Sumi’s entry distracts Lalita; she gives her an intent, puzzled look. ‘Have we met before?’ she asks after Kalyani’s introduction.
Sumi, tired, in need of a wash, hesitates, says, ‘No, I don’t think so,’ and goes in.
Kalyani, who has been on the defensive since Sumi’s entry—what has Lalita heard about her? What is she going to ask?—suddenly plunges into talk about ‘Premi, my doctor daughter’. When Sumi joins them, her face glowing and damp after a wash, Kalyani is well into Premi’s family by marriage: ‘Her husband’s grandfather was a great lawyer, a friend of Sardar Patel’, and ‘her father-in-law was a judge, you must have heard of him?’
Poor Amma, Sumi thinks, Premi and Anil’s family—this is all that is left for her to brag about. But Lalita isn’t really interested; in fact, she’s scarcely listening. Her curious eyes have gone back to Sumi’s face. Suddenly, interrupting Kalyani, she exclaims, ‘Of course! Now I know. I saw you in the play last year. You were with that group ... What’s the name?’
‘The Players. Yes, I was.’
There is a subtle shift in Lalita’s attitude; something has been defined which brings Kalyani’s family out of the ‘poor unfortunates’ class. And when it is discovered that Chitra, whom she knows, is related to Sumi, her tone becomes even more friendly. The real woman, kindly, if self-absorbed, emerges from the pose of a visiting dignitary. Absent-mindedly she begins to munch the chaklis she had spurned earlier as she talks to Sumi about her younger daughter who’s ‘crazy about the theatre’.
‘She wants to make a profession of it, she says, she’s already acted in a TV serial, but we think she’s too young ....’
‘How old is she?’
‘Sixteen.’
‘Sixteen. Ah, that’s the age! When I was sixteen I could act a little, dance a little, paint a little, write a little and I thought that together they added up to genius. Oh yes, I was going to be someone great.’
‘Look who’s being modest!’ Aru says it mockingly, but her tone is belied by the way she puts her cheek gently against her mother’s face.
Kalyani is easier with Lalita now. No longer trying to impress her, she launches into her family stories. And to Goda’s great embarrassment and Lalita’s amusement, she tells them the story of Vidyapati, Lalita’s uncle, who fell in love with Goda and wanted to marry her.
Goda, blushing like a girl, tries to prevent her, repeating, ‘Stop it, Kalyani-akka, who’s interested in all this,’ but Kalyani is unstoppable.
‘My mother said “never!” but my father said, “let’s ask Goda herself.”’
‘And what did you say, Goda-ajji?’
‘She? What else would this silly thing say? “Whatever you say, Mama, whatever you say, Mami.”’ Kalyani imitates, or thinks she does, Goda’s voice. ‘But my mother would never agree. And just a year later Vidyapati died. He got galloping TB and died in three months. And my mother said, wasn’t I right? What would have happened if we had let him marry our Godu?’
Sumi notices Goda’s involuntary shudder, the way the colour drains from her face, her hands clench into tight fists, as if she feels the dreadful flap of the wings of widowhood brush past her. And Sumi wonders, is this what has helped Kalyani to endure everything, the fact that she is a wife and not a widow? The fact that she has the right to all the privileges of the wife of a living husband? Sumi remembers the tray of kumkum, paan-supari and coconut Manju brought her, she thinks of the old woman’s words, ‘What is a woman without her husband?’
Is it enough to have a husband, and never mind the fact that he has not looked at your face for years, never mind the fact that he has not spoken to you for decades? Does this wifehood make up for everything, for the deprivation of a man’s love, for the feel of his body against yours, the warmth of his breath on your face, the touch of his lips on yours, his hands on your breasts? Kalyani lost all this (had she ever had them?) but her kumkum is intact and she can move in the company of women with the pride of a wife.
Sumi remembers now what she had heard once, that it is prostitutes who are invited to thread a bride’s black beads, because a prostitute can never become that inauspicious thing—a widow. A prostitute is never a wife, yet she is eternally every man’s wife. Clever convoluted thinking, twisted logic, but right, if you believe in the first premise—that to have a husband living is everything. But—oh my God, oh my God!
