Ajit did not know what to do. He said diffidently, ‘If we go too far, it may get very late. Shibnath Babu might take it amiss if he doesn’t find you at home when he returns.’
Kamal said, ‘No, there’s no chance of his taking it amiss.’
Ajit said, ‘Then instead of sitting beside the chauffeur, why don’t you sit at the back?’
Kamal said, ‘But you’re the chauffeur. How can we chat if I don’t sit near you? How can I travel tongue-tied at the back? Get in, don’t let’s delay.’
Ajit got in and started the car. The road was pretty but lonely. Occasionally they passed one or two people, but no more. The already speeding car sped faster. Kamal said, ‘You like to drive fast, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Ajit.
‘Aren’t you afraid?’
‘No, I’m used to it.’
‘Habit is everything.’ After a moment’s silence Kamal continued, ‘But I’m not used to it; yet I’m liking it. It must be my nature, mustn’t it?’
‘Maybe,’ said Ajit.
‘Certainly,’ said Kamal. ‘Yet there’s danger in it—both for those who ride and those who get run over. Isn’t it so?’
Ajit said, ‘Why should they get run over?’
Kamal said, ‘What’s wrong with getting run over? There’s joy in speed, whether it’s a car or whether it’s life. But cowards can’t enjoy it. They move slowly and carefully. They think it enough to have saved the trouble of walking. They are happy in outwitting distance, never realizing that they’re fooling themselves. Isn’t it so, Ajit Babu?’
Ajit couldn’t understand what she said. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
Kamal looked at his face and smiled a little. After a few moments she said, ‘There’s no meaning to it. It’s just something I said.’ He concluded that she did not want to make her meaning clearer.
It was getting darker. Ajit wanted to return. Kamal said, ‘So early? Let’s go a little further.’
Ajit said, ‘We’ve come a long way. As it is we’ll be late getting back.’
‘What does it matter?’
‘Shibnath Babu may not like it.’
‘Let him not,’ Kamal replied.
Ajit was surprised, but keeping his surprise to himself, he said, ‘I have to take Ashu Babu home. We shouldn’t be late.’
Kamal said in reply, ‘There’s plenty of transport in Agra. They can easily make their way back. Let’s go a little further.’ Thus, as if forcibly, Kamal pushed him further and further ahead. The lonely road became utterly desolate. Darkness thickened. There was absolute silence in the fields stretching to the horizon on every side. Finally, at one point, Ajit slowed down and anxiously said, ‘No more! Let’s go back now.’
‘All right,’ said Kamal.
On the way back she slowly said, ‘I was thinking what priceless treasures of life people waste by trying to compromise with untruth. How diffident you felt about taking me out alone! If I had stepped back in fear, I would have missed this pleasure.’
Ajit said, ‘But you can’t be sure of something till you’ve reached the end. When you return, you may be fated to find sorrow instead of joy.’
Kamal said, ‘What a long, breathless ride I’ve had today on this dark, lonely road, sitting alone beside you! I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed it.’
Ajit realized that Kamal had paid no attention to his words. It was as though she was talking to herself. Perhaps there was really nothing to be ashamed of, yet he shrank within himself at first. Nobody seemed to know anything about this girl beyond hostile speculations and scandalous rumour—much of it probably baseless, and whatever was true so overcast by the distorting shadow of untruth that there was no way of detecting it. Those who might have tested the evidence chose not to do so, as though it were a joke.
Ajit’s silence brought Kamal to her senses. She said, ‘Oh yes, weren’t you saying that on my return I might find not joy but sorrow? Of course I might.’
‘And then?’ said Ajit.
Kamal said, ‘That wouldn’t prove that I didn’t relish the pleasure I got this evening.’
This made Ajit laugh. ‘It doesn’t prove that, but it does prove that you’re a fair logician. It’s hard to outwit you.’
‘You mean I’m what they call a logic-chopper?’
Ajit said, ‘No, not that. But what ends in sorrow, though it began in joy, can’t be said to be truly joyful. Wouldn’t you agree?’
