Amrita

by Usha Rajagopalan

  AMRITA

  AMRITA

  Usha Rajagopalan

  Copyright © Usha Rajagopalan 2004

  Cover Painting copyright © A. Ramachandran

  Published 2004 by

  7/16, Ansari Road, Daryaganj,

  New Delhi 110 002

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  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval

  system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic,

  mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the

  prior permission of the publishers.

  Typeset in 11 pts. AGaramond by A & D Co.

  Printed in India by Saurabh Printers Pvt Ltd.

  A-16 Sector 4, Noida 201301

  Dedicated to

  Dr. A. S. Aiyer, my grandfather

  and

  Prof. A. S. Balakrishnan, my uncle,

  for kindling my interest in literature.

  Acknowledgements

  Amrita was born out of a fleeting visual on the television. To coax that nebulous idea to assume a form and life has been a long haul, exciting, exasperating but a deeply satisfying, learning experience. The children at the special schools I visited, their parents and trainers taught me more than what this book contains.

  I drafted the first version of the novel during the three-month tenure as Andrew Fellow in Fiction at the University of British Columbia, Canada. I am indebted to the Andrew Family, the UBC, the Department of Creative Writing and to Dr. Errol Durbach; to Margaret and Anna Murray for sharing their house with me and to Dr. Shadi and Dr. Shobha Khanna for 'adopting' me as their own.

  Writing that first draft was the easiest state in the evolution of Amrita. Subsequent rewriting and revising took the bulk of the next three years. My thanks to Hanno Pinder, Linda Svendsen, Avinash Paranjape, R. C. Natarajan, Samir Barua, R. C. Sekhar and Bhavani Sekhar and Rema Unnikrishnan for their encouragement, for believing that I could do even better in the 'next version'.

  Even before I wrote the first draft of Amrita, a chance perusal of the 2 November 1998 issue of India Today gave me the graphic for the jacket of my yet-to-be written, even christened, novel. My thanks to Sri A. Ramachandran for helping me convert my wish to reality.

  My editors at Rupa & Co. were perhaps even more enthusiastic about Amrita than me! A special thanks to all of them.

  To Raja, my husband, for teaching me to use the scissors liberally while editing the manuscript. To my parents and my children Aparna and Gopu who have had to bear the ups and downs in my writing career.

  Archana Jaivittal's assistance has been the most precious. She did the illustrations in this novel. My thanks to her and her parents. If everybody were as caring and sensitive as the Jaivittals are towards their daughter, there would be no need for Amrita.

  ***

  PART ONE

  1

  auri?" he asked, opening the door.

  I let go of my little suitcase and looked up at Raghu. The April heat together with the heaviness in the pit of my stomach made sweat erupt on my face. I wiped my upper lip with the side of my forefinger and forced a smile.

  "Yes, I'm Gauri."

  "Your mother had called just now to find out if you'd reached. Come on in. Call her first, then everything else," he stood aside for me to enter the house and gestured to the telephone in a corner of the room.

  "First time you were travelling on your own?" he asked when I joined him after a quick one-sided talk to reassure amma.

  "Long distance, yes."

  "No wonder Nandini sounded worried!"

  It wasn't only my travelling that worried amma. She was concerned about what I would do to Raghu, her old college mate. She had not met him after I was born. In fact, he hadn't even known about my existence till I made her call him to ask if I could visit them. The reason she gave? That I wanted to meet my brother Sunder who'd been staying with them for the last two months.

  "How is she coping? he asked. "After your father's death?"

  "Okay," I shrugged. "After all, Kittu had been ailing for a while."

  "You called him by his name?" he paused and continued. "Well, Nandini's a strong woman. She'll pull through. That's how she was when we were in college. Delicate looking but with an inner core of steel. Is she still the same?" he asked.

  Before I could reply a small mousy woman peeped through the half-open door.

  "Gauri, meet my wife. Kamala, this is Sundar's sister," he said. "She's so attached to him," he told her, "she's come to meet him. Gauri, I can understand your feeling. When did your father die? Two months now?"