And then again, where does this leave the idea of love? Is that only a phantasmagoria that writers and poets have trapped within words? But, no, it’s not only Shakuntala and Dushyanta, or Romeo and Juliet; flesh-and-blood people have, through the years, pledged it, consummated it, died for the thing they call love.
For a brief while, Gopal and I were part of this eternal story too. We fell in love. I fell in love with his physical being first, I have to admit that, with the spare clean lines of his body, his eyes that crinkled at the corners, the way his face moved from being earnest and adult in repose to a boyish innocence when he smiled. I was captivated by all these things; to me they were Gopal.
But this passes. We don’t need to be saints to turn away from physical pleasures. We don’t have to go such a long way, either, as Yayati did, to realize that a time comes when the pleasures of the body pall. They taste flat, insipid, perhaps even bitter. We want love to last, we think when we begin that it will, but it never does; it transforms itself into a desire for possession, a struggle for power.
What lasts then? The loss of the familiar rustling by my side at night is what I mourn, not our lovemaking. I feel cold without the presence of Gopal in my life; sex has nothing to do with it, no, nothing at all.
My father gave up everything and turned to solitude. Sometimes I think he turned his back on his wife because he was frightened of himself, of what he could do in his anger. I have sensed it in him, a kind of suppressed savagery. Or maybe that was only an excuse which helped him to get out of a marriage he had never wanted. Who knows the truth? I only know that, sometimes, he seems to me as much a victim as Kalyani.
Aru will never agree. Perhaps Aru is right. Put into the context of here and now, Kalyani is more of a victim than he is. And yet, when Aru speaks of the ‘sins of patriarchy’, I am uneasy. She is only quoting, I know that, I imagine it is the Biblical ring of the words that appeals to her. Nevertheless, it makes me uneasy. For things are never so simple. We can never know all the incalculables hidden in the human heart. Why did my father come back? Was it his sense of responsibility towards his wife and daughters? To return to a wife he had spurned, to give up the ambitions and career which had become his whole life—no, that is something I can never understand. Has he learnt it now, the enormity of the thing he has done? Is that why he said to me, ‘Let your girls learn to stand on their feet. Don’t worry too much about getting them married’?
But I do worry, I have begun to worry about their marriage. I know they will stand on their own feet, I have no fears for Aru and Charu, not on that count. But marriage? Will Aru learn that love, however brief, however unsatisfactory, however tragic, is necessary? Will she realize that without that kind of a companionship some part of us withers and dies?
Yes, Sumi is anxious about Aru. She can no longer ignore the reality of Rohit’s feelings towards Aru. She can no longer smile, as she has done until now, at Kalyani’s comments and hints—not after the day she comes upon Rohit and Aru in the hall. She has an unexpected sense of intruding when she sees them together. And she is struck by the look on Rohit’s face. His pose of casual sophistication has fallen away from him and he looks wholly vulnerable. But there is nothing ridiculous about this lover’s look on his face. On the contrary, his consciousness of his vulnerability gives him both dignity and stature.
And then, as Sumi takes in Aru’s taut body, the look of startled anger on her face, Rohit sees Sumi. He changes in an instant into the Rohit she knows.
‘He spoke to me of Papa, of Papa and you,’ Aru explains when he has gone, having given Sumi an invitation to his o
lder sister’s wedding. ‘How dare he?’
‘He meant well.’
‘Meant well! It’s none of his business. Honestly, Ma, you’re as bad as Amma.’
I’m not thinking of your marrying him, you’re far too young for that, Sumi wants to say. Just don’t reject his friendship, don’t reject it because he’s a man.
But Sumi says nothing except, ‘Are you coming for the wedding?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘You don’t have a hope of staying away. Amma won’t let us off.’
Sumi is right. Kalyani is very earnest about their participating in this family wedding. It means something to her that none of them, except Goda, can understand.
‘So the family feud is over, eh, Amma?’ Charu teases her grandmother.
‘What family feud?’
