by Basu, Bani
Seema began to laugh. ‘You don’t know, Esha-di, some people’s independence comes from the dependence of others.’
Esha said, ‘No Seema, I’ve noticed that women feel a certain glory in considering themselves beholden to their husbands or to other men. “Let me ask him, he doesn’t want to, he was saying . . .” you will often hear such statements from women who are well-educated, possibly financially independent too. I don’t know if this is a psychological explanation, but I think you too feel proud to think of yourself as your husband’s property, you consider yourself far superior to independent women like me, isn’t that so?’
‘Are you angry with me, Esha-di?’
Neelam had been listening quietly all this while. Now she said, ‘Expressions like “unclaimed” or “public property” are not at all respectful, Seema. I don’t know why you used them.’
Esha intervened quickly, ‘That’s not exactly what Seema meant, Neelam, I understand the points she’s making. I’m not angry, merely a little worked up. But my experience shows that women are very complex characters. They don’t know what they want. They’re caught up in doubts about everything. Wanting and not wanting at the same time. I don’t know why this is so.’
Neelam sat up. ‘You’re absolutely right, Esha. Wanting and not wanting at the same time. Why? Why are we so bizarre?’
Seema said, ‘So you too suffer from wanting and not wanting at the same time, Esha-di? What if this is a general characteristic of all women?’
‘No Seema, I don’t suffer from it,’ said Esha. ‘Perhaps I’m not entirely a woman in that case. When I want something it’s never by mistake. If there’s a valid reason, such as this tremendous urge to visit Ajanta and Ellora, I do whatever possible to make it happen. And I certainly do not feel afterwards that I didn’t want to, that I was wrong. But I suffer from a different illness, though you have to think about whether to call it an illness or not, which is to have something and yet not have it at the same time.’
‘What on earth is that?’ asked Seema curiously.
‘You’re a child, you won’t understand,’ Neelam told her.
Seema said in a small voice, ‘No Neelam-di, my son is thirteen, I’ve been married fifteen years. I understand very well what it is to have and yet not have something. I understand mine. I was only trying to understand what it means for others, for Esha-di, for you.’
The chirping of crickets had begun. The bright light in the lawn was switched off, leaving only a dim glow. Night meant peace. Daylight never seemed to wane here. The sleeping buses were visible at a distance through the window. They would stretch and start moving again tomorrow morning. How deep their repose was. But every time Aritra closed his eyes he could see ugly scenes. Only if he was secure about Neelam could he turn his attention fully to Esha. But Neelam wasn’t offering him that certainty. She had summoned Bikram, and Mahanam had floated up from some distant past. She had informed Mahanam that she was the mother of his child. Mahanam hadn’t even known. She had invited him home and given him lunch. And it was primarily she who had brought him on this trip. Mahanam would have come anyway, but getting him to accompany Aritra and Esha was a tactical move on Neelam’s part. Aritra Chowdhury was about to be checkmated by a pawn. Bikram Seal was blocking his way on one side, and Mahanam Roy on the other. Neelam herself was positioned in a third direction, holding the scales of blindfolded justice in to weigh his achievements and failures. But a river long forgotten had roared back into his bloodstream. Esha was like the legendary magnet in the Sun Temple at Konark. And Aritra, a Portuguese ship. Even if he could not arrive in one piece, all the iron in his body would be shattered and deposited on Esha’s shore.
Mahanam was performing the shavasana with his eyes closed, lying flat on his back. He was in the habit of exercising every evening, but he hadn’t been up to it today because of the exertion. The evening session of music had been a pleasant one. Every time he tried to unknot his legs and sink into detachment through his shavasana, what appeared before his eyes indistinctly was the figure of the goddess Kali sitting on a corpse. What a strange delusion. What he had seen today was Parvati as Gauri, but this fresh memory had easily been supplanted by another image— was this some Tantric tradition flowing in his blood? The pervasive darkness of the figure gradually occupied his mental world. He felt overcome by a wondrous drowsiness. If this rhythm grew more insistent, what would Mahanam fill the pages of his book with? He began to fight it with all the power at his disposal. He would have to keep the force of his conscience alive. He did not wish to drown himself now in the pleasures of emptiness and blackness. Little by little, his willpower took him to the land of conscious slumber. Mahanam sighed deeply.
