Raju too had lain awake that night. She had said yes to masi. What harm in going? Wasn’t it what she wanted? To be called by them big studios and directors, to be the biggest heroine. And she wanted to show Anil Babu a thing or two…even that doddering old buro of a director, eating her head, telling her she was doing everything all wrong. She could teach him a thing or two, that goat of a buro.
And Anil Babu, he of all people had pretended to not know her…a full month now she was at Bharat Talkies, and he rolling his eyes if she so much as looked his way. No one at the studio knew it, that Anil Babu had got her there, that day from Unique. No one knew anything. And then, when he was with her alone, then so much love…as if she did not know what was what. But she had said nothing. She was new in Bharat Talkies and they all were after her…that old buro of a director, that singing master…nahi hua, thik se karo, Ramola Madam, everybody. Nothing she did was good enough for them. No, she would wait, she would test the waters…and, why not Dev Burma saheb? People said things about him. She would see for herself.
VI
‘It’s impossible…’ Anil shook his head in exasperation. ‘She just won’t understand.’ He felt frantic. ‘How to make her understand?’
He had scolded her bitterly that evening, when they had met. It was easy these days to tell her when they were to meet again. He could run into her as and when he wished and no one the wiser, a whisper or signal and she would know if she was to reach the rooms after work. Not like her Unique days, when he had had to devote all of his ingenuity to get word to her. One time he had waited outside the studio’s gates almost half the day, but she had emerged late in the afternoon with Lily by her side. At long last, he had gotten word through the shrivelled buro selling chandrapulis and coconut nadus outside the studio. At Bharat Talkies, no one knew… yet. But how long, if she kept making eyes at him in everybody’s presence. People would put it down to her being a chalu girl, but then someone might think something…why him, why not any of the others.
Anyhow, Kedar Da knew. And he had not been the same since. True, it was for Kedar Da that Raju was out of Unique, and the new star of Bharat Talkies but he wished he hadn’t had to tell him. What Kedar Da had said to Ramola Devi he did not know, to make her get Raju to Bharat Talkies. Kedar Da had refused to say. For more than a week after Raju had arrived he had disappeared. Taken ill, was what everybody at the studio thought, but he had known. Kedar Da had gone back home, to Comilla, bouthan did not know why.
‘Who knows thakurpo, what got into his head…’ a worried Minati had said. ‘Just told me, aren’t the colleges still there in Comilla…won’t they need a science master?’
Kedar Da had come back to the studio, but he had dodged all questions about the trip home. ‘I just went, re, hadn’t been for so long…that’s why,’ was all he had said. But something was not right. Kedar Da was not alright.
Even Kedar Da’s assistant Potla had complained, ‘What’s up with dada, tell me? Anything at home? With boudidi? Shouted at me, for such a small thing yesterday. Then called me and held my hands, said, when I’m not there you will have to do it all by yourself, how can you make such mistakes? Not like dada, losing his temper like that.’
Mishtu Modak had presented himself to claim the price they had put on Raju. He looked happy. ‘Making mishti again, understood bhai…sold off all that stuff from the studio, all of it rubbish janjaal. I would have come much before, if not for all of this jhamela…’ he’d gurgled. ‘Lily…she’s getting a hang of it now, sari I mean. I said very strictly, madam no more frock business, now you be decent. And you two, how’s it going?’ Mishtu had winked. ‘I won’t say to anyone…I swear on Ma Kali,’ he’d whispered.
Why did he have to do it like that, that day at Unique studio? Why all the drama, the fretfulness, he had wondered later. No one needed know, about him and Raju. He had only to present the papers to Mishtu, like it was a fait accompli, and get her out of there. Raju herself had been only too glad to take flight. They had had no way of keeping her, no contract, nothing, Mishtu had almost said it. It shouldn’t have taken that much doing. Perhaps he had wanted to boast to someone…he was so very tired of living his double life. Of hiding, about himself and her…even now, at Bharat Talkies he lived every day in fear. Even more so because Raju herself was so unaffected by it all.
