He looked up at the car’s sound. Was he here already? But it was still early, wasn’t it? Still not even the half hour after ten. Makhandas had said he would call in after half eleven that morning at Saheb’s house, to present his jaan, his own girl…the other heroine, so there could be a little alaap parichay, an acquaintance with Saheb before they started work on the picture. He had said yes, he had been so very eager, Makhandas Khemka. Rajbala was out of the way, for the time. He had commanded her to not move out of Ma’s chamber, upstairs. Not until he called for her to appear before Sethji.
He lifted his voice. ‘Who’s here?’
Ma’s old faithful Dinu stuck in a grey head at the library door. ‘Two people babu…a lady and gentleman… in a car. I saw them from the downstairs window.’
Really, these Marwaris, sometimes too late, and now way too early. No matter, it was a fine morning. He pulled his silk dressing gown around him.
‘Hmm, get them inside.’
IV
‘It might be a house that nobody lived in, for a little while.’ Ramola thought as she slowly walked in from the porch, and through the wood-carved main door, its pale glass front cracked down the middle. She blinked as she stepped inside.
So dark, and it was the middle of the morning.
The front had looked clean though, like it was broomed and wiped every day, white marble stairs leading into a pillared porch. But the hedges were overgrown, around the driveway where their car had stopped, the garden unkempt. She had looked up, shading her eyes against the sun…three floors, the upstairs windows all closed. She never could bear closed panes in the daytime.
She peered down the hallway, her eyes now used to the dimness, but the man who had led them in had disappeared into one of the doors. She wasn’t sure which one.
She felt Avinash Mukherjee’s hand brush against her arm. He hadn’t ever come this close before. She could feel him behind, almost against her. As if he was on guard…his long arms ready to enfold her.
‘That one, with the black glass,’ his voice came softly. Then as the man appeared again, he hurriedly stepped past, beckoning to her to follow him inside.
Not you ahead, not here, he seemed to say.
She couldn’t say whose entrance had surprised the room’s occupant more, his or hers.
Ambarish Dev Burma did not rise from his seat on the faded chesterfield sofa. Nor ask them to sit. The room had dusty book cases lining its walls. A dusty chandelier. Two open windows without curtains let in the light. On the table with clawed feet and a stained top were some old movie magazines.
Ramola spoke first. ‘I’m sure you know him, Ambarish…Mr Mukherjee?’
Most certainly he did, that hopeless nobody that would trail the boss around the studio. He raised his eyebrows and slowly nodded. Why, was he now the malkin’s favourite? And…why had she come, Ramola Devi?
Avinash Mukherjee shifted from one foot to the other, then abruptly lowered himself on the old chesterfield next to Ambarish Dev Burma. Slowly he stretched out his long legs, as though he wished to fence her off from the man next to him. Ramola’s eyes were on Ambarish as she took the high-back chair across from him. ‘You’ve come for her, haven’t you?’ His eyes were turned away from her.
‘Yes Ambarish…Raju, I’ve come to take her back with me, to Bharat Talkies from where you took her.’
He laughed.
‘Me? I took her? But Ramola Devi…Madam, where was I, when she escaped your clutches? She came on her own to me. She is here of her own will, and of that you can be quite sure.’
‘I wish to see Raju, Ambarish, right away…this very moment.’
He ran his hand through his thin hair. ‘I am not sure Madam that she is in a state fit to be seen. She has been in a state of sorts. You know what these girls can be like.’
‘Your doing, of that I am sure Ambarish. Menoka took her own life…it was because of you. And those other girls…and we let you, Shankar…and me, us all. But not Raju, not her Ambarish.’
‘Those girls, all of those girls…Madam…they got what was their fate.’ His voice was like a bird’s. Shrill, sharp. Again he ran his hand through his hair. ‘They were like keet-patanga, worms. I only tried to better their lot, but they are such a rotten lot, you know…you know that only too well, don’t you? Passed from one hand to the next, playing their little games over and over again, day after day…day in and day out. It eats into their own insides, hollows them out, even the gutter’s black water is cleaner.’ He nodded knowingly. ‘Is that not why you have always shunned girls like Menoka? Loathed them, grand lady that you are. Why one time, Menoka had greeted you in the studio…namaskar Madam, with folded hands. You had turned away your face, walked away! It had brought tears to her eyes. Don’t you remember?’ He was smiling.