Suddenly he heard a faint sound. Mahanam went from willed sleep to willed wakefulness. He saw the door closing slowly. Startled, he realized that both the other beds were empty. Neither of his two companions was in the room. There was plenty of money in here. An unknown land. Dead of night. Mahanam sat up in his bed. Let the door remain shut, but he would stay awake till they returned and locked the door. There were two large windows on the left. Suddenly Mahanam saw Bikram walking across the lawn in the dim light. And, following him at a distance, Aritra. Were they strolling outside because they couldn’t sleep? At this hour of the night! In the ghostly glow on the lawn they looked like wild animals, Bikram for his enormous, outsized form and Aritra for his wary, catlike movements. Mahanam was surprised to see Bikram step off the path and walk towards their rooms. The three women were in the next room, he was standing next to its large window, at first glance the garden looked like a jungle with a gorilla-like humanoid creature in it. Going up to the window, Mahanam cleared his throat, whereupon Bikram whirled round and found himself face to face with Aritra.
‘What are you doing?’ said Aritra in a muffled, angry voice.
‘What are YOU doing?’ Bikram countered belligerently.
‘You want to know? Waiting to nab you red-handed.’
‘Have I stolen something?’
‘Do it if you dare.’
‘Careful, Chowdhury-da. There’s a limit to insults, I won’t tolerate it, there will be violence.’
Mahanam was amused. Everyone wanted to fight a duel with Aritra. Aritra had been born a valorous man. Always at loggerheads with other men. There was no way to settle things except through frontal combat. Who knew what kind of man this Bikram Seal was. If Aritra was mythical, Bikram was prehistoric.
‘What’s the matter, Aritra, Bikram?’ he asked from the window.
Both of them turned towards him in surprise. Possibly someone had appeared at the window of the next room too. There was a faint sound of the shutters being closed. Aritra strode away. Bikram went in the opposite direction. Aritra entered the room, Mahanam was back in bed, he could hear Aritra’s agitated breathing. Aritra was saying in a low voice, ‘Bastard, scoundrel!’ Bikram entered about ten minutes later, locking the door loudly. His bed creaked. Within five minutes Mahanam could hear him snoring.
When the women got ready in the morning and gathered in the dining room, Aritra said, ‘We’re taking the bus today. I’ve booked four seats. It’s too much of a squeeze in the car.’
‘No problem,’ said Bikram.
‘Oh no,’ said Seema, ‘I’ll have to go alone with you in the car.’
‘You can take the bus too, who’s stopping you? I love driving by myself.’
‘Yes, and while I take the bus, you’ll have an accident,’ said Seema.
‘How many cars on this road to have a collision with? I might run into the tourism bus though. Just imagine how fast I can drive on these empty roads.’ Bikram’s expression revealed the animal pleasure of speed. He always found some form of pleasure or the other.
‘Have you seen auto races?’ said Seema. ‘Some of the cars just turn upside down. Going up in flames. The burnt bodies of the drivers have to be pulled out. For this reason alone I’m travelling in your car today. And you will let me drive too.’ Seema walked
across the room to the other side as she spoke. ‘I know why Ari-da booked seats on the bus. What were you arguing about last night? Must you fight even on a holiday?’
Winking, Bikram said, ‘I really wound him up last night. He was livid. As it is the man has a filthy mind.’
‘Did you expect to just reach in through the window and pull one of us out like a rag doll?’ asked Seema without smiling.
Bikram burst out laughing. ‘Why would I have to pull anyone out? Wouldn’t you have come if I’d asked you? Who wants to be alone on such a lovely, thrilling night?’
Seema said, ‘Big mistake. Don’t imagine I will come whenever you ask me to.’
Quickly lighting a cigarette to hide his discomfiture, Bikram said, ‘All right, enough. Enough nonsense. Let’s go now.’