Kamal said, ‘No, I wouldn’t. I believe in accepting as true whatever I get whenever I get it, so that the fire of sorrow may not dry up the dew of past happiness. However small it is, however little its value in the world, I hope I shall never deny that happiness. May the joy of one day not be shamed by the grief of another.’ She fell silent for a while, then added: ‘Ajit Babu, in this world neither joy nor sorrow is true in itself. Truth lies only in fleeting moments of joy and sorrow, in the rhythm of their motion. You can truly make them yours only through your judgement and your heart. Don’t you think so?’
Ajit could not reply to this question, but even in that darkness he sensed the other’s eager eyes looking at him expectantly. She wanted to hear something definite.
‘Well, why don’t you answer?’
‘I didn’t understand you very clearly.’
‘Didn’t you?’
‘No.’
There was a suppressed sigh. Then Kamal slowly said, ‘That means it’s not yet time for you to understand it clearly. If ever the time comes, remember me. Will you?’
‘Yes,’ said Ajit.
The car stopped before the neglected garden. Ajit got down and opened the door for her. Then he said, looking at the house, ‘There isn’t a flicker of light anywhere; perhaps everybody has gone to bed.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Kamal as she got out.
‘There! You see how inconsiderate you’ve been,’ said Ajit. ‘You didn’t leave any message. Who knows how worried Shibnath Babu might be.’
‘Yes,’ said Kamal. ‘He’s worried himself to sleep.’
Ajit asked, ‘How will you enter in the dark? There’s a lantern in my car. Shall I light it and come with you?’
Kamal gratefully said, ‘That would be a great help, Ajit Babu. Please come. Let me give you a cup of tea.’
Ajit said imploringly, ‘I’ll obey all your commands, but don’t command me to have tea so late at night. Let me just reach you home.’
The front door opened at a touch. A Hindustani maid lay sleeping on the veranda inside. She woke up at the noise of human entry. It was a two-storeyed house with two small rooms on the upper floor. A hurricane lantern was burning dimly below the very narrow staircase. Picking it up, Kamal invited Ajit upstairs. In an agony of embarrassment he replied, ‘No, I must go. It’s really very late.’
Kamal obdurately said, ‘That won’t do. You must come.’ Seeing Ajit still hesitant, she said, ‘You’re thinking that if you came in, it would embarrass Shibnath Babu; but why don’t you realize that if you didn’t come in, it would embarrass me much more? Please come in. I won’t be able to sleep tonight if I churlishly let you go away from here.’
Ajit went upstairs into the room and saw that it had practically no furniture: only a cheap armchair, a small table, a stool, three trunks and, in a corner, an old iron bed on which bedclothes and pillows were piled so untidily as to suggest they were seldom used. The room was empty. Shibnath Babu was not there.
Ajit was surprised but also relieved. He asked, ‘Why, isn’t he back yet?’
‘No,’ said Kamal.
‘Perhaps he’s singing to his heart’s content at our place tonight.’
‘How do you know?’
‘He didn’t go there yesterday or the day before. If he went today, Ashu Babu might have insisted that he make up for his absence.’
‘He goes there every day,’ said Kamal. ‘Why didn’t he do so the last two days?’
Ajit said, ‘You should know that better than us. Perhaps you didn’t let him go. He doesn’t
look as though he would willingly keep away from us.’
Kamal stared at his face for a few seconds, then suddenly started laughing. She said, ‘Who knows whether he goes there just to sing? Really, it’s unfair to hold back a man against his wishes, isn’t it?’
‘Certainly,’ said Ajit.
Kamal said, ‘It’s only possible because he’s so very good. Now, would you like being held captive in this way?’
‘Never,’ said Ajit. ‘Besides, there’s no one to hold me captive.’
Kamal said smilingly, nodding her head a few times: ‘That’s the problem. One never knows who might be lurking somewhere to take one captive. Just see, I’ve been holding you captive this evening; but you haven’t noticed it at all. Never mind, there’s no point arguing about everything. But it’s getting late as we talk. Let me go into the other room and make some tea for you.’
‘And shall I sit silently by myself? That won’t do.’
