Raju tried again to moisten her lips but her tongue was parched. She had to get to that pitcher by the bed. She stretched her toes, then her feet…faltered an instant, then dragged her feet off the bed. For a moment a black dread choked her as she felt hidden fangs grab her feet and pull her by the legs. Then the spinning in her head stopped as she felt coldness under her feet. Her feet were on the stone floor.
The water was cool, it swilled her insides. She poured herself another tumbler and glugged it half. Her head felt heavy, the water swam inside her. She was going to vomit. She needed to breathe. She walked to the open window and pulled aside the fluttering curtain. Outside was the first hint of dawn. Raju gasped. Then passed wind…a small burst from her behind, then another one, loud and lingering. Her insides eased.
Was it what she had pressed inside her, night before, for fear it would let out in front of him, the hastily eaten luchi-aloodum. Asghar had presented himself when she was only half way through. Kamala Masi had opened the door to him, and she had had to stuff the rest before running to wash her hands. Asghar would sit solemnly but his face would start to twitch if she did not rush. Saheb is waiting, he seemed to say…he cannot be kept waiting long.
She had smelled the jasmine again, in the room with the bed…and the old almirahs. But last night there was no garland. That was another day…before…when they had had jasmine flowers on the set also, for her Krishna puja song. She rubbed her eyes. Was it then…or last night? Raju blinked. Her head ached. She hadn’t felt like this ever, even when she would be half the night at some lodge or motel, taking them…one…or by twos. She sighed.
She hadn’t seen Natabar Da in so many days. He had come again, another day, to the studio. She had sent him away. ‘Go Natabar Da. I have to eat, then rest…I have work to do…my days don’t pass roaming about in the studio para.’ Natabar had looked away. ‘I know, didi, I am a worthless no-good.’ He hadn’t come back. His shrill voice was in her ears, the ring of his steps as he put up one of those impromptu acts that would have her in splits. She now loathed his sight. What would he know…of art…the likes of Natabar Da, with their cheap naachgana. But that was all behind her. Saheb had said she had art in her…a hundred like Natabar Da couldn’t keep her down.
Again she rubbed her eyes. She wanted to stay in that day, not go to the studio. Could she send word, to Madam, when the car came? Madam would not be angry, she would understand. But no, how was that to be, they were going to go outdoor that morning…the forest scenes. It was all arranged. The whole unit would leave from the studio. The car from the studio would come at eight, to pick her.
VIII
The man sitting across the table from her smiled, showing half of a row of very white teeth. Ramola saw red. He spoke again.
‘Madam, you are misunderstanding me, it is only a social visit. If you will ask her, she will not say no…’
Dey Babu was secretary to one of their Board members. He had arrived with the customary Nobobarsha offerings. And a proposition, for Ramola Devi’s new heroine. The said Board member would like to meet with Rajbala in private, in his country house, one evening. He had been told about Madam’s remarkable new find…if Madam could persuade the girl, and knowing how much the said gentleman had benefitted Bharat Talkies and Shankar Babu, and how much he could be of assistance to Madam herself, now that she had at hand the very difficult task of running a top studio like Bharat Talkies…a burden, truly, for a lady so gentle.
‘You swine…’ escaped Ramola’s lips and she said it again, ‘you swine.’ She watched his face change. Her voice trembled. ‘You think I am sitting in this chair to put a price on the girls that work here, in my studio?’
He opened his mouth then shut it.
‘What do you think Bharat Talkies is, Dey Babu…a marketplace…a bazaar?’
She stood up, picked one of the large boxes of sweetmeats that Dey Babu had brought with him, and hurled it over his head. The box landed with a thud, scattering its contents along the floor behind him. She banged the bell on her desk.
‘Send Anil Babu, at once…’ she shouted to the startled orderly.
She looked again at Dey Babu. He was frozen in his chair, eyes blazing, jaw hard.
‘Would you…or your malik, our revered board member, have dared to make this suggestion to Shankar, if he was there? Do you dare say this to me because you think I am helpless now, without Shankar? That I am now ready to hear anything?’
Dey Babu stayed silent. Ramola gritted her teeth. She wasn’t going to let him off, so easy.
