Arjun got up and moved away from Priti and he said, ‘It was taken soon after the massacre at Jallianwalla Bagh, during the dark days of the Rowlatt Act, when Indians had to alight from a carriage and salaam every passing Englishman. Being a proud man, Bauji stopped going out at all. But once he had to meet his Muslim friend, Mian Afzal Hussain, the Principal of the Agricultural College at the station. As their tonga was passing the barracks, which you see in the back, they were stopped by two English tommies. They were asked to get off and made to walk. And they were abused and called “dirty niggers” by the soldiers. Bauji ignored them, but when the soldier struck his coachman with a whip, Bauji shouted back “Soldier, the DC’s order does not permit you to strike anyone. Your countrymen have established a rule of law which protects this coachman as much as it protects you.”
‘“Don’t you know, black man, I am a cousin to King George V,” the soldier had jeered.
‘After dropping his friend, Bauji went to the DC’s office and lodged an official complaint. A few weeks later he stood up in the District Magistrate’s court and gave evidence. The verdict of the DM went against the soldier. That the punishment, a small fine, was meagre compared to his own deep feeling of humiliation did not matter (as it seemed to, to some of his friends). It vindicated Bauji’s faith in the English Raj: an Englishman had arrested one of his own, and had punished him.’
‘But why the sadness, Arjun?’ asked Priti.
After a pause he replied, ‘Because, I suppose, he was aware that despite everything, we were still a subject race.’
‘And how did the picture come to be taken?’ she asked.
‘A few months later,’ Arjun said, ‘when things were back to normal, some friends of Bauji persuaded him to return to the scene of the incident, and they had a picture taken.’
‘That’s you, isn’t it, in this picture? said Priti, turning to another photograph.
‘Yes, it’s family picture taken in the garden of our house in Simla.’
‘Of course it’s Simla! I can almost smell the air and the pine trees in the back.’ And she took a deep breath. ‘Look at you in the corner in your shabby school shirt and your small boy’s brown eyes, shiny kneecaps, and your queer smile with dimples. That’s your mother, of course. And your father, looking stern. I don’t remember his being stern. But who’s that dandy fellow in the corner?’
‘That’s Big Uncle. In fact he once came to your house.’
‘Looks like he has to go to the lavatory, the way he has crossed his legs.’
Arjun laughed.
‘What does he have in his pockets?’
‘Sweets. He always carried sweets which he distributed to children on the road. He was funny and all the children loved him. He almost didn’t make it in time for the picture because he had gone to the Upper Mall for a haircut. He wanted to look his best. You remember that saloon near the post office. It was the most expensive barber in Simla—I forget the name. Big Uncle used to go into raptures as he described the barber’s technique, “It’s a whole art, you know—all a question of the angle of the razor,” he used to say seriously. After the haircut he would always get a head massage, which he called “electric friction”. When the ritual was over, he would examine his reflection in the mirror with self-satisfaction. “Yes” he would say in a clipped way giving a short authoritative nod, “it’ll do”.’
She laughed. ‘And who took this picture?’
‘Karan,’ he replied.
At first Priti enjoyed managing the house. When they had first met at Bombay Gym, she was cynical and disillusioned with nothing more to learn and nothing new to feel. She had merely wanted peace and quiet in her life. Arjun had entered at the right moment, and had created a stir in her, and brought her that quiet stability. She too believed that finally this was happiness. But after some time she slowly tired of the domestic routine and longed for something new. She began to wonder whether this peaceful stable life was the happiness that she had always wanted.
Before the wedding, she had fully thought herself in love. But now she started to question the nature of love between a man and a woman and wondered if there was something higher and more permanent. Not that she cared for Arjun any less; she was merely groping for a new kind of excitement.