Ramola bit her lip. It was true. Menoka had run up to her. It was after her big hit and she was Bharat Talkies’ new star. Yet, she, Ramola Devi, had walked away, her head held high, even as the girl had cowered in shame. Raju had never thought to please her, unlike Menoka and the other studio girls. Raju, always so full of herself, like the world did not even exist apart from her. Like…she was no less than Ramola Devi herself. Raju had made her see her own failings. Raju, how did you not see what was coming your way?
‘I want to see Raju, Ambarish’, she said again. ‘Take me to her.’
He wet his lips, slowly and carefully.
‘I am not sure that you are anymore in that position, to order me about. You know, I have decided to leave Bharat Talkies. I have not taken your pay, now for three months. You may ask your people. I am not any more your servant, Madam.’
‘But Rajbala is still my contracted artiste, Ambarish. And she is here, in your custody. She fled the studio, left my picture unfinished. It is reason enough for me to order you to bring her to me…here and now, in my presence.’ Ramola’s breaths came faster as her eyes flashed and mouth twisted.
She caught Avinash Mukherjee’s eyes, watchful and wary behind the dark rimmed spectacles. No…it is what he wants, do not show your anger, he seemed to say. He looked away again as her eyes rested on him.
Ramola drew in her breath, then spoke quietly. ‘Will you take me to her, Ambarish? Because if you do not, I will find her myself.’ She stood up.
His eyebrows lifted and lips parted as the end of his tongue slid again on his lips, his head rolling back on the sofa’s edge, and shoulders falling as he sat back, like he was about to see a bioscope show.
‘Then, go ahead, find her. You are free to search her out, she is in this house. But let me say this to you Madam, you might not like what you find.’ He sighed. ‘You might find her no longer in your thrall and truly free of your meki, make-believe studio world. Not anymore willing to lean on your shoulders. Now prepared for a greater purpose in life.’
‘That I will decide Ambarish, after I lay my eyes on her. I am rather afraid for her at this moment. I do very much hope, for your own sake, that you have not harmed Rajbala in any way, or else…’ Ramola gritted her teeth, at a loss for words.
‘I will come…with you.’ Avinash Mukherjee stood up, then sat again. ‘Errm…no…I think rather that…I will keep Dev Burma Saheb company, here. How many servants do you have, Dev Burma Saheb?’ It was the first that he had spoken.
‘Two, man that brought you in and there’s one more, they are not allowed to go to her. And, of course, the durwan, the donkey that let you in…and my driver Asghar.’
‘Would you be so kind as to order the servants outside, when she…’ he gestured towards Ramola.
‘Most certainly.’ Ambarish Dev Burma smiled. ‘I must make sure her ladyship is unencumbered. Dinu…’ he raised his voice.
The grey-haired man that had opened the door to them appeared.
‘Where is Bibhuti?’
‘In the kitchen…preparing the food.’
‘Tell him to cut the grass outside, don’t you see how overgrown it is? Whatever do you people do the whole day?’
&n
bsp; ‘Now babu…or after lunch, in the afternoon?’
‘Right now. My esteemed guests here have been complaining about the state of the garden…tell him to get to it right away. And you too, go with him, so he doesn’t take till evening.’
He watched Dinu creep away, then turned back to Ramola. ‘There Madam, now the house will be cleared in just a few minutes…for your excursion. Though I still would advise you against it. Your heroine, you might no longer know her. You never did know Ramola Devi, what you had on your hands with this girl, this Rajbala. Perhaps you will hear it from me, what this your Raju had been, before…what she is really, and what she has kept so carefully hidden from you, and from the world… and what is known to me.’
Ramola tossed her head impatiently. ‘I know her well Ambarish, well enough. And if I know her at all, she will not be defeated.’
V
She was wrong, Ambarish was right. Raju was taken… possessed…a captive without chains. Free to go where she wished, only she herself did not know it anymore.