‘Your malik, Dey Babu, he had lost his family estate, no? Taken over by the government I heard, for mismanagement. Now, the zamindari ruab, that princely temper, has it come down to this?’ she squinted savagely. ‘Do you know how old this girl is, Rajbala? Nineteen or twenty…younger even than his charming daughter, who I happen to know well.’
A knock sounded. Anil opened the door, walked in and slipped on a pink chamcham before he saw the mess on the floor.
‘What…e ki…all this…Madam, you wanted me?’
‘Yes Anil, I called for you. Step over that mess, will you, we’ll have it cleaned later’. She felt like her insides were burning. They thought they could push her, in the name of Bharat Talkies…and in here, inside the Bharat Talkies studio. They would know better.
Dey Babu made a move, to extricate himself.
‘Madam…I see that you are busy…’ he smiled weakly as he half stood. ‘I must take your leave. My apologies for the mess…my feet slipped, and the box from my hands…’ he waved at the floored chamchams.
‘Sit…sit down, Mr Dey…’ Ramola ordered, causing Dey Babu to sink back in his chair. She raised her eyebrows, her signature style, like how it would be in a critical scene.
‘Anil…’ she turned to him. ‘Do you want to know what Mr Dey has proposed to me, on behalf of our honoured board member?’
‘Madam, I beg you…for your own sake…’ Dey Babu face had reddened.
‘Are you trying to warn me off…Mr Dey?’ Ramola leaned forward with a flourish. ‘For my sake, is it? Or for the sake of covering up what you really make of us? How you look upon these young girls, who work in the studios, to earn their living…how you attempt to push them down, no matter all your talk of freedom…and progress. And how you imagined you could make me a party to it.’
She turned again to Anil.
‘Mr Dey here suggested we send Rajbala…to… entertain his malik, our famous educator and leader, desh neta, who is such a voice in our nationalist politics.’
Dey Babu had had enough. ‘I warn you Madam, say no more, or you will see the consequences…’ He pushed back his chair angrily and stood up. ‘Do you think that Shankar Babu never made any concessions? That he could run this studio without keeping all parties… happy? You think you can, Madam, give a certificate of character to such a class of girls that you keep on pay in your famous studio…surely their truth is not hidden from you?’
‘You say Shankar’s name in this one more time, Mr Dey, and I will see that the whole world hears of this. The truth of these girls is hidden from nobody, and not least such honourable and respectable persons as claim to uplift their kind. And yet…you come to me here seeking such a favour. Kindly, Mr Dey, take your belongings and leave my office…forthwith…’ She gestured to the boxes and packets that he had arrived bearing.
‘Anil, I want a certain name taken off our Board of Directors, here and now…despatch him a letter, with my regards. I will take the full responsibility for my decision. We would be better off…and more respectable, without such names to grace us.’ She watched Dey Babu as he tiptoed out past the chamchams. She was feeling calmer.
‘Sit, Anil.’ She gestured to the empty chair across from her. Anil hung his head as he gingerly took his seat.
‘Anil, look at me…’ Ramola sensed his thoughts. ‘What makes you so ashamed?’ She paused to catch her breath. Anil still did not look up.
‘Should I not have called you
in, do you think? So great should have been my discomfort, being approached thus, a lady of my place in society?’
‘Should…I…Madam, ask someone to clear it…’ Anil gestured behind him, seeing possible escape.
‘No Anil, not just now. I want you to hear what I have to say,’ Ramola pursed her lips before she spoke again. She was thinking clearly now.
‘Listen Anil, I was horrified…at the impudence. That he dared to even say such a thing in my presence. I might have pretended, that I did not quite understand, as it is so easy to do in such things, changed the talk…and who might have prevailed on me to send Raju anywhere. I was not forced in any way, to face up to him. After all it was not really about me…Ramola Devi, was it… but one of these girls, and don’t we all know the truth about them? And still…it angered me…so much that I could not help myself…’ she regarded the mess on the floor.
‘Rather unlike me…’ she murmured running her hand over her hair. She laughed, ‘And so very like Raju… wouldn’t you say, Anil?’ Anil smiled weakly.
