ‘Shrimati, you talk so much about Ashoka and idolize him. What has he done? He embraced Buddhism. Hence, his army became weak. Subsequently, he never fought a war to protect his country. Eventually, his empire was destroyed by his enemies. Because of his attitude we lost our country to invaders.’

  Shrikant was criticizing Shrimati’s favourite subject and belittling her hero, Ashoka. Though Shrikant did not know much about Ashoka, he said all that because he wanted to hurt Shrimati. Business had taught him that. To insult a person, you don’t need to attack him or her directly, one can do that instead by attacking what that person admires or respects. Though Shrikant had spoken calmly and coolly, he was still fuming inside. He went to the refrigerator and drank a glass of water to hide his anger.

  Shrimati’s fury knew no bounds. ‘Shri, what are you trying to suggest? Do you mean history is a subject of the dead, the lost and the defeated? Does the past not have any relevance to the present, according to you? You are wrong. It does. A company’s past can say what a company’s future can be, only in your language it is called “track record”! You gave me the example of Ashoka, but what do you know about him? One shouldn’t talk about anything without knowing enough about the subject. For a person like you who always calculates everything, understanding such a great human being is way beyond your ability. Ashoka never tried to immortalize himself. His deeds made him great. When an empire falls, there are various reasons for it. The successors of the emperor might not be good. The invader might be mighty. Just a strong army cannot win a war. What happened to Allauddin Khilji who extended his kingdom from Delhi to Rameswaram by sheer power of the sword? His empire vanished within four years of his death. A benevolent king like Shivaji made a great impact with his small army against the mighty Mughals. For a failure, there are many complex reasons. And for your information, war is not the only solution.

  ‘Shri, you have visited Boston. You have visited Delhi. Boston is not older than Delhi. But the historical sense of Americans makes them preserve all the historical monuments of Boston. Have you not seen the Freedom Trial in Boston? How many of us would like to keep our monuments like them? Every small country in Europe is extremely proud of its history and will make every effort to preserve and showcase it.’

  Shrimati paused and swallowed deeply. Her face was flushed with emotion. She then continued, ‘Over a period of time, the superstitions of a culture grow on to become a habit. The older the civilization, the greater the superstitious beliefs and hence slower the progress. It is like a wave. Older civilizations, like Egypt, China and India, are rigid unlike America. Just as there are ups and downs in the life of an individual, the same is true for a country.’

  Shrimati paused and looked at Shrikant. She had never spoken so much with such feeling. Shrikant was surprised. He looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. Shrimati had not finished. She remembered the way he had whipped her with his words and she continued.

  ‘Don’t think Western countries do not have superstitions and that they are always rational. Why is number thirteen considered a bad number? Why do they say walking under a ladder brings bad luck? And why do young girls rush to catch the bride’s bouquet? One should think logically about why we have remained economically backward. A bright person like you who is in business can understand it very well. You don’t require a historian’s help. When the Industrial Revolution took place, we were slaves of the British. They destroyed our home industries so that we would have to buy their products. A stepmother will never love her stepchildren. So the British never bothered about the industrialization of our country. Please do not think that industrialization is such a great thing. It loosens social bonding, brings in a disparity between the haves and have nots and most importantly, leads to psychological disorders.’

  Shrimati stopped talking. Shrikant was still listening to her. This time, Shrimati drank water.

  She continued, her voice softening. ‘Shri, please look at your dress, and the English language that you speak most of the time. Is it not a witness to the victory of British colonization, even after many years of independence?’

  This was too much for Shrikant. He was dumbstruck. He had never expected Shrimati to lash out at him with such harsh words. She would usually cry and keep quiet but never argue with him so fiercely. As an individual, he was aware that Shrimati’s arguments were clear, precise and logical, but as a husband, he was unable to digest it. It was probably the first time in the ten years of their marriage that Shrimati had shown her unhappiness and disagreement with Shrikant’s way of thinking. In that instant Shrikant felt that they were two strangers living under the same roof.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Shrikant received a letter from Gangakka. She wrote, once when Shrikant was ill as a child, she had prayed for his recovery to Lord Mylaralinga. Now, the Lord had appeared in her dreams and had reminded her of her dues. So she had decided to give a golden crown to the Lord. She ordered her son to take a few days’ leave and make the pilgrimage with the crown. There was no mention of Shrimati in the entire letter.

  The temple of Mylaralinga, another name of Shiva or Eshwara, is situated on the hills of Devaragudda, around a hundred kilometres from Hubli. Gangakka had great faith in the family deity and believed that unless Lord Mylaralinga blessed him, Shrikant would not prosper.

  Shrikant knew that his mother was very superstitious and gods appearing in her dreams was a common occurrence. He was very happy that his money could be used to fulfil his mother’s wishes. Money was not an issue at all. But Shrikant being an atheist, never went with her on pilgrimages. He thought that the next time he went to Bangalore, he would visit his sister and mother at Hubli. But travelling to Hubli would take up an extra day.

  While having dinner that night he told Shrimati, ‘On my next visit to Bangalore, mark two days off for personal work.’

  Shrimati immediately realized the reason. It irritated her. Though she tried to hide it, her unhappiness showed on her face. ‘So, you are going to Hubli. Is there any special reason?’

  ‘Not really, but I wanted to see Avva.’

  ‘But Shrikant, I want you to take a couple of days off and sit with me to talk over many things.’

  ‘What is there to talk for two days, Shrimati?’

  ‘When you can spend two days for your mother’s sake, can’t you spend two days with me? I am all alone here.’

  ‘That is not a new thing for you. If you want, you can come to Hubli too.’

  ‘When your mother has not called me, why should I come? Why should I stay alone here? Has your sister stayed alone any time in her life? Your mother goes to keep her company even if she is alone for a day.’

  ‘Shrimati, don’t compare yourself with Rama. You are more educated than her.’

  ‘Shrikant, you have one set of rules for me and another for her. Every time she gets the upper hand only because she is uneducated. Is it wrong that I am educated? Why should I have to suffer like this?’

 
Actually the issue was not about staying alone. It was Gangakka.

  ‘Shri, you have time and money for your mother. I don’t want your money. But I want your time.’ Shrimati’s anger was raging and her patience was breaking. She could not take any more insults from Gangakka.

  ‘Avva knows that you are not happy there and you won’t come. So she has not invited you.’

  Shrimati started sobbing. All said and done, Shrikant was Gangakka’s son. Even after ten years of marriage, he had never been Shrimati’s husband. It is the duty of every mother to educate her child, regardless of the odds. Shrikant, however, believed that his mother had made an extraordinary sacrifice for him. On the other hand, all that Shrimati had done was merely the duty of a wife, and there was nothing special about it.

  Shrikant picked up his files and went to his study. Shrimati was hoping that he would talk to her, console her. But he didn’t. Shrimati felt suffocated. She could not stay in the same house with Shrikant. She took the house keys and walked out.

  It was night and she was all alone. Hearing the sound, Shrikant knew that Shrimati had opened the front door. He shouted, ‘Shrimati, don’t go out alone!’

  She replied coolly, ‘I can manage.’

  Shrikant was relieved that the quarrel had ended, and immersed himself in his files. Shrimati got out of the building and started walking down the road.

  This prestigious apartment block housed executives of many companies. She wondered whether every family had fights like theirs. Was there real peace in any family? Were all these ambitious men as unconcerned about their wives’ feelings? Who knows!

  Nobody tells the truth about their family life. Most husbands and wives put on the appearance of being perfectly matched!