Mahanam and Neelam were seated in the very first row. Aritra sat with Esha five rows behind them. The seats had high backs. Mahanam was unusually tall. Sometimes it is the length of their legs that leads to a difference in height. But Mahanam was also taller than most from the waist upwards. Which was why his light blue collar and a head full of wavy hair were visible from the back. Whenever he looked sideways, his nose, the flow of his eyes and the lines of his beard could be seen. Neelam was out of sight. But still Aritra was reassured today. Bikram wasn’t next to her. The ugly sight of Bikram’s picking Neelam up in his arms to deposit her on the terrace of the Kailash temple would not be repeated. Of course, he had had to leave the seat next to hers to Mahanam. But Mahanam wasn’t Bikram. If sitting next to him brought some of Neelam’s college romance back to her, so be it. Aritra had got a seat next to Esha’s. Aritra was next to Esha. Aritra and Esha.
Aritra was looking at his favourite sight, Esha, in different ways—directly, from the corner of his eyes, turning towards her. A glittering necklace around her neck, a few wisps of hair, curled and small, behind her hair. Her blue sari was reflected on her forehead. Esha was looking darker than usual. The sun had been overhead most of the previous day. How his heart, his joy, brimmed over at the sight of this dark complexion. The bus was redolent with its glow, Aritra’s mind too.
‘What trees are those, Ari, do you know?’ asked Esha. ‘There were many of them outside the Daulatabad fort too.’
‘Which trees? Oh those! Those are silkcotton trees. Semul.’
‘They have such shiny silvery bark. Just look at them in the sunlight. Like silver trees. Standing there with their branches. No flowers or anything. So beautiful. See how many there are. They’re like trees of light. Gardens of heaven.’
‘Didn’t you know silk is cultivated in Maharashtra? How strange.’
‘Oh, is this where it comes from? Imagine the black soil giving birth to light. Do you know, Ari, from the train I saw a herd of rock elephants in the bed of a dry river. If only I could have shown you. Straight out of the Jatakas. Small, medium, large, elephants in all sizes.’
‘You wanted to show me, Esha? Tell me truly, me?’
‘I wanted to show someone. The joy of seeing something beautiful isn’t complete unless it’s shared.’
‘You’re very cruel, Esha. Couldn’t you have lied and said it was only me you wanted to show it to?’
‘But wouldn’t you have felt bad if you knew I was lying?’ Esha smiled at him. How much more cruel would he consider her if she told him that she had had no specific feeling about him till meeting him at Kalyan?
‘Esha, tell me you’ve come to me, to see me, to be seen by me, to be close to me—say it once, at least once.’
Esha said, ‘Honestly Ari, I’m here to visit Ajanta, I cannot explain how strongly it’s been calling me for some time now. My prayer to life is that I get to see the Sistine Chapel.’
A miserable Aritra said, ‘But still you won’t say it. Not even as a lie. Can the attraction of Ajanta be greater than a person’s?’
Esha said, ‘You said poets never die entirely, Ari. If, being a poet, you do not understand the attraction of Ajanta, whom will I explain it to?’
Taking Esha’s hand in his and holding it tightly, Ari said, ‘Don’t tell me charming lies then, or secret truths. Doesn’t the fact that I came to your mind in the context of Ajanta prove something?’
‘What does it prove?’ Esha smiled.
‘It proves that:
I want, it’s you alone I want still
A choking whisper in desolation’s ear
In your absence I cannot bear
My presence, my future’s dark and closed
Your name spells the meaning of eternal loss
Your name . . . just your name . . . just your name
Esha said, ‘I’d never have come if I hadn’t completely stopped wanting you. I wouldn’t have been able to. If I’d still wanted you, the humiliation, the rejection, the agony of being used, would all have hurt like fresh, gaping wounds. All this has died a natural death. I can see you entirely impersonally now.’
Every word of Esha’s was a knife being twisted in Aritra’s heart. He said, ‘How shall I seek your pardon, Esha, Presha? How? Forgive me, Esha.’
‘How strange, Aritra. I did that a long time ago. Didn’t I tell you that all these things have been turned to ashes and dispersed in the skies? It is because I have overcome those terrible shocks that I am who I am today. The ashes of those memories fell on the soil of my mind and made it fertile. I am happy that they took place and that they ended. And I can now seek your help to visit Ajanta along with Neelam. Ari, I . . . I’m hungry for experiences, parched, sometimes I wish I had a hundred bodies, a hundred minds . . .’