‘That man…that awful loathsome man…’ she felt the anger rise again, ‘…and he that sent him, they felt no shame broaching it to me. I never would have faced such a thing, had he…Shankar…been there. All this while, I was so far removed from these girls…like Menoka… and whatever happened to them. Because he had stood between me and everything else…everything that really is real, in our world,’ she sighed. ‘But now, not any more, not if I choose to still be a part of this our world of bioscope pictures. Whether I appear in the pictures or not is no matter…’
Anil’s voice shook. ‘Madam, no one should have dared it…an insult to you is an insult to us all.’
Ramola smiled. ‘And Raju? What of her? How they thought of her? What about such other girls, Anil?’ Anil looked away. How was Madam to know how he felt about Raju? What if someone else had been in her place?
If they had forced Raju…if Raju had given in, for the sake of a big name like Bharat Talkies…what if…
He looked up at Ramola. Should he tell Madam, about him and Raju? Would she understand? She spoke softly.
‘You had better ask someone to clean that mess…’
IX
To
Mme. Ramola Devi Chattopadhyay
Proprietor, Bharat Talkies
Tollygunge
Calcutta
Dear Madam,
I trust this letter finds you in good health and spirits. Kindly inform me at my office address as noted below, as and when you would wish further consultations regarding your under-production motion picture Mirabai, as being undertaken at the Bharat Talkies studio in Tollygunge under your own direction and supervision.
Thanking you
Faithfully yours
Avinash Mukherjee
8 Royal Exchange Place, Calcutta.
Her pursed lips opened out in a smile, as she read the brief missive another time. The letter had been hand delivered to the studio that afternoon, and somehow it had lightened the day for her. What a remarkably odd man he is, she thought again, an air of mock exasperation about her as she held the fountain pen to her lips before starting to write her reply.
Dear Mr Mukherjee,
Thank you for your letter. May I suggest Saturday, the 3rd of May as a suitable date for a consultation?
I understand that you are not kindly disposed towards the Grand. Might it be the Ritz then? 1 o’clock on the given day.
Thanking you
Most sincerely
Ramola.
She beamed mischievously, as she folded the notepaper and pushed in inside an envelope with her name printed on it. She would get it delivered by someone at the studio, in the morning. She’d smiled to herself on her way back home in the car as she had imagined a mortified Avinash Mukherjee, in all his stiff formality really trying to make amends for his very queer abruptness of that last day. Flinching like that at the idea of lunching with her! She couldn’t resist the temptation to tease. He would still cringe, of that she was sure, Grand or the Ritz…he really was so peculiar in his ways, unlike anyone else that she knew. So very sincere, and yet charming in all his unease…not a bit the overly ambitious attention seeker, or those annoyingly over-interested fawners that she so frequently encountered. Anyhow, Saturday was still three days, he could well write back and refuse if he really did not wish to come. But then, why write to her at all? Surely, he was well aware that Mirabai was close to being finished…two more songs to take and the last scenes, for which she had told Raju to take a bit of time, to ready herself…the end would need some serious attention. She was thinking of releasing it in July, or possibly August… What in the wide world then could he, Mr Mukherjee, now hope to offer her, by way of a consultation! Her lips quivered as she stopped a smile. It had been more than a fortnight since he had last stopped by…soon after that most curious visit from Seth Makhandas.
She hadn’t heard from Sethji since, she had started to imagine it was some kind of intimate jest between Avinash Mukherjee and Seth Makhandas that somehow got played out in her presence…what for though she couldn’t imagine, for all the world. She knew now what she hoped of Mirabai…the new Mirabai. Not anything outstanding or very highly cultured as she and Shankar had imagined it, what with the original script changed and so many of the dialogues cut. She had also cut down on the scale of it, she would have to watch her steps going forward. Their books were in order…for now, but backers like Seth Makhandas had their doubts, she knew, and then, there had been so much talk on Raju being the new heroine. They had put their trust in Shankar, they would look out now for what she would make of Bharat Talkies.