Although he was sensitive, Arjun could not have easily guessed what was going on in her mind. As their domestic intimacy grew familiar and into a pattern, she began to observe their life with a kind of detachment, to hold herself more aloof from the routine and to contemplate the meaning of ‘family life’. Sometimes Arjun came home late from work, at eight or even nine o’clock. He would be hungry, and as soon as he had showered and changed, they would sit down to eat. Wanting io ease his mind from the day’s activities, he would eat silently and in comfort. She would want him to talk about the business world and the excitement of the day, but he found it an effort. Thus they would exchange few words, mostly small talk, and being tired he would go off to bed and immediately fall asleep. His earlier ardour tended to fade and their sexual life threatened to lapse into a routine; his embraces began to lack freshness and vigour.
And yet, occasionally, it seemed to her that this was the finest time of her life. To savour it fully, she felt that their circumstances could perhaps have been different. But what they ought to have been she was not sure. She would have liked to talk to someone about her feelings. But none of her friends, like Neena and Rao Sahib’s family, or admirers like Nawab Sahib or Arjun’s few bachelor friends seemed appropriate. How could she describe an intangible feeling of discontent that changed from day to day? To the outside world, she appeared to be infinitely blessed, having married a ‘rich catch’.
Arjun had learnt to be thrifty from his mother, but Priti found some of his habits downright stingy. This sometimes created a problem between them. But it assumed serious proportions when Tara came to visit them. She found Priti ‘spoiled and prodigal’. Priti complained that her mother-in-law was prejudiced against her. Tara, who had carefully budgeted her own household expenses all her life and managed to run her house on Seva Ram’s modest salary, was appalled that Priti did not care about the butter, the sugar, and the gas that was used up in a month. She neatly stacked the sheets and towels in the bathroom closet and taught Priti to lock the pantry when she went out. Priti accepted her advice quietly because she did not think it worth arguing over; besides she was basically more detached about her possessions. All day long Tara went around the house worrying about which shopkeeper was cheating them, and she found Priti’s cavalier manner irritating. To this was added the humiliation of seeing her son dote so completely on her daughter-in-law that he seemed to forget his own mother. She sometimes felt left out. Tara couldn’t help but envy Priti because she couldn’t remember having experienced this constant and demonstrative devotion from her own husband. In Arjun’s love for Priti she saw a defection from her own love, as if Priti was encroaching on something that was hers. In such moments she observed Arjun’s happiness in gloomy silence. Once she even reminded Arjun that it was unbecoming for a man to give into every whim of his wife. She recalled her own past, and she counselled him that ‘manly men kept their wives in place’ from the beginning and made it known who had the upper hand in a house; it was not proper in a man to worship his wife.
Arjun was caught in a novel dilemma, and did not know what to say. He respected his mother but he utterly adored Priti. He felt Tara had good judgement and Priti could benefit from it, yet he could not bring himself to openly criticize his wife. Arjun gently tried to pass on some of Tara’s suggestions, but Priti responded in such a remote and abstracted manner, that Arjun was soon silenced.
All the time deep inside her, Priti waited for something to happen. She was quite clear in her mind that it was not another man that she desired. But what was it that she wanted? She did not know. Every morning she would wake up and hope to find it there. She looked out of the window, listened to every new sound, but nothing would happen. At sunset, she w
ould grow sad and wait for the next day.
9
One day Arjun came home early. He looked flushed and excited. Both Priti and Tara were at first concerned, but they quickly realized that nothing was wrong with him. He had brought news of a major national event which would in time envelop them and totally change their lives.
‘The Supreme Court has confirmed that she is guilty. It came on our wire this afternoon,’ he informed them.
‘Oh no!’ gasped Priti.
‘How can the Court do it? It is like removing the Prime Minister for speeding in traffic,’ said Tara outraged.
At three forty-five that afternoon the Supreme Court had confirmed that Prime Minister Indira Gandhi was guilty ‘of corrupt election practices’.
‘Strange are the workings of the law,’ said Arjun.
‘She won by over a lakh votes, for pity’s sake,’ said Tara. ‘Can anyone believe that using a few government people for putting up some rostrums and mikes could have affected the outcome. It was a minor impropriety, not an offence.’
‘The law is blind, mother. And no one is above it, thank god!’
‘You seem almost happy!’ said Tara.
