Mistress: A Novel

by Anita Nair

  Sugriva went to the palace doors and challenged Bali to a fight.

  Bali looked up from what he was doing and said, ‘What is wrong with that fool, Sugriva? Has he gone mad? Does he think he can defeat me?’

  Bali screamed, ‘Go away!’

  But Sugriva continued to holler challenges. Bali lost his temper and stepped out of the palace and they began to wrestle. Rama, who was hiding behind a tree, shot an arrow which pierced Bali’s heart and killed him. The fifth act of deception.

  Thus Sugriva became king again, and his monkey army helped Rama in his battle against Ravana.

  In the story there is no mention of the remorse Sugriva and Rama should have felt. How did they reconcile themselves to the deception they had carried out? That is the sixth and never discussed act of deception. Did they put it out of their minds and carry on as if nothing had happened? If so, they were without even the trace of a conscience. And these are the gods we have venerated for centuries. It frightens me to even think about it.

  How do you live with such deceit for the rest of your life? How do you not let it haunt you? How do you balance all the acts of goodness you may do against that one act of deceit?

  This is what worries me. How will Radha be able to live with herself? Or, for that matter, I?

  Tomorrow morning I will begin my pilgrimage of deceit. Maya and I will seek stolen moments concocted with lies and complicity, and compromises we make with our conscience.

  As I lie in bed, eyes wide open to darkness and deception, I think it is time I introduced reality into the fairytale world of Sethu and Saadiya.

  Only then will Radha and Chris, and my Maya—for she too will hear this story—understand the gravity of what they have chosen for themselves.

  1938–1940 The Grammar of Deceit

  The delivery room was in a block that stood apart from the main hospital building. As if by positioning it there, the natural and joyful phenomenon of childbirth could be distanced from the horrors of disease and trauma. Whatever might have been the original reason, Dr Samuel approved wholeheartedly of this segregation. Shrieking women needed to be kept in their place.

  But now, as he looked at Saadiya’s wan face, he wished she would scream, shout, shriek, call her husband a few choice epithets as some of his patients did and, with the brutal force of that rage, push the baby out.

  Instead, Saadiya lay there, her face contorting every time a contraction seized her, but not crying, not uttering a sound, not even a whimper. ‘You don’t have to bite down your pain,’ Dr Samuel said. ‘You may scream and shout; no one will hear you. Except me, and you know me. Don’t you? Dr Samuel Sagayaraj. You are allowed to scream as loudly as you want, you know,’ he tried to joke.

  Saadiya turned her eyes to him as if she couldn’t comprehend his meaning. The doctor met her eyes and what he saw filled him with unease. There was resignation there, and hopelessness. She should be trying to fight the pain, he thought. Instead, she lay there as if suffering the pain was penance for a crime she had committed. The doctor knew fear then, like he had never known before. It was as if the girl was willing herself to die.

  Where was Seth, Sethu, he corrected himself. Sethu would know what was wrong. Why did she seem so disengaged from what was happening to her body?

  A huge old neem tree stood outside the delivery ward. Sethu stood beneath the tree, chewing on a stalk. Its bitterness flooded his mouth. How much longer would it be, he wondered.

  Usually there were at least a dozen people huddled beneath the neem tree. Expectant fathers and soon-to-be grandparents, to-be uncles and aunts, bystanders who could do nothing but flinch at the thought of what was happening within the labour room.

  But this day, the neem tree stood all by itself and the long corridor that flanked the labour ward was wreathed in evening shadows unmarred by human presence. Sethu walked towards the wooden staircase. He sat on one of the steps, still chewing on his stalk. She had been in the labour room for more than five hours now. Dr Samuel was with her. All would be well. But he felt again that strange feeling—part fear, part joy, part uncertainty and horror.

  To quell the sensation, he counted the steps. Six steps. How few they were. Just six steps and yet, when he had walked in, he had felt as if they went on for ever. Like time, he thought. Yesterday seemed so long ago, and the day before that even farther.