In a way, Ramola mused, perhaps, it had not been such a bad thing, getting another heroine for Mira. It had allowed her to take charge of the studio…to understand and act…rather than having to worry about her own performance. She could get so absorbed in her characters she was inclined to become withdrawn, and that simply would not have done. She had only shot for a few sequences, though of course Mira was a part of her now, it always would be. She smiled. Raju had written herself all over Mira now, with her vigour…a force and energy that somehow made this Mira more human, a living and breathing thing, rather different from her own. Somehow more lovable, more close to this world. She smiled again in recollection…poor Devdutt Chowdhury…Raju had fairly decimated him in the few scenes that they had together. She had decided to keep the shot of Raju’s impromptu snatching of a sword off one of the palace guards to encounter Devdutt’s Bhojraj as he had ordered a removal of her Krishna idol. Devdutt’s face had been a picture to behold. ‘Messing with the script like that, confronting me, am I a villain, naki?’ he had moaned later in his decorous fashion. True, it had gone a bit against the grain of the picture, that scene. Bhojraj had been an accommodating husband to Mira, her confidant. Though occasionally aggrieved by her actions, she imagined, like Shankar had been, by her. But it had been such a rare moment of unscripted exuberance, unrehearsed and so very artless…like any other moment of conflict, between any loving wife and husband.
What would happen after Mirabai was finished? Would she release Raju? Or keep her? She had not thought through it. Their contract with her was for this one picture. She would have to take stock…but in truth, she didn’t want to let Raju go, that girl was one in a hundred. Ramola rubbed her eyes. She would have to see how audiences took to Raju before she made up her mind. Funnily enough, Kedar Babu, having pushed her so into getting Rajbala, and then to promoting Anil to his new position of manager-in-chief, had simply gone into the shadows these last months when they had remade Mirabai with Raju. His assistant Pankaj…Potla as they all called him, was capable enough, and she had had no reason to complain. And Kedar Babu did visit the sets occasionally…like that last day when they were taking the outdoor shots of the horses, and then another day, when they had canned the durbar sequence, and both days Raju had not had her scenes, she remembered that. He had come in to see her privately in the office, on several occa
sions, to apprise and reassure her. That he had had Pankaj report to him every day after work, and would instruct him for the next day’s shoot.
‘How long will I stay on Madam,’ he had said wistfully. ‘You and Shankar Babu have always given me so much respect…I am not deserving of it…now I have to prepare someone to take over from me.’
She had protested, but hadn’t liked to press him. She hadn’t brought up Rajbala either, and for that he had seemed grateful. He had been the Kedar Babu she had known all of these years, kind and affable…not one bit how he had been with her over those few days, when he had prevailed on her in the Raju matter. She still couldn’t imagine it, him and Rajbala…perhaps she had misunderstood something, those days were like a blur in her mind now. She had watched out for Kedar Babu’s encounter with Raju, but it had not happened. And she had been far too engrossed with everything to give it more thought, more so now, that Raju had turned into such a surprise, after the first trouble she gave, the little rascal. She had been like an astonishment to them all, not least old Nishith Babu, who had gone so far as to declare she was his best pupil after herself…dear old Nishith Babu…even Bimal Babu had praised her shots, and he was known to be a little bit mean, with the girls especially.
Though surely nothing next to Ambarish…how he had pushed Menoka to the very edge, somehow she couldn’t get Menoka out of her mind. It kept coming back to her, more after Raju had come. Had it been Raju in place of Menoka, would she have kept her silence? How were they different, Menoka and Raju, both studio girls…both so beneath her station in life that they did not merit to be in her thoughts even. Yet, she would go back to the night of the New Year…sometimes in her sleep, waking troubled, and then angry. Angry with herself, and most of all Shankar. That night she had not held it against him…but later…perhaps it was Raju that had changed her mind. And that loathsome Dey Babu, he had hinted that Shankar had given in, to keep the big people happy…at the cost of girls like Raju and Menoka. Daring to make that kind of proposition to her. Like there was no distance really between herself and Raju… or any studio girl, for that matter. How it had infuriated her, his insinuation about Shankar…but Shankar, you did let Menoka’s death pass, like it was nothing. And all of those poor wretches, those other girls, and all of it happening under our very noses…only because we did not wish to irk one of our own. We kept quiet, us all… only whispers. If she, they all, had broken that wall of silence…in some way…perhaps it might have warned off the likes of Dey Babu. Well, he did get a taste of it, and better late than never, she thought grimly.
Menoka has hanged herself Page 18