‘I hope she won’t do anything reckless now,’ said Priti.
‘If she is smart, she will resign,’ said Arjun.
‘Everyone knows the offences are minor. She will get a lot of sympathy. In eight months she can return to power at the next general election.’
‘Her father would have resigned. I don’t know about her,’ said Priti.
‘I too am afraid,’ said Arjun.
Their worst fears were realized. On 26 June 1975 the Prime Minister declared an Emergency. Before dawn police parties acting under her orders woke up political opponents and locked them up. In those thirty-six hours Arjun felt that India had changed from a democracy to a dictatorship. Arjun, Tara and Priti were all numb with shock.
‘She won’t get away with it,’ he said. ‘A democracy can’t become a dictatorship just like that.’
‘“Democracy” and “dictatorship” are big words,’ said Priti. ‘Every five years people go to the polls and vote for whom they are told to vote. There’s no real opposition, there’s only the Nehru family. Is that really a democracy?’
‘Come, come, Arjun,’ said Tara. ‘To talk of dictatorship is a bit extreme, isn’t it? Besides we do need some discipline in our national life.’
‘I bet he’s behind it,’ said Arjun.
‘Who?’ asked Tara.
‘Sanjay. She only listens to him these days.’
Arjun and his family were not excessively political. Their reactions to these events were not very different to the rest of the country. What they said reflected what was being talked about in millions of homes. Many were initially angry, especially the educated. But they got used to the Emergency and were soon absorbed in their daily lives and their work. Arjun was no different.
Arjun had always enjoyed his work and done it well. A year earlier he had again been promoted, this time to Sales Director. He was one of the youngest ever to occupy this position and he was rightly proud. Inside the office it was generally believed that he had earned his elevation. He had eventually succeeded in convincing the company to market the companion product, Bombay Colds Balm, and it too had been a huge success. In the head office in Bombay, of course, there were some managers who complained that he had been promoted too quickly. But they were moved by envy. As a matter of fact Arjun’s new flat had come as a result of his promotion rather than the compulsions of marriage. Happily the two events had almost coincided. The company had a limited number of flats and these were assigned on the basis of seniority. On his salary Arjun could never have been able to afford a larger flat, rents being what they were on the island of Bombay.
One of the main issues that Arjun had to tackle in his new position was a growing militancy in the trade. There was a threat looming in the east. Over the past few years, the retailers who sold his products had banded together to fight for higher margins from the companies. Typically, collectivizing began around a local leader, who went around from shop to shop convincing the shopkeepers that it was in their interest to unite. Where there was no strong leader, the market remained passive and dealers were fragmented.
The most successful leader was Ram Kishen Guha, who had united the chemists, wholesalers and the general merchants in central Calcutta. He had recently been successful in forcing the smaller companies to raise their retail margin from ten to seventeen per cent, and wholesaler margin from four to seven.
Having tasted success with the smaller firms, Guha was ready to take on the bigger ones. He hit upon a plan to select one large company as a target and convince retailers to refuse to stock its products until it agreed to a higher margin. Once it ‘fell’, he would select a second and a third, and soon they would all follow suit. It was certainly a clever strategy. The first company he thus honoured was Arjun’s.
One morning Arjun walked into his office to discover that he was boycotted in the large Calcutta market. The traders in the neighbouring markets of Bengal, Bihar and Orissa had also struck ‘in sympathy’. Arjun thus found that a quarter of his sales target was in jeopardy. Unless he acted fast the movement might spread.
Arjun flew to Calcutta. He talked to a lot of people and confirmed that the situation was serious. Not a single dealer was prepared to sell his products. Guha’s success must have surprised even him. He wanted to meet Guha, but the latter refused. Arjun returned to Bombay and briefed the Board. Billimoria considered giving in to the pressure, because the daily loss in sales was far greater than the value of the increased margin. The Finance Director agreed saying they could accede and immediately recover the loss by raising prices to the consumer. Others in the management also felt the same. Arjun found himself isolated. He strongly believed in holding firm and fighting. He argued that higher consumer prices would reduce the volume of sales, especially of the lower priced sizes. The poor classes would just not be able to pay the extra ten per cent, and would stop buying them.