  "Yes. . ." I began when a heavy hand on my shoulder rocked me on my feet.

  "Hey you! When did you come? I thought I was free from you at last and here you are!"

  That was Sundar, my dear brother. If it hadn't been for him, Kittu would have lived for a few more years perhaps. Amma and I had tried to hide Sundar's misdeeds from Kittu but sometimes we had been helpless. Like the time one of his girlfriends came home with her two hulking brothers accusing Sundar of misbehaving with her. It was just as well that he had warned us the previous day about her and amma had sent him away from home to Raghu's. Raghu, her old college friend.

  "What's up? Mom all right?" asked Sundar.

  "She's fine. Not missing you one bit. Good ridd. . ."

  "Don't start now," he warned. Like a flower, his fingers slowly curled on either side. He's never hurt me physically. I know too much about him to be afraid of him.

  I turned to our hosts. Mrs. Raghavan was looking uncertainly from me to Sundar. Raghu was rubbing his chin and sizing us up.

  "I'm sorry. This is how we talk to each other. We'll behave. Right, Sundar?" I asked.

  He nodded but he wasn't happy to see me.

  "Good. Come, sit down, Gauri. Tell us more about yourself. . ." Raghu began.

  "Uncle, perhaps she should freshen up. She's travelled two days by train," said Sundar.

  "Yes, you're right," said Raghu. "Gauri, you must be tired. Take her upstairs, Sundar, to the girl's room. I hope it's clean. . . Kamala?"

  "That's okay. If necessary, we'll clean it up ourselves," said Sundar picking up my suitcase and walking towards the staircase with quick long steps leaving me no option but to scuttle after him.

  Was Mrs. Raghavan dumb? She didn't speak a single word. . .

  We reached a small landing with three doors. The open one on the right led to a terrace. The one to my left was closed while the third, straight ahead, was partly open. I caught a quick glimpse of Sundar's clothes scattered everywhere and hid a smile. The number of times amma has shouted at him about the state of his room!

  "Here's where you stay," he said, making no attempt to open the door. His bluster downstairs had evaporated and now he shuffled and tugged his ear lobe. I reached past him, pushed open the door and entered the room, observing him covertly. He followed, looking around as if he was seeing everything for the first time. The two cots, a cupboard built into the wall, a small table and chair, dressing table, clearly a new acquisition despite its thick layer of dust and a closed door that perhaps led to the bathroom.

  Well, this wasn't the Taj Hotel and I wasn't planning to live here. Just occupy it for a week while I drive Sundar away and confront my host. Raghu was not only my mother's friend but also my biological father. Only he didn't know it. Yet.

  "What do you think?" my brother asked, still looking ready to run away.

  "Looks okay to me," I shrugged. I was getting used to surprises. The house was drab, as far as I could see, indifferently maintained but the garden was beautiful and neat. A troub
led stillness pervaded the house, quite like Mrs. Raghavan. Her husband was like the garden, neat, smart, youthful in appearance though I knew that he was well into his fifties.

  "Good!" Sundar replied. "I'll see you downstairs."

  He turned to leave.

  "What's the hurry?" I asked. "Tell me something about the Raghavans. I don't know anything about them and you have been staying here for quite a while."

  "Not too long," he said. "First for about two months and then dad died. I had to return. Now for two months. I may return with you. After all, Raghu Uncle hasn't been able to get me a good job. I don't want to hang around here any longer."

  "We'll see. What kind of people are they?"

  "Nothing special. Ordinary. Like everyone. Now you tell me why you've come here. Can't you leave me alone? Ever?" he asked.

  "Cool it, man! I wanted a break from work and I missed you so I came. That's all."

  Sundar's lips curled. "Expect me to believe that? After fighting with me all the time at home? Ha!"

  "Okay, okay. Tell me about the girls," I asked to divert him.

  "Amrita. Amrita and Maya. Raghu Uncle's daughters" he paused and burst out abruptly. "I really hope you'll be comfortable here."

