Amrita

by Usha Rajagopalan

  "Amazing! I never thought Maya would change so much and just look at her. Did you ever think the girl would quieten down like this?" she asked the maid, under the cover of running water and clanging vessels.

  "The old woman had nothing else to do in the village."

  "You can be vicious. Let's give her credit. She has changed Maya beyond recognition. Much more than I could and how much I tried."

  "It is still too early to say anything. You know how my husband vanishes occasionally? Whenever he returns just as suddenly, this is how he behaves, a picture of concern and good behaviour. He becomes a perfect man and father. After a few days, it is back to the drinking, beating and bad mouthing. Sometimes I wish he would just go away and never come back!" Revabehn plonked an iron frying pan on the kitchen ledge.

  Any other metal would have cracked under the impact. I'd better distract her.

  "Did you eat anything in the morning? Here, have something first before you begin your work," Kamala said.

  Revabehn hadn't finished though. She waved the food aside and thrust tobacco in her mouth instead.

  "Mark my words," she champed her warning. "She may seem to have improved her ways but it won't last long. I only hope she doesn't start behaving as she used to. She's bigger now than my bitiya and I don't want my baby to get hurt."

  Revabehn was wrong. Kamala could not decide if Maya was only trying to make up to Amrita for the way she used to ill-treat her or because she genuinely loved her sister. Whatever the reason there was no denying that she took custody of Amrita from the day she arrived. She relieved both Revabehn and Kamala of their responsibilities. The maid, who used to spend almost the whole day with the girl, now had the time to massage the varicose veins in her legs and tell Kamala about what was happening in the neighbourhood. Her domestic chores had reduced to a minimum since Amrita did the rest under Maya's supervision. Neither girl entered Kamala's domain, the kitchen. It was here that she had once worried and cried over Raghu's indifference and now she could marvel at the change in her daughter and ponder about their relationship. However, towards Maya she felt only anger, not the helpless dependence that she felt with Raghu.

  What does she think of herself? Am I not her mother? How can she treat me as if. . . as if I don't exist? Where would she be without me?

  Her questions merged with images of Maya's younger days and Kamala's anger often changed to remorse only to swing back again.

  If she hadn't gone away from me I would have been able to explain things to her. A daughter is supposed to be her mother's friend. God knows I need one. Why doesn't she understand my plight? She has inherited Raghu's indifference. Why else would she behave like this? I've done her no harm. Thank God, she's considerate to her sister though.

  She could criticise or justify Maya's attitude but the wound within her continued to fester. One day she followed Maya upstairs and opened the door that the girl had closed behind her.

  "I want to talk to you."

  Maya looked at her mother indifferently and went to stand beside her sister.

  "Are you listening?" Kamala asked.

  "I'm not deaf."

  "What's the matter with you? Why are you behaving like this? As if you hate me? Did your paati say. . ."

  "Don't involve paati in this! I'm not a child to be told anything by anyone. You think I don't know why you drove me away from the house? It's because you hate me, you hate both of us," she threw a hand protectively around her sister. "You don't want to have anything to do with us. That's why you sent me away and you've neglected her. Now that I'm back, I'll take care of her myself."

  "What rubbish are you saying? Who told you that I drove you away? Don't you remember your paati wanting to take you with her?"

  "I remember very well. My failing in school was only an excuse for you. You must have cried to paati and that's why she took me away. She had come to stay with us in her old age. You forced her to leave. She would have spent her last days all alone if I had not been with her."

  "Then you must also recall how you used to trouble your sister. . ."

  Maya raised her hand and stopped Kamala from speaking any further.

  "I have not forgotten that either. I did it out of ignorance, foolishly trying to imitate the way you and appa behave towards her. Now I know better and I will ensure that no harm ever falls on her again as long as I am with her. I don't have anything else to tell you and I don't want to hear any of your explanations either."

  Kamala left the room.

  ***

  10

  rom the darkness of the interior Kamala looked out into the bright colours of the shrubs and Crotons surrounding the house and conceded that Maya could cast spells on plants as well, not only on her sister. Yet, she could not see the profusion of leaves and flowers without feeling a stab of regret that had lost its edge over the years. The garden reminded her of Maya's conversation with her father when she said, "I want to learn how to handle special children."

  "Don't be absurd," Raghu replied. "Your marks will get you admission in a good college. You can continue to teach her or whatever, in your spare time."

  "That's not enough. Either I do a specialised course or spend more time with her."

  "To do what? What you're teaching her is more than adequate. In any case, it isn't as if you're going to be with her always. . ."

  "We will be together all the time," Maya interrupted him. "I'm not leaving her alone, ever."

  Raghu's nostrils flared and his lips became thin lines. Kamala cringed, fearing the consequence of his anger.

  "Look," he said, controlling himself. "I don't care if you don't want to study but no more of this foolish talk about spending all your time with your sister."

  The topic of Maya learning further never arose again in that house but it continued to prick Kamala.

  She should have studied and got a degree at least. If she sets her mind to something she does it. Just look at the garden. Who would ever believe that she's doing this with no one to help her except Amrita?