  At first Sethu had wondered how he would cope with this ache deep within him. Saadiya had returned to Arabipatnam and he didn’t know when he would see her next. A few weeks later, the intensity of the ache lessened. At times, Saadiya seemed distant, almost a dream. Perhaps it was best this way, he told himself. What hope was there for a love like theirs? What future? It was best that it died even before it began.

  At twilight, Sethu heard a knock on the door. The doctor was in Madurai. He was to return only the following morning. Who could it be, he wondered.

  She stood there on the side of the road, her hands at her side, her face forlorn and afraid. He stared at her, unable to believe his eyes. Her face was naked for the world to gaze upon and she was all by herself. ‘What?’ he stammered, suddenly struck by the enormity of her presence at his doorstep.

  ‘I chose to come to you,’ she said, and slid into a little heap at his feet.

  The next morning, the doctor arrived beaming. What is he so smug about, Sethu wondered when he opened the door.

  ‘It is wonderful to be back,’ the doctor said in greeting. Unable to contain himself any longer, he burst out, ‘I am to be married. I have found a help meet. Bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh. She is a relative—her father is from my village. In her home, they eat the same rice as I do. In fact, she won’t eat anything else. She’s educated. After all, she is a doctor’s daughter, and her father said that he has taught her to assist him. What more can I ask for? My mother decided that we should announce the engagement right away and, after the dinner, she and I met the minister and do you know what she said to me? She said, “I would like us to call our home Rehoboth. For now the Lord hath made room for us and we shall be fruitful in this land.” You probably recognize that easily enough. Genesis 27. 22. It made my heart sing to know my help meet is a woman who lives by the Holy Book.’

  Sethu smiled. He recognized the help meet as well. Genesis 2. 20. He didn’t know what he felt about this new development, though. Astonishment that the doctor who he thought was destined to be an eternal bachelor had finally chanced upon someone suitable, relief that the doctor would now perhaps understand his situation.

  Then the doctor spotted Saadiya, who was trying to merge into the shadows that veiled the veranda. ‘Who is this?’

  Suddenly he recognized her and his voice rose in incredulous fear. ‘You are the Haji’s daughter. What are you doing here? I don’t understand.’

  Sethu took the bag that had dropped from the doctor’s hand. ‘I will explain,’ he said, leading the way into the house.

  The doctor listened, his bafflement turning into fury as Sethu used words he couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Love. Life. Soul. These were concepts one used to describe one’s relationship with the Heavenly Father, not the Haji’s youngest daughter.

  ‘I will not even try to understand what you are saying. How do you expect me to? It has no meaning. You say love. What do you know of love? What you call love is lust. Yes, I say, lust. Do you realize that you have dragged a girl out of her home and family? And for what?’

  ‘But I didn’t,’ Sethu protested, cutting the doctor off.

  ‘You do realize what this means, don’t you?’ the doctor said. He polished the lenses of his spectacles as if to give his hands something to do. He fears he might throttle me otherwise, Sethu thought with a laugh.

  Why wasn’t he worried? Here he was with a girl who had chosen to trust her life to his keeping. He had no visible prospects except for his job with the hospital, and that was in jeopardy from what he could gauge from the doctor’s anger.

  The doctor saw the young woman step outs
ide the veranda. He saw her walk towards a mango tree by the well. He swallowed. The girl seemed so much at ease here in his house. How long had she been staying here, he wondered. Perhaps he could persuade her to return. How could Seth have been so impulsive, so irresponsible?

  It isn’t the way you imagine it to be, Seth was saying. What did he mean? The doctor felt his anger return a hundredfold. He averted his gaze and said, ‘Look at her. She is a young girl with silly fancies in her head. This can only be your doing. She would never have had the courage to walk away from her home if you hadn’t encouraged her. This is a small town. Do you realize the implications of what you have done? But you never think, do you? You are always rushing around in a hurry to get things done, to prove how capable you are. Do you think I don’t know that you broke into the quarantine camp and stole supplies from there? You put my name in jeopardy then and you do so again now.’

  Sethu stared at the doctor, aghast. The ugliness of anger marked his face with a bestiality that was unnerving him. His eyes were narrowed slits; his teeth were pointed and sharp; his mouth snarled …who was this man?

