by Akhilesh
This bloody Pandey infection is terrible. Suryakant thought. What a shithole I am in! First my brother, and now my brother-in-law is begging me to help, and I am not even sure of receiving the remainder of my payment from Pandey. I must clarify my situation for once and all. He began, ‘Believe me, I’m not that close to Pandeyji. The relationship is not so intimate that he would consider my recommendation for someone seriously.’
‘Bhaiya, you needn’t make excuses. If you don’t think it necessary to help, you can let it be,’ Nupoor said angrily. ‘We can spend our future in impoverishment as we have in the past.’ Nupoor’s lips were twitching, her nose was beginning to turn red.
‘You’re mistaken, Nupoor, I’m telling the truth.’
‘If you are, why don’t you say no to Shibbu? Bhaiya, you have abandoned me.’
Shibbu sensed his future was threatened, and he shouted, ‘I have a passport!’
Tendulkar went to the other room and came with something. ‘Look at this.’ The Ashoka pillar glimmered on two passports. ‘I have got a passport for Nupoor too. And I can get the passports for the girls within a week – in a snap.’ He snapped his fingers.
Shibbu grew apprehensive that his brother-in-law would shove him out of going to America. He fired another salvo, ‘Jija, they have a great demand for engineers abroad, and I have studied engineering.’
‘Shibbu, there is no demand without a degree,’ Nupoor said. ‘You were satisfied merely with a diploma.’
Tendulkar joined the discussion again, ‘If you know how to sell yourself, there’s nothing in this world that can’t be marketed! You need only a chance and an open, prosperous world. I am helpless in India because people here don’t care about their own heritage, but are crazy about the West. Ayurveda is considered worthless here. But the land where modern science and ideas have reached acme, it has a beautiful, definite future. I say yoga, Gandhi and Ayurveda – a huge global market is waiting for them. India has to do nothing but export them extensively. Bhai Sahib, lend me a hand. I will prove myself a richer man than Pandeyji.’
‘Who will you prove this to?’ Chacha asked.
Chacha’s question silenced Tendulkar momentarily, but he got back into rhythm. ‘It would also be an expression of love for this country. What is more glorious than the people of the most powerful country imploring for health at an Indian’s feet?’
‘He has such wonderful prescriptions of herbs and plants,’ Nupoor revealed.
‘Bhai Sahib, Chachaji, Shibbu and Kamana – listen carefully. Pandeyji should be persuaded that I possess comprehensive and precise knowledge of the gift of natural medicines – not only in India but also in Africa, China and the Latin American countries. Should I continue?’ He lowered his voice, ‘Bhai Sahib, this is no idle boast and Chacha, don’t think I am showing off. I also have cures for diseases like Bird Flu and AIDS. Moreover, I have a sure-shot medication for cancer.’
‘My son-in-law is really knowledgeable!’ It was hard to determine whether that was praise or mockery from Chacha.
Suryakant felt sick. He felt that he had stepped into a mental state where attachment and detachment, presence and absence, right and wrong had fused together. One could say he was disenchanted. He felt as if he was standing alone in the desert, having lost the direction, purpose and joy of life. He was in a dreadful predicament. The only way out was to lie. He lied with the intention of postponing his present peril, ‘All right, I’ll talk to Pandeyji.’ It would have made no difference had the sentence been, ‘I’ll never talk to Pandeyji.’
‘When will you let us know, Bhai Sahib?’ Tendulkar was not ready to let go.
‘Soon.’ The real meaning was, ‘Never.’
‘What do you mean by “soon”? Bhaiya, call him now,’ Nupoor said. She picked up her phone from the table and said, ‘You tell me the number, I’ll dial.’
Shibbu, who had been on the horns of a dilemma for long, realized that if he missed the chance, it would be all over. He thought, If Didi gets this opportunity for Jijaji, my chances will weaken. He got up swiftly and almost snatched the mobile from Nupoor’s hand. ‘Didi, have you gone mad? Pandeyji is such a big and busy man, will he really reply to an unknown number? You’ll spoil everything.’ He continued, ‘These things are not discussed on the phone – Bhaiya will do it at the right time.’