Yet, when Kalyani gets her jewellery home from the bank and allots pieces to each one of them, Sumi understands: the family feud is not over. Kalyani wants them to attend in all their finery, to show the family that all is well with them, that there is nothing wrong. The girls’ excitement, their exclamations over the jewellery, peppered, of course, with Charu’s jokes, mislead Kalyani into believing that they will go to the wedding with her. She is crestfallen when she finds out on the morning that Sumi is the only one accompanying her.
‘I don’t understand these girls. When we were young, we would never miss a wedding. And if we were allowed to distribute flowers or paan-supari—why, that was heaven for us!’
‘They’ve agreed to go for the reception. You can’t except more than that.’
But when Devaki comes to pick them up in the evening, Kalyani and Seema are the only two ready and waiting. Sumi comes out yawning, her face swollen with sleep.
‘No, Devi, I’m not coming. What, dress up all over again and stand about talking to people I don’t know? I admire your energy, I really do.’
‘Oh, come on Sumi, if we don’t go for these things, when will we wear our grand saris?’
‘Saris! Aha, now I know what you really go out for.’
‘Don’t be silly. Tell this lazy thing to join us, Kalyani-mavshi.’
But Sumi won’t be moved. And Devaki gets restless. ‘Where are the girls? Seema, go and tell them ....’
Suddenly she stops. The two girls are walking towards them, Aru in a sari, a rich gold and red, parodying the model’s slow, hip-swinging walk, her long plait snaking in fluid movements behind her. The girls, from their expressions, seem to be expecting laughter, mock applause perhaps, but there is only a dead silence.
Charu breaks in with an impatient ‘Well?’ standing beside Aru like the creator of this miracle. ‘Say something, someone. Isn’t this a surprise? We’re ready to continue the family feud, we’ll show them—eh, Aru?’
But the silence goes on, all of them still staring at Aru. Aru, who has been smiling, innocently charmed by her own changed image, becomes conscious of the silence, of their stares and asks, ‘For Heaven’s sake, what is the matter? Why is everyone staring at me?’
‘Look,’ Kalyani points to Manorama’s picture on the wall. ‘You look like her.’
Their eyes go to the picture on the wall. There is a marked difference between Manorama’s strong-boned, rather sensual face, and Aru’s delicate, ascetic one. But now, at this moment, Kalyani is right. Whatever resemblance there is, is emphasized, it springs out at them.
And then Hrishi rushes in exclaiming, ‘Aren’t we going?’ He sees Aru, stops and says, ‘Wow!’ And then, ‘That’s the end of poor Rohit.’
‘Don’t be stupid.’ Aru is red with anger, her hands move as if she would tear the sari off her.
‘Let’s go, we’re wasting time.’
‘Sure you won’t join us, Sumi?’
‘I say, Charu, why don’t you wear a sari? Women should wear saris. And have long hair. It looks good.’
‘Look at the arrogance of the man telling us how we should dress!’
‘It’s for your own good.’
‘Oh, hurry up, everyone.’
And they are gone in a babble of sound, leaving Sumi alone with the image of her daughter’s beauty and the picture of Manorama looking down at her.
It has been important for Sumi to contain her feelings about Gopal’s desertion, not to let them spill over. Only in this way has it been possible for her to cope with the reality. It seems to have worked, for the picture she presents to the world is one of grace and courage, to be admired rather than pitied. Unchanged, except for a feeling—which only those who know her well are aware of—of something missing in her.
Now, since starting on her job, there are traces of her old vivacity in her. Aru is slightly ashamed of herself that this makes her uneasy. She rebukes herself for it, but her suspicions have begun to gather round Sumi’s resumption of an old friendship. I shouldn’t think this way, she tells herself, Sumi is only being friendly, she always was this way, why am I being suspicious now? And yet a third telephone call in a day makes her share her fears with Charu. She begins in an oddly devious way.
‘Do you believe in stepfathers, Charu?’
Charu is taken aback, less by the question than by the way it is put.
‘You talk as if they’re fairies or ghosts or something.’ And then, understanding comes in. ‘Oh, oh, you mean Kumar.’
‘He’s called Sumi thrice today.’
‘He’s helping her with the play—her school play.’
‘I know that, but still ... Have you seen him looking at her?’
‘Oh, come on, Aru, it means nothing. She’s a beautiful woman. And do you really believe Sumi has something like that in mind?’