VII
‘Masterji, one inch at the back…and half inch that side… all of the blouses will need loosening. Raju stand still and let him take the measurements,’ Ramola instructed from her chair as Muqim master closed his tape around the new heroine. Raju was slender but bigger than Ramola and better endowed, and she had complained of the costumes being too tight.
‘She is rather beautiful…and such perfect proportions,’ Ramola thought as she watched Masterji gingerly tape Raju’s chest and waist. She wished her breasts were so full, like Raju’s were, straining against her sari blouse. Her own were rather small, barely giving her the fold in the middle of her chest. She had sometimes wondered what men found attractive in her. Perhaps it is the face after all. And that too she had, this girl…a mix of sugar and salt, as her old Bihari maid would affectionately say of her. She could understand why a perfectly upright man like Kedar Babu had gone astray. This girl had it in her, to make a man lose his mind. And she didn’t seem to try, really, like the other girls with their laboured rang dhangs. She didn’t seem to care very much for men, she was too full of herself. Men were almost like her playthings. There she was at it again, making eyes at old Masterji…now she’s frightening the poor man, Ramola frowned.
‘Raju stand still and look up…at…at the fan,’ she ordered. The girl had been at Bharat Talkies for more than a month, and she had gone from Rajbala to Raju. She never would answer straight to Rajbala. Like it wasn’t her name at all.
Raju made a face, stopped her wriggling and tossed her head with a sudden force, swishing Masterji’s nose with her thick plait, almost knocking off his glasses. Ramola glared. She’s going to hurt her neck if she turns it like that. It’s the very last thing we need now, the heroine injured…and just as they had started to make some headway.
They had taken some good scenes, finally. The scenes in the royal palace, what she herself had shot before, with Shankar, and some more. The costumes suited Raju, she did look so very like a young princess, a revolutionary… fighter against injustice…more warrior than devotee. How very different this Mira was from her own. Still there was something to it, the way she had hugged the Krishna idol close to her chest, the defiance with which she sang her songs. Somehow she reminded one of the swadeshis, for all her mischief. Like those young boys that would throw bombs, then go smiling to be hanged, Ramola thought. It was something about those boys and about this girl, them being so young that they simply didn’t care. They had had to bring in more songs, cut out some of the dialogues. Raju’s extravagance suited it better and their writer Kamal Sahab had willingly obliged, being first a theatre man and himself full of flourishes. Still, it wasn’t looking bad, not as dismal as she had imagined it would be.
‘Sit…’ Ramola said to a still sulking Raju once Masterji had taken his leave. ‘You’re not doing badly. I will speak with Nishith Babu, for him to join us again when you give your shots tomorrow…make sure that you…’
Raju yelped, stopping her. ‘That old buro, again…to eat my head,’ Nishith Babu had instituted his now third or fourth boycott of rehearsals and shoots for Mira three days before, declaring that enough was enough.
‘Raju!’ Ramola snapped. ‘I have said before that I will not have you talk like that about Nishith Babu, in that language. You are now a Bharat Talkies artiste, not some two paise ka Unique studio wali. One more complain from Nishith Babu and I will stop this picture. You have things to learn, so be quiet and do as you are told.’
‘Why can’t I learn from you then?’ Raju lowered her eyes.
‘From me…what do you mean?’ Ramola looked her up and down.
‘If that old buro tells me
I won’t listen…ever…’ Raju was being stubborn. ‘If you say…then…’ she hinted compliance. ‘You only said na…my work is better now? You…you…don’t scold me in front of everyone. And he…always going on…ma, like this, not that…’ she mimicked Nishith Babu.
Ramola was not amused. ‘Your work is better Raju, because Nishith Babu has taught you and shown you, with great dedication and patience, even after everything. Is this how you behaved with your director, Raju, when you were at Unique studio?’
‘What director? Lily Madam would show me… you know, Lily Madam, before me she was heroine of Unique. She’s also beautiful, but not so beautiful…like you…’ Raju smiled shyly.
Ramola bit back her own smile.
‘And this Lily Madam, did she love you very much?’
‘Yes…’ Raju nodded.
‘Then why did you want to leave? Unique studio?’