Arjun argued with the Board that giving in to the trade would be the beginning of appeasement. The traders would merely escalate their demands in the next round. He likened the boycott to a strike by a militant union, and urged them to respond maturely by negotiation.
‘But they will not negotiate,’ said one Board member.
‘We must keep trying,’ said Arjun.
‘Every day of lost sales is a permanent loss.’
‘We just have to accept the short-term loss for a much larger long term gain.’
With some difficulty Arjun succeeded in getting fifteen days from the Board in which to negotiate and reach agreement. He flew back to Calcutta, and settled down in the Grand Hotel for a long siege. Redeploying his best men from other territories, he and his managers set up a field headquarters, and executed a two-pronged strategy: while Arjun attempted to open negotiations with Guha, his men dispersed and set out to win key dealers to their point of view. Using a cogently developed brief, his men pointed out to the dealers the risks of the boycott—it was a ‘restrictive trade practice’ which might invite action from the government; it meant loss of goodwill from their customers who could not easily substitute some of the company’s products, especially the lower-priced packs—and they reaffirmed the company’s desire to negotiate the margins with the trade leadership. A week later Arjun took the issue directly to the public in a series of advertisements in the local newspapers. As a result of these moves, a few old loyal stockists and wholesalers started to break ranks and much to Arjun’s surprise the boycott began to weaken. Arjun escalated the pressure by announcing in the press the names of dealers where consumers could directly buy the company’s products. The boycott now seemed on the verge of breaking and Guha succumbed to the pressure and agreed to negotiate. But the negotiations did not get anywhere because the gap between what Arjun offered and the demand of the association was too great. Before the negotiations broke, Guha thre
atened Arjun with ‘serious consequences’ if he persisted in his efforts to break the boycott.
Arjun flew the next day to Delhi. There he met a firm of lawyers, developed a legal brief and filed a complaint with the Monopolies and Restrictive Trade Practices Commission. He also met officials in the Industries Ministry and tried to solicit their aid. One of the Joint Secretaries agreed to help by issuing a letter ‘deploring the boycott’. Arjun had the letter promptly published in the Calcutta press. He returned to Bombay and appealed to the industry association to consider a joint action against the trade: he asked for a month’s boycott by the larger companies of the trade in Calcutta.
Even though he did not succeed in mobilizing the industry, his moves were deliberately leaked, and when he returned to Calcutta there was fear in the trade and Guha was angry. Guha’s next move was totally unexpected. He hired thugs who systematically beat up Arjun’s salesmen and managers; two godowns of the loyal stockists were burnt down within twenty-four hours; the company van in Hooghly was looted; and the brakes of Arjun’s car suddenly failed as he was on his way to offer his sympathies to the stockists whose shops had been burned. Arjun went to the police where he discovered that he was up against a different kind of enemy. The police officer ‘advised’ Arjun to leave Calcutta immediately since his life was in danger. That evening Priti phoned from Bombay to say that she had received a threat to her life. Having discovered that Guha had ‘police protection’, Arjun’s confidence was shaken. His men were totally demoralized. The boycott in the market was also complete again.
That night there was a knock on Arjun’s door at the hotel. A man brought a message that Guha wanted to see him at his home. Arjun was afraid, but he seemed to have no choice, because the man looked ‘persuasive’. They drove for an hour to Salt Lake, a new suburb of the new rich of Calcutta. Arjun had discovered that Guha was not a trader himself, but a small-time politician who had hit upon a good racket in ‘trade unity’. Being a new and distant suburb, Salt Lake was dark and Arjun was even more afraid. Soon they arrived at a brand new, brightly lit bungalow. As soon as he was led into the drawing room Arjun realized that he had totally misjudged his man. On one wall was a huge photograph of Sanjay Gandhi and on another a smaller one of Mrs Gandhi. Far from being ‘small time’, Guha seemed to have political connections at the highest level.
A Fine Family: A Novel Page 35