  "Why shouldn't I be? What's wrong with this room?" I asked.

  "Well . . . Amrita died a couple of months ago."

  "That's all right. I don't believe in ghosts."

  "This is what I hate about you," my brother exploded. "You never take anything I say seriously."

  "What do you want me to do? Cry for someone I don't know, who died god-knows-when?"

  "You don't understand. Amrita died on the same night Maya got married. A horrible death. No one knows how it happened. She was not like you and me. You know, not quite all right up here," he tapped his head. "She was like a child. And for such a thing to happen to. . . ."

  "Sundar . . . Gauri. . . your coffee's getting cold," Raghu called.

  "In a minute. . ." Sundar shouted back. "Look, don't mention anything about Amrita. Pretend you don't know about her, 'right?" he whispered hurriedly with one eye on the door as if he feared that Raghu or his wife may enter any time. I threw my knapsack on one of the cots and ran down the stairs behind him quite forgetting that I hadn't freshened up and was as travel-stained as I had been when I entered the house.

  Sundar and I sat with Raghu at the dining table. His wife shuttled between the kitchen and the table, filling our plates and cups, embarrassing me with the attention.

  "Won't you join us?" I asked.

  "She's making herself useful. Let her be," Raghu replied.

  "Oh, but I don't think we'll need anything more. Even if we do, we can always get it from the kitchen. Come, do sit down," I patted the seat next to me.

  She hesitated, then took the chair opposite her husband. I turned to make small talk with her but her eyes were fixed on the table top in front of her. Every time Raghu started to speak she tensed visibly as if wondering what he would say. There was nothing startling in what Raghu said though he did have lots to talk about! He spoke about his job, his colleagues, cities he had visited in India and abroad, different cuisine in different places, architecture, art, literature and music. Everything, in short. Everything except what mattered to me – his friendship with my mother. She could have been a total stranger to him. Of course, he may have been constrained by his wife's presence. Mrs. Raghavan controlled her tongue but with her husband talking about trivialities she withdrew into herself, occasionally letting her eyes flit between my brother and me. Sundar hogged while I picked at the food. Without absorbing his words I looked at Raghu.

  He was almost a male version of amma as far as looks were concerned. Almost, because his forehead was grooved deeply and the sides of his mouth drooped a little. Raghu wasn't carrying his age quite as well as amma did. My mother was still the slim statuesque beauty with faint streaks of silver at the temples. Her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed, which was often, but Raghu looked as if he was too busy or too important to smile.

  Amma's beauty, even now, is not of the voluptuous kind but the understated one that grows on the admirer. She never wears grand saris, make-up or jewellery, standard trappings of those with inferior looks. She's no goddess though, just a mortal desiring human pleasures. Maybe Kittu was, perhaps, inadequate? Come to think of it . . . he had been too frail, too limp, too effete compared to my friends' fathers. Indeed, as Kittu had been fond of saying, he was more mouse than man.

  For all his ailments I'd never thought I'd lose Kittu. But he left and here was another man taking his place. Or . . . was he? That was what I had to find out. What did they have in common? Only their love for amma and the 'u' in their names. If Krishnan had been called Kittu, Raghavan was Raghu. Kittu's was the riches to rags story, while Raghu worked his way up from nothing to everything. What did amma say about him? Yes, that Raghu had been ambitious and intelligent. She had always known that he would do very well in life, not like Kittu. But Kittu was the one who won her hand. Won or grabbed?

  "I saw your mother at a wedding," Kittu told me once. "Lovelier than the bride. So gentle, so ethereal, elegant, exquisite, breathtaking. I couldn't take my eyes off her. I'm sure no one else could either. I found out who this fairy was, where she lived, who were her parents, everything. I then told my brothers that I wanted to marry this girl, Nandini. Only Nandini. No other. Even Romeo didn't fall for Juliet like I did for your mother."

  And what did amma say? Of course, years later, after Kittu died and his body was consigned to flames.