‘For Lily Madam only, always eating my head…like your director babu…’ again Raju made a face.
‘Hmmm, and what makes you think I won’t…eat your head…like your Lily Madam…or Nishith Babu?’
Raju giggled. ‘You’re not like that. Madam, any more of those cream biscuits?’
‘I don’t carry biscuits in my handbag Raju. Stop by my office on your way home and get them from me.’ Ramola stepped out of the costumes room leaving Raju to change back into her own sari-blouse.
Perhaps I will wait a little bit more, before I ask Nishith Babu again. She really does seem to do better without him about. Pity though…he still knows a thing or two, Ramola thought as she walked back to the office.
Raju smirked to herself as she pulled off the costume and got back into her own clothes. Madam knew so little of the world, that too having worked in the pictures for so long. High-up lady like her, what would she know of anything? Scolding her, for only saying that old buro Nishith Babu was eating her head. Little did Madam know what other things these old buros liked to eat! These babus…saala…something by day and something else by night. That night she would see what was Dev Burma saheb’s liking…
VIII
Something was not right, she could swear that on Ma Kali. Raju had fallen off her seat on the bed’s edge, or almost, when he had said she was very like his mother. MOTHER…she didn’t know whether she should laugh or cry. And then she had been afraid, why she didn’t know. He hadn’t even tried to touch her, all of the time that she had been there, in that house with him. Even Anil Babu had never talked of his mother to her. Girls like her…could they ever be like anybody’s mother? Then why call for them in the dark of night? Why keep it all hidden?
The car had dropped her back in the dead of night. ‘What…what happened?’ Kamala Masi had bubbled as Raju had started to pull off the benarasi sari. ‘Nothing…’ she had replied. It was the truth. He had sent the sari, the day before, asking that she wear it when she came. It had been a little worn, an old one. But expensive looking. He said it was his mother’s.
‘Do you love anyone?’ he had asked. ‘Na…’ she had shaken her head. She wasn’t lying. She didn’t love Anil Babu. Never had.
He had pulled out a pair of old velvet shoes with karigari on them. ‘Try these on…’ A little too small for her, but the velvet jacket had fitted right. How heavy it was. ‘These were the fashion at the time of the Durbar in Delhi. She was just a girl then, still not married…’ he had sighed, ‘…untouched.’
‘I have seen your pictures, two of them…you are good, very good indeed,’ he had smiled. ‘Who’s your guru?’
‘Nobody’, she had replied.
He had laughed aloud. ‘Why? Ramola Devi? She got you to Bharat Talkies, didn’t she?’
It had been her turn to smirk. Dev Burma saheb didn’t know about her and Anil Babu.
‘You know about Menoka, don’t you? Haven’t you heard? At the studio?’ his eyes had widened, his mouth a thin line. She had nodded.
‘And still you came to see me? What if you too…like Menoka?’ there had been a glint in those eyes.
She had played with her fingers not knowing what to say.
‘Weren’t you afraid coming here, in the night?’
‘Na toh…no…’ Raju had shaken her head. ‘I’m used…’ Still, she had hidden from Natabar Da that Saheb had called her. This one was not like the other times. Only Kamala Masi knew, and her soi. He had sent the benarasi with Padma Masi. No jewellery, he had said. ‘Who knows baba, god alone knows…’ Padma Masi had grumbled. ‘How am I to dress the girl, old benarasi…no jewellery…only some jasmine in her hair, no colour on her face…has Saheb lost his mind or what, that too at this young age?’
She had herself been flummoxed. He had not come within three hands of her. But as he had talked, he had circled her, going slowly around in that room with the bed. Making her feel like she was in a cage. At first she hadn’t known it, only after a while. He had walked about…getting up from that big chair where he had sat, past the carved three-legged table and then round again past the bed where he had made her sit. She had had to turn this way and that to keep her eyes on him.
Another funny thing…he had not allowed her to drink water.
There had been a plateful of sandesh on the three-legged table. ‘Nao, eat…’, he had held the plate to her. She had taken one, eaten looking at the plate, all the while feeling his eyes on her. ‘Water’ she’d reached out towards the lidded glass, but he had jumped, snatching it from her reach. He had smiled, ‘Your throat is dry, na? But there is no water here.’