  He felt rage gather in him. ‘You were glad enough then, when I brought the medicines. When it suits you, you call it God’s hand and when it doesn’t, it is my wilfulness. You are a hypocrite, do you know that? A sanctimonious hypocrite and a coward.’

  Samuel Sagayaraj’s face paled. He stared at Seth’s face. This man who spewed such venom, was it Seth? For how long had he nurtured these feelings within him? He must hate me so, Samuel Sagayaraj thought. Which is why he cares not a bit about how all this will affect my reputation. And it was the sense of betrayal that tore away the mask after all and made him say, ‘You broke my trust. This practice, this hospital, my reputation, everything is at stake because you want to fuck the Haji’s daughter.’

  Sethu felt his eyes widen. FUCK. Had the doctor actually used the word? He hadn’t thought the doctor knew the word. From lust to fuck had taken two minutes.

  ‘Fuck,’ Sethu repeated in bemusement.

  ‘Yes, fuck. That’s all there is on your mind. You wanted a fuck but why did you have to choose this girl? Aren’t there any whores around? What does she have that the women here don’t? A cunt lined with pearls?’

  Sethu began to laugh. Fuck. Cunt. Was this Dr Samuel Sagayaraj, the man with the keys to the kingdom of heaven?

  The doctor stopped, stricken. What was he saying? When he lost his temper, unbidden, epithets from his university years fouled his mouth. He wiped his mouth with the back of his palm.

  ‘I am sorry. I shouldn’t have used foul language. There is no excuse …’ Samuel Sagayaraj’s voice was contrite. Sethu stared at him for a long moment. ‘Yes, there is no excuse for what you said. The girl is to be my wife.’

  ‘Seth.’ The doctor reached forward to grip Sethu’s wrist. ‘You can’t be serious. Send her back and everything will be all right again. I’ll tell you what. I’ll take her back. The Haji will listen to me. He will take her back. No one needs to know about this sordid business.’

  One by one, Sethu prised away the tentacles of that grip. ‘I will not let her go. And she will not agree to it, no matter what you say to her. You don’t understand, do you? We love each other.’

  In the silence that followed, Sethu knew once again the stirring of freedom he felt when he held Saadiya in his arms. It was time to end the pretence.

  So, when the doctor, all traces of emotion wiped from his face said, ‘In which case, you have to go. You have to leave my home and the hospital right away’, Sethu welcomed the rejection.

  There could never have been an amicable parting, he realized then. No matter what the reason for his leaving, the doctor would have seen it as a betrayal. Acolytes, he thought, are not allowed to have a mind of their own.

  The doctor went to sit at his writing table. The room was a replica of his office at the hospital. His fingers drummed on the sheet of glass that spread itself on the wood top of the table, for a moment. Then he clasped his hands as if to rein in his unruly thoughts. ‘You do realize, don’t you? That you have betrayed my faith in you.’ His voice was low, even and harsh.

  Sethu felt sorrow sweep over him. Who was this man, he wondered again.

  ‘I made you what you are and I didn’t expect gratitude, but I did expect loyalty. So there is nothing I will do to help you.’ The doctor removed his glasses and wiped them carefully. ‘You talk of marrying her. But who will marry you? You are of one faith and she of another. In the eyes of your God and hers, this will never be a marriage. Of bodies, perhaps. But never of souls. And what of your children? Which faith will you follow in your home? Hers? Yours? As for your children, they will grow godless.’ The doctor shuddered at the thought of young minds that could seek no comfort in the thought of a benevolent, allforgiving father. ‘Every day you will discover differences. You will find that you have no meeting ground. How can there be one? Thorns, sweat, dust, that will be the sum total of your life. Every day, you will regret what you have done, and the sorrow that it will cause will leave no place for happiness.’

  Sethu flinched. The calculated girth of the words spoken caused a distance between them that they would never be able to bridge. If this was how it was to end, so be it. He met the doctor’s gaze and said, ‘I know you are angry. You have every right to be. Just as I have the right to want to make a life with Saadiya. I will leave. I did expect you to understand, but I was wrong. I bear you no malice, no anger. You helped me when I had no one else and I will never forget that. God be with you and …’ Sethu fumbled for the phrase, ‘your help meet in your Reheboth.’