Chacha looked sardonically at Shibbu. ‘Isn’t your passport ready too, Shibbu?’
Shibbu laughed an easy laugh. ‘All boys and girls of this generation have obtained their passports or applied for them. Nobody wants to rot in India, everyone desires a great life abroad.’
‘So how is your jija committing a crime?’
‘It is no sin,’ Shibbu said. ‘He does have the right. But there is one little problem, Jijaji does not know how to speak English.’
‘And you are Shakespeare?’ Nupoor said in defence of her husband, ‘If you have learnt speaking four sentences in English from an English-medium school, it doesn’t mean you are worthy of going to America.’
‘Didi, your anger is pointless. Jijaji is harping on America much more than I am.’
‘Yes, I am!’ Tendulkar asserted with great confidence, ‘The issue is not what I lack. In today’s world, drawbacks mean nothing – what matters is success. And I can achieve great things if Pandeyji or a fellow like him sponsors me.’
‘How is that, Jijaji?’ Kamana, who had remained silent, asked.
‘It’s like this,’ Tendulkar paused for a moment. ‘The person who sponsors me should project me in America as an Ayurvedacharya who has attained ultimate expertise in Auryvedic therapy through learning, spiritualism and research. A few stories would have to be shared – for example, during my days as a student in Gurukul Kangri, I used to wander in the inaccessible areas of the Himalayas in search of rare herbs mentioned in ancient Indian volumes of Ayurveda. In the course of these wanderings, I discovered medicines that can alleviate those diseases still considered incurable by modern medical science.
‘We can say that I came across a seer in a cave in the Himalayas, practising meditation for three hundred and fifty years. The seer was so ancient that the mound of his hair was touching the roof of the cave and his eyebrows had overgrown long enough to cover his eyes. Whenever he wanted to look at something, he would raise his brows with his fingers and only then could he see. His beard had grown so long that when he walked, it swept the floor. The seer was in excellent health despite his age, although he had not eaten for the last three hundred and twenty-five years. I served the seer tirelessly and pleased with my devotion, he taught me how to identify the roots, barks, leaves, flowers and fruits of the plants and bestowed on me the entire knowledge of their benefits. We will acquire land in America to grow these medicinal plants, and we will have to inform people that we get the rarest herbs from India by plane. Along with the medicines, we must have a team of yoga gurus and astrologers. We shall offer a full package.’
Chacha felt like saying, ‘If your brain is full of such ploys, you won’t have a dearth of opportunities in India either!’ But what he said was, ‘Nupoor, I’ll leave now.’
‘Chacha, what about dinner?’
‘I have had enough. I am sick of talking so much.’ Chacha left without waiting for a reply. Suryakant tried to stop him, but Chacha pressed his shoulder lightly to make him sit as he left.
‘As far as English is concerned,’ Tendulkar continued, ‘the person who is a disciple of a three-hundred-and-fifty-year-old seer should know Sanskrit, not English.’ He tittered and recited loudly:
‘Iha khalvayurvdo namopangamtharvavedasyanutparsywv prajah,
Shlokashatshatramdhyaysahastram cha kritvanswayambhuh.’
He added, ‘The lines translate to: the science of Ayurveda is a branch of the Atharva Veda composed by Brahma in one lakh shlokas and a thousand chapters before he created life. All these shlokas are in Sanskrit. Bhai Sahib, I am certain that one cannot entrance the fair-skinned foreigners by speaking English. The real magic will com
e from the chanting of Sanskrit, a language alien to them.’
Suryakant recalled Bahuguna and how he had won over everyone by reciting Sanskrit shlokas at dinner during his trip to America with the chief minister. However, the audience were not white people, but people of Indian origin in the country of the whites.