‘And if you did? Would you not give one of them to me?’
‘Life has to be drunk till the cup is drained, Ari, it needs so much time. So many minds. I think several lifetimes can pass having the same experience in different ways. Nothing’s left over, there’s always a shortage.’
‘How could you be so cruel, Esha? You’re not willing to give me even one of the hundreds of lifetimes, the hundreds of births. Maybe I did make a mistake, maybe I WAS unjust to you once. But still.’
‘You didn’t make a mistake, Ari. You were unjust, that’s true. But it’s not very serious in the context of one’s entire life. You didn’t do any permanent damage to me. On the contrary, your choice was right. Neelam is the one who has transformed you from your Bohemian existence to an ideal, successful, husband and father. She is your appropriate partner.’
‘I’ve changed externally. Yes, I live comfortably. But can such homebound comfort be a man’s ultimate objective? Esha, you could have been my inspiration, the one who would have helped me find my true north.’
Smiling, Esha said, ‘Don’t mind what I’m about to tell you, Ari. Humanity won’t suffer if a few poems remain unwritten, but the larger the number of peaceful, beautiful and successful units of parents and children there are, the better it is for society. And besides, you left me because you wanted Neelam, having got Neelam now you want me, if you get me you’ll definitely want someone else. This is your nature, more or less.’
‘Very well, if getting you releases me from my evil planet, you will also find some sort of release, won’t you? Although you haven’t analysed me correctly at all, I’m saying this from your point of view.’
‘Why do you keep making the same mistake, Ari? And besides, one of your notions is completely incorrect. You think Neelam is only a homemaker, a housewife, who can offer nothing by way of what you call inspiration, but you’re wrong. The truth is that you haven’t got Neelam entirely. And you don’t even know this.’
‘You’re saying Mahanam is still in her heart . . .’
‘No.’ Esha laughed. ‘Honestly Ari, I’m not saying anything of the sort, working in a commercial firm has really coarsened you. I cannot find a trace of Trilokesh Gaurav in you anymore.’
Neelam said, ‘You take the window seat now, Mahanamda. You’re here to see the sights.’
‘Haven’t you come to see them too?’
‘I have, but not the scenery.’
/>
‘Why have you vowed to see art but not nature?’
‘There are things on this trip much more worthy of my curiosity than the scenery,’ said Neelam brightly.
‘Such as?’
‘You, Esha, Ari.’
‘Are you studying us? Aren’t Seema and Bikram included? They too are worth seeing and listening to.’
‘I’m done with seeing them, listening to them. You can.’
‘No you’re not done, Neelam. Like everyone else, they too are evolving constantly. If you’re interested in variety, you cannot ignore them.’
‘You haven’t demanded an explanation from me, Mahanam-da,’ Neelam said in a disappointed voice.
How could Mahanam tell her:
I never built on your body
A sky-kissing stairway to heaven
I never forgot you’re a magic moment’s gift
He said, ‘Very well, explain. I’m putting you in the dock.’
Neelam was hurt. ‘Your eyes are shining with laughter. Is this any way to demand an explanation?’
‘Then I shan’t ask for one,’ said Mahanam. ‘“Does anyone want to excavate his heart for pain?”’
‘No heart. No pain either. Nothing. There never was.’
‘Don’t say that. You don’t have to be so poetic.’ Mahanam laughed loudly.
‘Is Neelam telling jokes?’ said Aritra from the back.
‘Great sense of humour,’ said Mahanam, getting to his feet.
‘She has a huge stock, Mahanam-da,’ said Ari. ‘I’m not sure whether all of them are suitable for you though.’
Neelam heaved with laughter when Mahanam sat down. Pleased, he said, ‘It seems Ari has made you happy. That’s why I’m not going to scold you. I hope you understand that. The most important thing is to be happy.’
‘What makes you think I am? Because I’ve grown fat?’
Mahanam laughed loudly again.
Esha said, ‘Neelam is having such a good time. Mahanam-da is enjoying himself so much. And you’re whispering all kinds of morbid things in my ear. Be easy, Ari. Accept the truth simply.’