‘But the way he says “Sumi dear ...”’ Aru’s tone is savagely mocking.
‘That means nothing. He’s harmless.’
‘You mean ...?’ Charu nods sagely. ‘How do you know?’
‘Oh, the way he talks—that prissy accent of his—and—oh, I don’t know why, I just know.’
‘You’re only guessing. Wildly. You know nothing.’
‘Okay, Aru, even if it’s not true, you don’t think Sumi would think of another man after what Papa’s done to her.’
‘Sometimes I wonder whether she minds that at all.’
‘Now you’re being mean.’
‘I’m scared, Charu, I don’t want anyone to take advantage of her.’
‘Talk to her then.’
‘I can’t.’ Aru is unusually humble. ‘I know I’ll only lose my temper and say something nasty. Can’t you talk? You won’t lose your temper, I know.’
‘I? My God, no, I couldn’t speak to her of such a thing.’
‘All right, forget it, forget I said these things. I shouldn’t have spoken to you.’
She doesn’t tell Charu that she’s decided to talk to her mother herself. But before she can do so, ‘The Accident’, as Charu names it, takes place.
You can never think of your own life as a series of happenings strung together. Even if it’s not a seamless whole, it’s still a whole, with the stitches absorbed and invisible. Yet this incident, the accident, will be a watershed in their lives, marking a division between their lives before and after it.
It begins oddly enough, considering Aru’s words ‘you won’t lose your temper’, with a burst of temper on Charu’s part. Aru comes home in the evening to find Sumi pacing near the gate. The moment she sees Aru, she exclaims, ‘Oh, thank God! I need the scooter.’
‘Where’s the moped?’
‘Charu’s taken it.’
‘Didn’t Hrishi come for her?’
‘That’s what I asked her. And she flew into a temper. I’ll be back in half an hour, I just have to drop this book at Kumar’s.’
‘Kumar?’ There’s a small, almost unnoticeable pause. ‘Come on, I’ll take you.’
‘I can manage.’
‘No, come on.’
Sumi settles herself on the pillion, still speaking of Charu. ‘I never expected Charu to throw a tantrum. When I asked her about Hrishi
, she said, has he signed a contract to transport me every day? Aru, what’s going on between them?’
‘What?’ Aru comes out of her absorption with a jerk.
‘Between Hrishi and Charu—have they quarrelled?’
‘Oh, they do that all the time. They had a nasty tiff yesterday. Hrishi bunked college, Charu says he’d gone out with a crowd, they were celebrating someone’s birthday. They’re a wild lot he went out with and Charu says Hrishi’s breath was stinking of beer ... now, you won’t go and tell Devi-mavshi all this, will you?’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘Hrishi said he didn’t drink, not more than a sip, anyway, but Charu doesn’t believe him. And she said something quite nasty about Hrishi not needing to study, about his rich father buying a seat for him and Hrishi was furious ....’
‘Oh. You know what I felt sorry about, Aru? She said it’s not fair for her not to have her own transport. Just because I don’t make a fuss, because I don’t complain, you ignore me, she said. Do you think that’s true?’
‘Charu with a vehicle! Don’t be funny, Ma, she can’t drive for toffee. She shuts her eyes when she sees anything, even a dog, approaching.’
‘Oh my God!’
‘Relax, Ma, I was just joking, she’ll be back in one piece. Is this the right cross?’
Aru, waiting in the garden, sniffing in the flowery perfumes, trying to identify the flowers, is wondering—it’s a beautiful house. Kumar is rich; will Sumi be able to turn this down if he asks her to marry him?
‘That was quick,’ she remarks when Sumi returns.
‘Yes, Kumar wasn’t at home.’
Which is no comfort to Aru at all.
‘Damn,’ Aru says when they turn off the main road. ‘No lights.’
The road is wholly deserted and, overhung with trees on both sides, almost pitch dark. It is like entering a tunnel and Sumi suddenly shivers, her body feeling chilled to the bone. She moves closer to Aru’s body for warmth and feels the sharp ridges of her spine through the thin fabric of her blouse. It fills her with tenderness.
‘It’s cold, Aru, you should have ....’
A Matter of Time Page 17