Suryakant could see how Shibbu was being impressed by as well as growing apprehensive of Tendulkar’s talk. Shibbu found it hard to believe that this meek-looking jija of his had such deviousness in him. Shibbu sensed danger hovering over his own future. If he did not puncture Jijaji’s fantasies right that moment, he would be left behind. He stood up and almost started lecturing, ‘Jijaji, your plan is excellent, but nowadays every young man has a pocket full of such excellent schemes. As soon as he visits the passport office, a heap of schemes for minting dollars starts taking shape in his mind. I have ideas a hundred times better than yours for minting money, but I did not find it right to tell Bhaiya because he has met us after such a long time. It is our prime duty to enquire how he is and receive his blessings. What kind of talk is this that you start singing your own tune…?’
‘Bravo, Shibbu, bravo! You should be a political leader!’ Nupoor clapped, laughing.
Kamana realized that Shibbu wanted to say something bitter. She tried to avoid the unpleasant affair, ‘Didi, let us serve dinner – it is getting late.’ She rose and left for the kitchen to make rotis, while Nupoor put the crockery on the table. The clatter of the crockery and steel and glass utensils silenced the people in the room for a while.
The noise was pushed into the background by the ringing of Shibbu’s mobile phone. Shibbu picked up the phone, and the call lasted one minute and thirty-seven seconds. In this small period, deep lines of emotions lit up Shibbu’s face. Everyone asked together when he hung up, ‘What happened?’
‘Bhaiya, we must hurry home, Dadi has suddenly taken ill.’
‘It happens all the time,’ Nupoor said. ‘Let’s eat first …’
‘No, Didi, Papa said she was really serious.’
Suryakant said, ‘Let’s go.’
Tendulkar too tightened his trousers belt, ‘I am coming along.’
Kamana, Roli and Dika rode on Shibbu’s bike; Nupoor, Ina and Mina rode pillion on Tendulkar’s bike. Suryakant said, ‘You go ahead, I will take a rickshaw.’
There was no empty rickshaw on the road. A train had arrived at the station; it was also the hour of the end and beginning of the cinema shows. A power cut had rendered an insufficient glow of weak, pale and sad lights over the town. The only saving graces were the moon and the stars in the sky. Suryakant looked at the moon – it looked lonely and broken amid the stars. It waned gradually from a full moon and finally vanished only to go back towards fullness. Thus, its roundness was not its eventual destiny. It never rested and it had to toil from beginning to end, and then from end to beginning like a pendulum. The stars did not share its coupled blessing of immortality and restlessness.
As he walked to his house, Suryakant tried to visualize Dadi alive, healthy and happy. He tried to recall his own experiences with her, but he was surprised and ashamed that he was unable to obtain a lasting impression of anything even remotely with Dadi. He grew afraid: did the human body, formed through the genetics of innumerable generations, containing innumerable genes of the ancestors, lose its emotional appeal in the lifetime of a single generation?
Dadi’s blood pressure was 45/90. Cretanin was 2.33. Sodium: 100, Protein: 4:30. She was in the ICU. Her mouth and nose were hidden behind an oxygen mask. The mask was removed intermittently, and when it was removed, Dadi’s entire face was visible. Her face was covered in wrinkles, and there was desolation in her eyes.
‘Chacha, look at Dadi’s eyes – they look strange.’
‘She’s going to die,’ Chacha replied. ‘The one who conquers life or the one whose life is ebbing away, their eyes look like that.’
Before he could proceed, Suryakant chanced upon the doctor. He inquired about Dadi, ‘What is she suffering from?’
‘Old age,’ the doctor replied.
‘Will she improve?’
‘Her condition is serious,’ the doctor advised. ‘Pray to God.’
Suryakant spoke to Chacha again, ‘Sit by Dadi for a while. Perhaps she is unable to recognize anyone.’
‘She does not, not even me. She is lucid only now and then.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Doctors say old age is incurable – but I have a different opinion.’
‘What’s that?’
‘People forget old people, they ignore and insult them. So, old people, when they arrive at the threshold of death, take their vengeance by not recognizing people. They abandon them even while there is life in the body.’ Amma too had begun living amid the dead spirits for the last few days.
Dadi’s health had begun to deteriorate since Chacha and Suryakant had left for Gosainganj. She had stopped eating and speaking. She would sit alone and keep peering in the mirror all the time. When she was not looking at herself in the mirror, she would be talking to herself. When her daughter-in-law or Awadh Narayan found her talking to herself, they would come to her.