‘No need,’ said Kamal. She took him into the next room and, spreading out a new mat for him, said, ‘Do sit down. But what a strange world this is, Ajit Babu. The other day when I liked this mat and bought it, I’d thought I would ask somebody else to sit on it and tell him—well, things meant for one person can’t be said to another. Still, I’ve asked you to sit on it. Yet how little time has passed in between!’
It was difficult to make out what she meant: maybe something very simple, maybe very recondite. Yet it made Ajit blush. He tried to say something, hesitated, but nevertheless spoke. ‘Why then didn’t you let him sit?’
Kamal said, ‘This is where men make a mistake. They think everything lies in their power; but there’s someone somewhere who upsets plans, no one knows how. Should I put plenty of sugar in your tea?’
‘Yes, please,’ said Ajit. ‘I drink tea because I like the milk and sugar. Otherwise I have no special fondness for it.’
‘Nor have I,’ replied Kamal. ‘I don’t understand why people drink it. Yet I was born in a place where tea is grown.’
‘Was it Assam?’
‘Not just Assam, but actually on a tea garden.’
‘And yet you don’t like tea?’
‘Not in the least. I drink it out of politeness when it’s offered.’
Cup in hand, Ajit looked around and said, ‘Is this your kitchen?’
‘Yes.’
‘You do your own cooking? It appears you haven’t had time to cook today.’
Kamal said, ‘No.’
Ajit grew hesitant. Kamal looked at him, smiled and said, ‘Now you’ll ask what I’m going to eat today. I’ll reply that I don’t eat anything in the evening. I eat only once a day.’
‘Only once?’
‘Yes,’ said Kamal. ‘But next it ought to occur to you—what will Shibnath Babu eat on his return? You’ve seen how much he eats—and not just once a day. So? In reply I’ll say that he always has dinner with you. Why should he worry? That’s true, you’ll say, but he doesn’t go there every day. I’ll hear you and think, what’s the use of discussing all this with an outsider? But even that won’t stop you. So at last I’ll have to say, “Ajit Babu, you needn’t worry. He doesn’t come here any more. Perhaps he has lost his infatuation with the Shibani of his Shaivite marriage.”’
Ajit genuinely failed to grasp what she meant. He stared at her face in deep astonishment and asked, ‘What do you mean? Are you saying this out of anger?’
Kamal said, ‘No, I’m not angry. Perhaps I don’t have the right to be angry any more. I thought he’d gone to Jaipur to buy stones. It’s from you that I’ve gathered he hasn’t left Agra yet. Come, let’s go and sit in the other room.’
Moving there, Kamal continued: ‘Look at our bedroom. This is all that it ever contained: everything has remained just the same. But if you’d seen what it looked like earlier, I wouldn’t have had to tell you that I’m not angry. But really, it’s very late, Ajit Babu. You shouldn’t stay here any longer.’
Ajit rose and said, ‘Yes, I’d better be going.’
Kamal stood up at once. Ajit said, ‘If you allow me, I shall come again tomorrow.’
‘Yes, do come,’ said Kamal, following him downstairs.
Ajit hesitated for a few moments and then said, ‘If you don’t mind, may I ask a question before I go? How long has Shibnath Babu not been here?’
‘For quite some time.’ She smiled. In the dim light of the lantern, Ajit could clearly see that this was a different sort of smile. It bore no resemblance to the earlier ones.
9
IT WAS THE DEAD OF NIGHT WHEN AJIT RETURNED HOME. THE streets were silent, the shops were closed; there was no sign of anybody anywhere. He took out his pocket watch and saw that it had stopped at eight because he had not wound it. Perhaps it was one o’clock, or two—he couldn’t guess exactly. He was sure that anxiety at Ashu Babu’s house must have reached a great pitch. They might not have had their dinner yet, let alone gone to bed. He could not imagine what he would say. He could not tell them the truth. It was futile to argue why he could not, but it was so. It was easier to lie. But he was not in the habit of lying; otherwise, having gone out alone for a drive, he could easily have concocted a story to explain the delay.