Tears ran down Ramola’s face as she laid a hand on that head. He had broken her. When she looked at herself in the mirror she would see only her lack. Her rutted head, shorn of its locks…and those streaks on her neck, what were they? And Raju, she had shrunk.
‘Don’t you eat, Raju?’ she whispered. The girl nodded…yes.
Why was she in this heavy old Benarasi in the middle of the morning?
‘Where are your clothes Raju? Whose sari is this?’
She was quiet, then replied. ‘Mine.’
‘Yours? But why are you wearing it now, at this time, this Benarasi?’
‘For the new picture…I have to sing. In front of everybody.’
‘Sing, where?’
‘Here…’ her brow furrowed. ‘They will call for me, downstairs. When Sethji comes.’
‘What picture is this Raju?’
‘Pativrata…’
Ramola’s eyes narrowed. ‘Where Menoka was the heroine?’
Raju did not look up.
‘Raju…do you know what happened to Menoka? Raju…Raju…’ Ramola nudged the girl. ‘I am speaking to you, Raju, look at me. Do you know how she died, Menoka…for whom? And those girls before her…Radha and Tara. They came with him to Bharat Talkies. He kept them, like he has kept you. Do you know that you are just another of them, and after you there will be someone else, and then another, and another. Do you understand, Raju?’
‘I know it all.’ Raju’s head jerked back and her eyes glowered. ‘It is what others say, because they are jealous, of him…but you Madam…’ She turned her face away bitterly.
‘Raju, can you not see for yourself, what he has done to you? What picture…who will make you a heroine, like this? Look at yourself Raju.’
She had heard whispers in the studio about one of the girls…Radha was it? How she had looked when they had found her dead on the side of the nulla. Her hair cropped, like a boy’s…shrunk, skin and bones. He had kept her with him, in his house. Was it this very same room, where she had found Raju?
The house had been so very dark as she had climbed up the stairs. Her hand trailing against the black coldness of the stone staircase. No pictures anywhere. Why, their own house, the walls were so full, of her own photographs…from all the pictures. Shankar had mounted new ones all over the house, after every picture. The downstairs walls outside the dining room, and in the drawing room and all the way up, along the walls of the staircase. He had been so eager, so very proud of their every picture, and she too had not failed to admire the beauty of those photographs every time that she had come down the stairs. But this house, its walls were so bare. Why, there wasn’t a single photograph, anywhere, from Ambarish’s pictures, famous director that he was. Like he did not even belong here, in this place. Like somebody else owned this house…and he…Ambarish, had simply let it wear away.
The house needed repairs, those cracks on the walls along the staircase. She had tripped on a loose marble on the first floor as she had looked about, calling Raju’s name. A door with a lock on it, other rooms left in darkness, with windows fastened. Mirrors, crusted and spotted, but still clean. They were doing their work, the servants, she had thought as she had climbed slowly. Her fingers trailing on the banister had picked dust as she had neared the last of the steps.
They…the servants are not allowed to go to her, he had said. Then she must be here somewhere, she had told herself, one of these rooms here, upstairs, where they do not come to do their chores. And then, all at once…that picture had startled her. Of the bejewelled lady wearing a Benarasi, in a gold flowered frame that had blackened over time. Mistress of the house, surely, her eyes watchful and piercing, the proud lift of her face, an almost audacious half smile at once summoning and dismissing. Ambarish would smile like that sometimes.
And almost at once, she had seen the other photograph at the corridor’s end. She had turned suddenly, thinking there was someone behind her. And there…almost hidden away, he was so very good looking in the dusty frame on the wall. She had come close, to get a good look at him. Such delicate features and fair, the high forehead and straight nose, the thick lock that fell on his face. She was taken aback…could it be Ambarish, when he was much younger? But no, his coat, with jewelled buttons and the embroidered cap he wore on his head, they were of an older time, like her father had worn as a young boy, and her grandfather.
Raju was crying. ‘I gave my hair, it is for art…my sadhana, dedication. And this…this Benarasi, it was his mother’s. She wore it when she was going to have him. He gave it to me…not anyone else.’