  "Raghu and I were in the same college. We would have got married if Kittu hadn't seen me somewhere and got his people to visit us. I didn't even remember noticing him! They came home one day in their fancy car, wearing heavy silk saris, carrying silver plates and asked for my hand for their youngest son. While the neighbours gaped, my parents decided my future. They didn't bother to ask me what I wanted nor did they get any information about the groom, nothing. I didn't even get an opportunity to tell Raghu what was happening. One day I was a college student, next day a married woman."

  That didn't stop her from thinking about him though. Kittu's personality made matters worse. He got the prized catch but didn't know how to keep her happy. He was inept in all matters concerning finance. His brothers fleeced him of his share of the family property and left him bits and pieces that they didn't want, like the sprawling ancestral house we live in. Any repair work on it was like trying to clothe an elephant.

  "What's funny?" asked Raghu suddenly, shooting my elephant to bits.

  Disconcerted, I looked around. Mrs. Raghavan was still doing a Sphinx, while Sundar was running a finger over his plate and licking it.

  "Nothing. Why?" I asked.

  "You were smiling and I wasn't being jocular," said Raghu.

  "Oh, that! I was imagining how my brother would react when I tell him why I'm here."

  Sundar stopped licking, thank God, and looked at me.

  "Eh?" he asked.

  "Actually I've come to give some good news to you in person, Sundar."

  "Well?"

  "You are going to Saudi Arabia, dear brother."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Exactly what I said. My friend is hiring people for a restaurant and has agreed to take you on. Just as well that he can't see you now looking so dazed and dumb!"

  "That's wonderful news!" said Raghu with a wide smile.

  His wife did not comment, but her eyes had stopped flitting and were now focused on me.

  "I suppose you are interested?" I asked.

  "Of course! Of course! Tell me about it," said Sundar.

  "My friend Jagan telephoned me last week to say that he was in town to recruit people for his brother's restaurant in Saudi. I told him about you and he said he could take you as well. You'll have to meet him as soon as possible before he fills up all the vacancies."

  "Then why the hell did you wait all this time?" he complained, getting up and pushing his chai
r back so hard that it fell with a thud. "You only had to telephone and I'd have rushed back! You know I've been waiting for just such an opportunity."

  "This is gratitude for you," I said, satisfied with his reaction. "I get you a job, beg and plead with my boss to grant me leave. I take the trouble to travel two days by train to give you the good news in person and what do I get in return? Criticism."

  "You should have telephoned," he insisted. "There's no time to waste. Let's leave today. I'll find out if we can get tickets. Otherwise we'll go in the general compartment. Or else we could take a bus."

  "Calm down, Sundar," said Raghu, laughing. "She's just arrived. Don't rush her."

  "Then let her stay here. I'll go alone. I can't afford to miss this chance. Who knows, I may not get another."

  Bingo! Sending Sundar away was a piece of cake. The next task of tackling Raghu was not going to be so easy. I'd have to stifle my conscience first and break the promise I'd made to amma. She hadn't told Raghu about me and didn't want me to tell him either. I was equally determined that he must face the consequence of his action.

  "What purpose will it serve?" amma had asked. "You'll only disturb his peace, his family's happiness. I don't know anything about them except that he doesn't get along with his wife."

  "Then let me find out what sort of people they are. If I think that they can take the truth from me, I'll tell them. Otherwise I'll keep quiet," I'd promised her and come to Ahmedabad.

  I helped my brother pack his things while Mrs. Raghavan kept peeping into the room as if, like Sundar, she couldn't believe what was happening. A couple of hours later Raghu and I returned from the bus stand after seeing him off. Sundar got the last seat at the back of the bus. He was going to feel battered after his long ride but he couldn't be choosy.

  "I know it sounds very impolite but how long will you be here, Gauri?" asked Raghu. "Only till next Friday? That's too bad. I'm leaving early tomorrow morning for Delhi. I'll be back only on Thursday night. That doesn't give me much time to talk to you."