Anupurba should have been annoyed but Abhay’s seizure had left her drained. There was no energy left in her for anger. She looked straight at Arundhati, prepared to meet her venomous looks and taunting words.
But there was nothing. There was no animosity in the eyes that on previous days had shone with confused anger and hatred.
Anupurba turned towards the children. After the tumultuous day, nothing could affect her. Arundhati’s presence did not matter any longer.
~
After school, Anupurba walked towards the gate. First though, she had to visit the Health Centre and see how Abhay was doing before she left for home.
‘There’s no cause for worry,’ the nurse told her. ‘He can go home.’
‘Can he come to school tomorrow?’
‘Maybe not tomorrow. But he should be all right by Friday. The cut in the lip was nasty but he should recover fast. You know how it is with children . . .’
Thank God. Heaving a sigh of relief she was about to leave when she saw Arundhati again near the window. But now her eyes were impossibly soft. It was clear she was standing there to have a word with Anupurba.
‘Madam, are you busy?’ Arundhati asked. Her tone was very sedate this time.
‘No,’ Anupurba said. ‘Why?’
‘Can I talk to you now?’
Anupurba was amazed. Silently, she took a chair on the veranda of the Health Centre and asked Arundhati to sit. She did not.
‘Madam, please forgive me. I may have said something in anger . . .’ Her voice failed her.
Anupurba did not speak. She looked dubiously at the person standing beside her. The thin body draped in the faded maroon salwar kameez, the lifeless features and watery eyes—everything added up to give her a pitiable appearance. What was going on inside her?
‘Abhay is my son,’ she said slowly, imperceptibly pausing after each word.
‘Your son?’ Anupurba was taken aback.
‘Yes, Madam.’
Painting by Sukanya © Spastics Society of Karnataka
Ten
Arundhati was the last child born to a middle-class family; both parents were aging when she arrived. Her conception had been an accident, not a desired event. There were five older siblings. By the time Arundhati entered primary school all of them were already married and her father had retired. After his retirement her only brother—the eldest of her siblings—had taken charge of the family.
He served in the police and his devotion to his work had brought him rapid promotion.
Arundhati loved her brother but feared him even more. He had brought the discipline of the police force into the home. The slightest deviation from established rules could cause an upheaval. Her old parents had given up all responsibilities and moved to the village. Arundhati’s sister-in-law was good-natured but she trusted no one on earth: in-laws, relations and friends were all suspect—her husband most of all. Her lack of trust had completely destroyed her self-confidence. Her position in the home was no better than that of the domestic help. She could not take the place of Arundhati’s mother.
The atmosphere within the home had become unbearable, particularly for an adolescent and so, the fourteen-year-old Arundhati frequently sought refuge with a neighbouring Christian family. While playing with their two-year-old son, John and eight-year-old daughter, Laura she forgot the problems of her own home. Rosa Aunty was very fond of her but the person Arundhati received the most affection from was Samuel Uncle, Rosa’s husband. It was to him that Arundhati confided all her difficulties. Countless hours passed in conversation with him.
Two years later, the sixteen-year-old Arundhati realized that her feelings for Samuel Uncle had grown into an obsession. She could not imagine herself living apart from him.
It wasn’t a one-sided relationship. Samuel was smitten too and it was at his bidding that Arundhati decided to leave home. They had a temple wedding and moved to another part of the city to live together as husband and wife.
‘Temple wedding? But Samuel was Christian?’ Anupurba asked in surprise. ‘I thought the Christian faith doesn’t allow a man to have two wives!’
‘No, it doesn’t,’ Arundhati said. ‘But I never thought of it then—I was too young to think. I trusted him blindly. I realize now that my marriage had no validity. But I swear, Madam, I married him with a pure mind, with the gods as my witness. That’s why I can think of him only as my husband.’
A few days before the so-called marriage, Samuel and Arundhati moved into a tiny rented house. This news spread. Arundhati’s brother almost set the house on fire when he came to know of it. He said he could have accepted Arundhati’s marrying a young unmarried man of a different faith, but what she had done was unpardonable.
The decision was taken in a moment. Arundhati’s brother let everyone know that for all practical purposes, she was now dead for the family. Anyone who tried to maintain any relationship with her would face banishment.
‘They obeyed his command,’ Arundhati said. ‘Many years have passed but no one has ever come to see me. Not my mother or father—not even my sisters. As for my sister-in-law, the question does not arise.’