The gate was open. The gateman saluted him and said that the chauffeur was out looking for him. Parking the car in the coach-house, Ajit entered Ashu Babu’s sitting room to find he had still not gone to bed, but was waiting up by himself in spite of his illness. He sat up anxiously and exclaimed, ‘There you are! I’ve kept saying there must have been an accident. I’ve warned you over and over not to go out alone! Now see for yourself how an old man’s warning comes true. I hope you’ve learnt a lesson.’
An abashed Ajit forced a smile and said, ‘I really am sorry about causing all of you so much worry.’
‘Put off your sorrow till tomorrow. Look at the clock: it’s already two. Have something to eat and go to bed. I’ll hear you tomorrow. Jadu! Jadu! Has that rascal also gone to look for you?’
‘It really isn’t fair to make him do so. Where will he look for me in this big town?’
Ashu Babu said, ‘You tell me it’s unfair. But you don’t know how worried we’ve been. Shibnath finished singing at about eleven o’clock and since then—but where’s Mani? I haven’t seen her either since then.’
Ajit said, ‘Perhaps she’s gone to bed.’
‘Gone to bed! How can that be? She hasn’t yet had her supper.’ Suddenly something flickered in his mind. ‘Did you see the coachman in the stable?’
‘Why, no.’
‘Here’s a bother!’ A new anxiety made Ashu Babu sit up once again. ‘Just as I thought. She too must have gone out in the carriage to look for you. How very wrong of her! And she said nothing to me in case I should stop her—just stole out. Who knows when she’ll return? I’m afraid this is going to be a sleepless night.’
‘Let me check if the carriage is there.’ Ajit hurried out of the room. He found the carriage parked in the coach-house; the horse was placidly eating grass and pawing the ground from time to time. He was relieved of one anxiety. At the northern end of the ground-floor balcony there were a few casuarina and palm trees that had somehow survived neglect. Manorama’s bedroom was just above them. Before returning to Ashu Babu, Ajit thought he would pass that way to see whether there was a light in her room. As he approached, he heard human voices from among the bushes. They were very familiar voices, discussing the tune of a particular song. There was nothing objectionable about their talk, nothing requiring concealment under the dark shadow of a tree. For a few seconds a sudden numbness froze Ajit’s feet. It was only for a brief moment. The conversation continued; he went away as silently as he had come. Neither of the couple could know that there had been a witness to this nocturnal tête-à-tête.
‘Any news?’ Ashu Babu asked eagerly.
‘The carriage is in the coach-house and so is the horse. Mani hasn’t gone out.’
‘What a relief, my boy!’ said Ashu Babu. ‘It’s very late. P
erhaps Mani felt tired and went to bed. Poor girl! I think she’s gone without food tonight. Go, my boy, have something to eat and get to bed.’
Ajit said, ‘I won’t have anything so late. But please get some sleep yourself.’
‘All right. But won’t you eat anything at all? Just a little bit?’
‘No, nothing. Please don’t wait any longer. Please go to bed.’
Having sent the ailing man off, Ajit went to his room and stood before the open window. He was sure that after ending the discussion about music, Manorama would pass that way to see her father.
Mani came, but half an hour later. First she went to her father’s study and found the room dark. Perhaps Jadu had been awake and at hand after all; he had not answered his master’s call, but had put out the light after the latter left. Manorama waited there for a moment. As she turned, she saw Ajit standing silently before his open window. His room too was dark, but a faint beam of light from the portico fell on his window.
‘Who’s there?’
‘I’m Ajit.’
‘Oh! When did you come? I think Father has gone to bed.’ She tried to be silent after this, but the arrested flow of her words would not be halted. ‘See what you’ve done. Everyone in the house was dying of worry that something had gone wrong. This is why Father keeps telling you not to go out alone.’
Ajit did not respond to these questions and remarks. Manorama said, ‘But I’m sure he hasn’t been able to sleep. He must be lying awake. Let me go and tell him you’ve returned.’
‘There’s no need,’ said Ajit. ‘He went to bed only after he saw me return.’
‘Went to bed after seeing you! Then why didn’t you call me?’
‘He thought you’d gone to bed.’
‘To bed! How could I? I haven’t yet had dinner.’
‘Then have it and go to bed. The night’s almost over.’
The Final Question Page 10