  Kamala also had to admit that Maya did not waste her time though she was home the whole day. She taught Amrita and gardening was part of her sister's curriculum. They had planted a line of bushes near the house and trees along the compound wall while a kitchen garden flourished in the backyard. The trees blocked the house from the road and gave them privacy but Kamala did not like the shrubs that spread before the windows and made the place so dark. The neem and the mango trees were still young, while the old Ashoka now had a rival in the Indian cork tree that was shooting up. The waxy, long pointed leaves of the Ashoka were abundant throughout the year unlike the cork that shed its leaves in spring. Its flowers, silvery white and scented, carpeted the ground around its trunk while the slender stalked flowers of the Ashoka hid themselves in the foliage.

  The shrubs were better matched with the red, orange and yellow Peacock flower and multicoloured Hibiscus, rapidly blocking Kamala's view of the girls as they watered the plants or plucked the drying flowers. She would have preferred the plants to be trimmed so that she could see Amrita at work and know that Maya was around too. She couldn't say anything and the trees branched and re-branched, giving her only glimpses of her daughters. Even if they were not there she seemed to see them among the plants, so much time did they spend in their garden.

  Occasionally, Kamala's imagination soared and she saw the trees as men and women surrounding her girls. The bushes and little plants were children. The trees tried to reach Maya and Amrita with their long arms while the children laughed and made faces at them from the flowers and buds. The girls stood in the middle, not seeing the faces, not hearing the voices. Kamala wanted to cry out to them, to make them aware of the danger that lay in the crowd of human faces with plant limbs thronging around them.

  Maya will think I'm intruding into their world. They could be twins the way they cling to each other. I can understand Ammu's behaviour. There was a time when she would not let me move an inch without her. Then she swi
tched to Revabehn and now to Maya. How mistaken you were about her, Revabehn. You thought she was not to be trusted with Amrita but she takes greater care of her sister than I ever did, or you. It has been ten years since she returned home. Ten years since she has been Amrita's guardian, not letting a shadow fall on her, not even mine.

  ***

  It was then that my brother Sundar came to stay with them.

  "Sundar is a handsome young man. Has he taken after his father or mother?" asked Kamala auntie.

  "Both, I suppose. And I don't look like either of them. Kittu was handsome in his own way, like the hero in a romantic tragedy. Frail, intense, lover of all good things in life, like my mother. Amma is still very beautiful. Didn't your husband say anything about her?" I asked deliberately.

  "No," she replied for the first time, looking confidently into my eye. "After the first and my only confrontation with him I never asked him anything about his friends. If I couldn't satisfy him I must let him seek gratification elsewhere. As long as I know he'll come back to me at the end of the day I have no complaints. Oh! How can I say such things to an unmarried young girl like you?" she slapped her forehead.

  "Auntie, you don't know what girls talk about these days!" I laughed. "What you said was nothing."

  "Even then. It was stupid of me to talk so openly like this. What would your parents have thought of me?"

  "Nothing," I assured her. "You were telling me about Sundar," I reminded her.

  "Yes, Sundar. He was such a contrast to your uncle. Raghu is tall but Sundar is taller. The difference could not be more than half an inch but given his youth and vigour, he seemed to loom over Raghu. There was a magnetism about him that worried me," said Kamala auntie.

  "Why did you ask him to stay with us?" she had muttered to Raghu when he returned to the drawing room after showing Sundar his room.

  "He's a young man. Did you forget that we have grown up girls in the house? And you have given him the room next to theirs," she added.

  "Don't be stupid. He won't be a problem. He will be like a brother to our girls. Not only that, he will be of great help to all of us, just wait and see."

  For the next two months when Sundar stayed with them, the house was filled with his talk and laughter. Raghu listened with the indulgence of a fond parent. Kamala admired the glibness of the young man, but Maya remained stony as if she was only waiting to run away to her sister.

  "She is not happy about me staying here, I think. Perhaps I should move out," Sundar remarked, when she left the room as soon as he entered.

  "Forget about her. She is moody," said Raghu. "Tell me, how do you like being here? Are you comfortable?"

  "Of course. If nothing else, no one bugs me here. At home. . ." he shuddered.

  "Go on," Raghu goaded him.

  "That brat sister of mine!"

  "Oh, you have a sister? I didn't know that. Is she as old as Maya?" he asked.

  "She is younger. Dad has spoilt her so thoroughly that she is next to impossible. Mind you, she's very smart, excels in everything, whether it is studies or sports or other activities. She does not know the meaning of moderation but goes overboard in anything she does. Mom keeps telling her to slowdown, that she'll burn herself out but who is to listen? Certainly not my dear sister," Sundar laughed.

  "Well, she seems to be a very positive person," said Raghu.

  "Positive? Of course, she is positive. She only makes me seem negative. Everybody says, 'Look at her - a winner all the way and look at you.' Is it my fault that I was just an average student?"