So that’s who she was then, the lady in the Benarasi… Ambarish’s mother. And the man?
‘Art is beauty Raju, not this, not what he has made you. And what are these marks here, on your neck? Will the camera not pick it up? Raju, what have you done to yourself…you left Bharat Talkies, you left the biggest picture of your life…for what Raju?’
Raju tossed her head.
‘Madam, why did you leave it all, you had everything, all the riches of the world. You could marry a prince if you wanted. Everybody knows it, how they talked about you, rich people like you, when you came into the pictures. Why did you, Madam? For what? It is not a line for you, it is for girls like us. Still you came. Why did you want to give your all…for art, Madam, for Shankar Babu, tai na? Then, why not me? Why can I not give my all to him…and his art? Because I am not so high up like you? Because…how can a girl like me love somebody high up, like him…is that not what you think?’
Ramola was shaking her head.
‘It is not the same, Raju, you foolish, foolish girl. Shankar, I was his wife. He cared for me, with his life. Ambarish, why has he kept you here, hidden from everybody? Why has he spoilt you, your beauty…like this? Why does he not hold your hand then, tell the world…why Raju?’
‘Because, the world will not understand…like you, you did not understand Madam. My beauty, it is not spoilt, whatever anybody says, Madam. This picture will show them all, that Rajbala is a true artiste. That…that for a role, she can give her all, why, her life even.’
Raju smirked bitterly. ‘Tell me Madam…I have heard that in one picture you had to kiss your hero. Nishith Babu told me. How Shankar Babu, he told you to do it. How you first did not want to, but then you did it…is that not true? Nishith Babu, he said to me, a lot of people said a lot of things, but Ramola Ma, her beauty and purity, they were untouched. Because, it was for a reason, it was for art, was it not Madam? Then what if I gave my hair? Why can I not be like you? It is for the picture.’
She tilted her head, eyes bright.
‘And it will not be long now. He will take me to the new studio soon. He will say everything to everyone.’
Ramola ran her hand over her hair. She must get Raju downstairs somehow. Before Ambarish came up the stairs and tried to stop her. Though Avinash Babu had seemed rather determined to not allow him that. The tinge of a smile softened her face. She had seen,
how Avinash Mukherjee’s eyes had followed her out of that room downstairs, the room with the books. But it would all go to waste, if she was not able to get Raju out of this room, and down the stairs and face to face with Ambarish Dev Burma.
She laid a hand on Raju’s arm. ‘Raju, you left Mira, but you are still a contracted artiste of Bharat Talkies… did you not think of the picture when you came away… not once?’
She watched as the girl paled, her eyes falling.
‘No matter Raju, do you know that I have loved you…like a sister…why you are so young, you could be my daughter even,’ she laughed tearfully. ‘I have decided to let you go…your contract with Bharat Talkies, make you free…so you can be what you want. You want to be his heroine, don’t you…isn’t that what you want, Raju?’
Raju looked up disbelievingly.
She smiled back. ‘Yes Raju, it was the last sequence, we…we will manage it another way, somehow.’ She shook her head, ‘You would not be any good now, not any more…like this…for Mira.’
Raju nodded tears welling up again in her eyes. ‘Yes Madam, you are right. Mira…that was in my past life, and this life, I have given to him…and his art.’
Ramola gritted her teeth silently. ‘Very well then Raju, you must come with me downstairs now. We must put pen to paper in everybody’s presence…so that we may release you, and use somebody else to finish the picture. We will have to make it up with your close-ups… like they do in the action pictures.’
She stole a glance at her wrist. Past half eleven. Would he have arrived downstairs, in that room with the bookcases? She wouldn’t have heard the car come, all the way up…anyhow, she could not linger very much longer.
Raju looked afraid. ‘But, he said to stay here…and not go anywhere. I always stay here. He will call me down…when Sethji comes.’
Ramola frowned. ‘Raju, do you know that I could take steps against you…and Ambarish…after knowing your whereabouts of these last days, for harming my picture, and causing loss to the studio. I could stop you, you know, from working in another picture, when you still are a contracted artiste of Bharat Talkies. Do you want that Raju, do you want me to do what I would rather not?’
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