She glugged down the gholer sharbat masi had made. Summer had set in and masi always made ghol from her homemade curds. She’d told masi to put away her food. She wasn’t hungry. Though she always ate no matter how late it got. But today…that sandesh had stuck in her throat. She’d swallowed, again and again, trying to clear her insides of it.
‘You will come again?’ his eyes had bored into her insides.
Should she? Go again? Will he really make me his heroine? What did he want from her, she wondered, if not her body?
He felt it again and again…that part of the bed where she had sat…where he had made her sit. That side where Ma had lain on her last night. When she had gasped and hiccupped. For only a few drops. He sprinkled the sheet, wetting the gaddi underneath…no matter…he would tell one of the servants to put it in the sun. He had sprinkled Ma that night, after those very last breaths left her. Some droplets had trickled from her face inside her dead open mouth. Nobody could say he hadn’t done his duty to her, put water in her mouth…it was she who all her life had wronged him.
The girl had warmed it again, Ma’s cold bed. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her. Not that she was so very beautiful, none of them ever could be like his Ma. But she had seemed unafraid…so very determined…one to get her way at any cost. She would come back, he knew that. Even if she did not want it. Because she would not admit, to herself even, that she had been afraid. She would drive herself to him. If only Menoka had hanged herself here in the house and not in the studio. The servants would swear him innocent, because, after all, he was their goddess-like Ma’s little boy. Still swore by Ma, the swine…no mother’s boy could have pinned Menoka’s death on him. And then, didn’t they all want to see these sluts hung by their little necks, to pay for their sins? The thought of Menoka pulled down from where she had hung that night by some darwan or chaprasi had driven him mad. What a shame, she must have been so very beautiful then…the smell of her just dead hair…her body still supple. How he would have liked to feel her over and over with his hungry fingers. He had wanted it of Ma that night as he had unbuttoned her shemeez and taken her breasts in his hands. But Ma was no longer so lovely, her body not so full anymore, and he had not wanted her nakedness to fail him. He would remember her from when he had first wanted her…when she would change from her kal-ghar soaked wet sari into her fresh crisp ones, her little boy looking on.
Menoka had put one over on him. No matter. He had fresh game. He whispered her name as he bent down and
put his face on the clammy sheet where she had rested her pachha, that shapely round rump. Rajbala…
PART 4
I
‘Beti, hum bara papi…ab paap humara dhul jaega… sinner that I am, my sins will wash away, don’t turn me away, my child…’ Makhandas Khemka was putting the finishing touches to that afternoon’s performance. For good measure he let another tear roll off his cheek. But the job was done. Mukherjee Babu had promised to get him those pictures, somehow, if only he would hold poor Ramola beti’s hand at this sad time, though how he had known it all god alone knew. Haramkhor kamina paji, that rascal Dhonu, no kadr of his love, he never should have strayed from his very dear sethani, his wife of many years.
Mukherjee Babu’s face told him that he had done the job to satisfaction. Avinash Mukherjee was studying his own palms with a sincere attention though his mouth hinted at a smile. Ramola herself smiled a weary smile.
‘Still, Sethji, are you quite sure? You know there is nothing that you can bank on, heroine nor director…’ she had cautioned Makhandas again a minute before. But Makhandas Khemka was undeterred.
‘Shankar Babu’s picture, then, who better to carry forward his great name than you, beti, his ardhangini, his devi-like wife. Your good sense has prevailed beti, you have heeded this Marwari. Bioscope acting, naach gaana, no beti…but yes, director…shabaash beti, bravo…only so educated a girl like you could think it, and then, will not this Makhandas Khemka be by your side, like I was there always with Shankar Babu? Money is no matter, my child. Will Shankar Babu’s dream go waste? To hell with those white-skinned Americans…those Miracle people. Is Makhandas dead, or what?’
A tearful Makhandas had arrived with his offer just before the lunch hour, not willing to heed any words of caution. With him had come Avinash Mukherjee.
Menoka has hanged herself Page 15