  Kamala felt sorry for the young man living in the shadow of someone apparently so superior. She used to take pride in Raghu's good looks until things turned sour between them. Now she felt that if she had not been so ordinary looking perhaps he wouldn't have been so disinterested in her. Words surged in her mind and she chose them with care.

  "Does she look like you?" she asked.

  Sundar perked up. "Ah! There we are different. You would never think we are siblings. She is. . ." he stopped abruptly, looked at Kamala and continued, "Appearances don't matter, do they? The character of the person is more important to me and my sister is a gem at heart, a real gem."

  "Good," said Raghu and abruptly changed the topic. "How is your job? No problems, I hope?"

  Kamala wondered if he was trying to keep her from the conversation. If that was his intention, he wasn't going to succeed always. Raghu had been promoted as General Manager and was on tour more often than before. His absences only meant that she had greater freedom to talk to Sundar or, as she did most of the time, listen to him. He always seemed to have something or the other to tell her. Sometimes it was about his new job, but more often he talked about his friends and their affairs.

  "It's amazing how short-sighted these people are. Their only goals are to get a job, marry and settle down. Don't they want to find out what more they can get out of life?"

  "Well, what do you want?" asked Kamala.

  "Lots of things. I want to travel, make money, live like a king. No money pinching drudgery for me. I want my salary in dollars or pounds, not Indian rupees. My wife will not have any wants. I'll treat her like a Queen, the Queen of my heart."

  Kamala smiled. "All men say that at first. They forget their promises when the charm of marriage wears off."

  "No auntie, I'll be different because I have seen my mother suffer. Dad is full of ideals and good intentions but he has not been able to give her the kind of life she wants."

  "You think you know what she wants?"

  "Sure. We are very close, my mother and I. Gauri and dad make the other team. I don't understand his philosophy, if he has one that is, and he thinks I'm good-for-nothing. He won't say anything directly but just looks at me through his glasses as if I am the bane in his life. I would've been able to take his verbal lashing but not those pained looks. If it hadn't been for mom I would've run away long ago."

  "Shush! Imagine talking of running away as if you are a coward. You are a smart young man. What can't you achieve if you really want to?" Kamala rebuked.

  "Exactly! That's just what I told dad. And he said, 'Then do it. I have never stopped you from conquering the moon.' But I need that little push to help me take off. Only money matters in these circumstances, not words. And that he doesn't have."

  "So, what are you going to do?"

  "Nothing much immediately. I can't. I'll bide my time and when my chance comes I'll grab it with both hands. No one will be able to stop me then. I will wave a thick wad of notes in his face and ask, Now what do you think of me?'"

  Kamala collected the dishes from the table and went to the kitchen, while he followed her.

  "You didn't say anything?"

  "Well, ambition is fine and I am glad you are concerned about your mother. I hope your dreams come true, though I wouldn't like to be in your father's shoes when you wave those notes!" She was still laughing when Maya entered.

  "Ah. . . Maya the mirage! You know auntie, you have named your daughter very appropriately. Maya is really illusion, now here and now not here," he said, tears of laughter streaming down his eyes as well.

  Maya tightened her lips and served lunch on two plates.

  "Why didn't you join us?" he asked.

  "I prefer my sister's company." She walked out of the room.

  Sundar slumped against the wall in a dramatic show of injured pride.

  "Don't take her seriously," said Kamala. "She doesn't talk readily to strangers."

  "Strangers? You call me a stranger, auntie? I've been here for so long and she continues to treat me like an obnoxious weed in her precious garden," he complained.

  Kamala felt like patting his shoulder to comfort him. The next day as soon as he left the house she went to the backyard. Maya had hitched her salwar to the calf and was strewing coriander seeds in straight lines. Amrita was working in another plot, twining the slender tendrils of a creeper along a stick. Neither of them noticed their mother till she cleared her throat
loudly. Maya looked up at once and just as quickly continued with her work.

  "Maya, I want to talk to you."

  "Hmm. . . "

  "Stop your work for a minute."

  Maya looked up once again and paused, flicking mud from her fingers.

  "Why are you curt with that boy? He was so upset yesterday, at the way you insulted him. What's eating you?"

  "I don't care if he is upset or happy."

  "That's not the way to treat a guest."

  "I don't want to learn how to treat a guest like him."

  "What's wrong with him? He is friendly, nice. . ."

  "You don't have to say anything more. I can see that you two get along very well." Maya resumed her work.

  Kamala stood transfixed. What on earth did the girl mean by this? She had only treated Sundar with the affection due to someone old enough to be her son. What was Maya hinting at? She looked at her daughter's bent head, seemingly absorbed in her work now that her time for her mother was over, except that their little exchange left Kamala perturbed. She walked away slowly, her mind playing back her conversations with Sundar to find any lapse or misbehaviour. None as far as she knew.

  I'm just over-reacting to her foolish remark. She doesn't know what she's talking about. How easy it is to spill words but I must be more careful. I don't want Raghu to think. . .

  "Hello auntie! Why are you sitting in the dark?"

  Sundar switched on the light while Kamala got up hurriedly.

  "I rarely see you relaxing. You seem so busy always."

  Kamala smiled.