  He turned to go, then stopped. ‘There is one other thing. My name is Sethu. Not Seth. I am a Hindu. Not a Christian, as you thought. But I believed every word of the book. I believed that your religion taught love and forgiveness. I believed that you would find it in you to offer us some of that precious Christian charity of spirit you talk so much about. But then, you always draw from the Bible what suits you and ignore the rest. So I will now do as it is advised in the Book of Job in your Bible. “I would seek unto God, and unto God would I commit my cause.” It doesn’t matter whether it is her God, or mine, or even yours. If there is a God, that God will take care of us.’

  When Sethu and Saadiya were gone, Samuel Sagayaraj sat with his head in his hands. He felt drained and bereft. But what else could he have done? To help Seth and the girl would have been to show approval, and he didn’t approve. As for his not being a Christian, what Seth—Sethu, he corrected himself—had done was unpardonable.

  The doctor wiped the sweat off his face and drew his writing materials out. He began a letter to the Haji. He had to explain, make amends, distance himself from all that had happened. The man cheated me as well, he began. Henceforth, it will be my wife who accompanies me, he finished.

  ‘You are not to worry. Everything will be all right,’ Sethu said.

  They were in a horse cart. Saadiya sat opposite him. Their knees met and parted with every movement of the cart.

  ‘Malik, I am not,’ she said.

  Sethu straightened, startled. ‘Malik? Why do you call me that? My name isn’t Malik.’

  ‘But it is!’ Saadiya whispered. ‘You are my Malik. The incomparable one who came from across the seas. Strong and straight, a leader among men, one who could be trusted to brave the ocean and winds and unknown ways. You are Malik. Don’t you see?’

  Sethu looked at her with a great surge of love. She made him feel ten feet tall. Nevertheless.

  He caressed her cheek with a finger. ‘I am Sethu. Not Seth. Not Malik. I have had enough of play-acting,’ he said, trying to be as gentle as he could. ‘You must think of me as Sethu.’

  Saadiya smiled. No matter what he said, he was her Malik. The incomparable.

  Sethu saw her smile. An inward smile that seemed to shrug his words away. He felt a sudden fear. Was this the difference the doctor had predicted, no, cursed him with?

  ‘It is a village only in nam
e. It’s just a few streets and the sea,’ James Raj had said. ‘Very few people live in that area. And those that do won’t bother you. They have their own secrets and lives. I built the house thinking it would be nice to live by the sea. The sea has given me all that I have. But my wife refuses to leave Nazareth. She wants people and streets and she is a great churchgoer …so the house lies vacant most of the time. Once in a while she consents to go there with me, but even then she begins to get restive. You can stay there till all this has settled down and if you like it as much as I do, you can continue to stay there rent free. Do you understand?’

  Sethu tried to read the man’s face. What was he expected to do in return? Then Sethu remembered his lesson from the sea: Don’t fight it. Let it be.

  So he agreed. As he did to James Raj’s offer of a job. ‘I need a man like you. Someone who can speak English, do the accounts and help me with my business.’

  The word business worried Sethu. No one knew what James Raj did. Some said he had a fleet of fishing boats. Others said he traded in diamonds and precious stones. But he was accorded as much respect as the doctor. For James Raj was the richest man in Nazareth. Perhaps the doctor resented this, for he referred to James Raj as an upstart and when he was vexed with a story of James Raj’s inordinate kindness, he would mumble, ‘The upstart smuggler can afford to give it away. After all, it is ill-gotten money, easy money.’ James Raj was also the only being in all of Nazareth who was not awed by the doctor. Which is why, when Sethu and Saadiya walked out of the doctor’s house, Sethu thought there was only one thing to do: seek out James Raj and ask for his help.

  Sethu knew he was exchanging one master for another. But James Raj had asked no questions when Sethu said, ‘I need a house and a job. The doctor doesn’t need me or my services any more.’

  James Raj nodded. He had already heard, but he pretended that he knew nothing. James Raj knew the power of discretion. Besides, it made him feel good to score one over that Bible-thumping quack who behaved as if he was the Lord Jesus’s apostle.