‘Who were you talking to?’ Awadh Narayan asked.
‘Your father.’
Awadh Narayan grew afraid. ‘Babuji is no more, Amma!’
She got angry, ‘You are calling your very much alive father dead?’
One morning, when they woke up, they saw she was wearing a brightly coloured sari and anklets. The parting of her hair was full of sindoor.
Kamana asked, ‘Dadi, why are you wearing this sari and the anklet?’
‘Your grandfather-in-law told me to wear it, and so I did. Doesn’t it look good on me?’
‘Yes, it does. Do you plan to go somewhere?’
‘Yes, he told me he would take me to the cinema.’
Sometimes, she would tell her daughter-in-law, ‘My jethani is here.’
‘Where is she?’
‘She was right here. We were gossiping. She was in a choonar sari and had a bag full of guavas. She told me, “Put some alta on my feet.” I called out to you to do it, but perhaps she left for a bath. Make some tea for us, she will be back any moment. And some snacks too.’
‘But God called her to Himself fifteen years ago.’
‘She was lying by my side. She was tired so I massaged her legs, cracked her fingers …’
Everyone in the house realized that it was pointless to argue with Dadi. She held the mirror as soon as she was alone, and began to talk to some dead relative soon enough.
She had become afraid of old age a long time ago. As her years advanced, her fears did too. Finally, she started her battle against old age. For years, she tried to beat old age by avoiding looking into the mirror, but her strategy eventually failed. Now she was hitting back by regarding her face in the mirror over and over again. She might not have vanquished old age with that, but she definitely had defeated the horror of old age. However, her fixation was simply a quirky, unsophisticated text, not a certain one. Another explanation was that Dadi had adopted the skill in her fight against old age, drabness, wrinkles and ugliness at this stage by travelling back into the days of her youth, dumping old age from the surface of her consciousness. For instance, she would recall her dolls, dolls’ houses and games like sikri and gutti or her playmates, swinging from trees, singing during weddings or innocuous flirtation with brothers-in-law, and it was as if they had taken place a couple of days ago. It was quite possible that when she looked into the mirror, she was looking at the face of her youth. Contemplating the earlier face, she was dissociated from the present and had plunged into an abyss where only the past existed and there existed dead spirits and her own death.
At night, when Dadi was admitted to the hospital, almost the entire family accompanied her. Later, at least four to five persons stayed in the hospital all the time. Dadi might need anything any time so a female family member must be present. Among the men, Awadh Nar
ayan’s presence was pointless because in some way his mother’s impending death had worsened his polyuria. He would be hurrying to the bathroom all the time. Chacha, of course, remained in the hospital, but nobody believed he was serious about being there. Everyone was uneasy he might affront the doctors so unpredictably that the situation could get out of hand. Therefore, a couple of extra people always stayed behind. Friends and relatives had started visiting Dadi since the afternoon and those who were outside the town had been informed that she was going to die.
Yet, nobody was certain Dadi would die. Most of them thought she would dodge death and live to tell the tale once more. When they were informed she was in the ICU, the reaction was – forget the ICU, even if she was deposited in the Kal Kothari by Yamraj personally, she would walk out intact! Elderly women remarked: ‘The old woman has tasted manna from heaven, she is not going to die.’ Young girls tittered: ‘How can she ever die!’ Dadi’s rare, surviving contemporaries noted, ‘This is just an act!’ The consensus was that whatever medical science had to say, and even if all her organs were headed towards failure, her final hour had not yet arrived.
In spite of everything, people visited her to find out how she was doing. When the sun set in the evening and the heat eased, the number of visitors swelled. People would come, remove their shoes or slippers outside the room and stand by Dadi. If her eyes were open, she would look at the visitor without any emotion or sense of familiarity or warmth. She glanced cursorily at every caller, convinced that they were total strangers.
At night, when Nupoor brought food from her house, the visitors had already left. Awadh Narayan and his wife, Suryakant, Tendulkar, Shibbu and Kamana remained. Nupoor said, ‘Please, eat. Kamana, you too should eat. I’ll stay with Dadi.’