And what about Samuel’s wife?
‘If there’s one person for whom my heart bleeds, it is Rosa Aunty. I know how much all this must have pained her. But what could I have done? I was totally blind,’ she sighed.
Samuel was living with her but he could not give up his family either. Each day, on his way back from the office, he would visit them and inquire about their welfare. His family had come to terms with what was going on. Samuel would spend some time with them, sometimes stay for a cup of tea and then would return to Arundhati.
Three months passed like this.
Then one day this routine changed. That afternoon Samuel came first to Arundhati and told her he would have to spend the night at his other home. His daughter had typhoid.
Arundhati was left alone.
That was the beginning. After that, Samuel and Arundhati were rarely together. He spent six days out of every week with his first family and only Sundays were for Arundhati. This turn in her life left Arundhati broken, but the feeling of guilt in her mind would not allow her to protest. She could not face Rosa and the children.
Then one day Arundhati discovered that she was going to become a mother. She thought Samuel would spend more time with her now, but no such thing happened. She was confined to her home all day. But one change did come about. Her neighbours, who had referred to her contemptuously as Samuel’s keep, became more supportive.
Abhay was born. The sight of that innocent face made her forget all her troubles. She had made up her mind that this child would provide the reason for her existence. She would devote the rest of her life to him.
When Abhay was seven months old, his expressions and movements raised doubts in Arundhati’s mind. One day she took him to a well-known doctor. She was stunned by what he told her. Her child had cerebral palsy. He would never be normal.
‘That day I died. I had endured everything—being abandoned by my own family, Samuel’s neglect, everything. But this I could not take. I turned into a log of dried wood. I was sure God had punished me for robbing another person of her happiness.’
She was silent for a time. ‘Slowly, all my softness vanished. I realized what was happening to me, but what could I do? My nature became harsh. And then all kinds of material desires, from some unknown source, invaded me. These days, all that I can talk to Samuel about is money and land.’
But hadn’t he left her? Anupurba wondered silently.
As if she heard her, Arundhati continued, ‘You must be wondering how Samuel and I are still together,’ she said. ‘To tell you the truth, he would surely have thrown me aside after he had had his fill of me. Most certainly after Abhay’s birth. But by then the people of my neighbourhood had adopted me as their own.’
It was a harsh neighbourhood to which Samuel had moved in with Arundhati, obviously in search of an affordable home. In
that locality, only the gangsters reigned. They realized her plight and became strangely protective of mother and child. They let him know how much the two were his responsibility. Samuel feared that if he abandoned Arundhati, the local goons would cut him to pieces without any hesitation and burn his house down. What Arundhati’s brother had been unable to do, because of legal compunctions, would be a simple matter for them. It was out of fear that Samuel gave her some money each month and spent some time with her on Sunday evenings. Sometimes he even stayed the night.
‘I searched for him desperately when the doctor told me that Abhay was spastic. After all, he was the father. I had thought he would come and tell me, “Don’t worry. We’ll take him to the best doctor in the world. The child will be cured.” But he said nothing. There was not even the shadow of grief in his eyes. Not the slightest compassion for him. I know Abhay will never be normal; but even false sympathy would have helped.’
She sighed. After a long pause, she started talking again.
‘Do you know what hurts most, Madam?’ she asked. ‘Abhay understands everything. Sometimes he asks me in his sign language, “Why isn’t Father with us? Why doesn’t he ever visit my school?” Tell me, Madam, what answer can I give him? Sometimes I wish he had been mentally retarded and not spastic.’
Tears welled up in Anupurba’s eyes. Only extreme helplessness and pain can drive a mother to wish such a harsh fate for her child.
‘Abhay has had surgery twice. Not once did his father come to the hospital. I had to look after everything alone. No, it wouldn’t be right to say “alone”. All those people, whom our society calls anti-socials and criminals, have helped me unhesitatingly, day after day. They have taken turns to sit at his bedside, forcing me to go home and bathe and rest and return.’
‘Will you spend the rest of your life like this, Arundhati?’ Anupurba asked. ‘Haven’t you ever thought of leaving Samuel?’
‘I can’t,’ Arundhati replied. ‘What other support do I have? Mrs Mathur has been kind enough to give me a job here, even though it’s only temporary. I don’t get paid much. How am I to manage? Still, I have hopes that with my experience, some day I will get a permanent job. Do you think I will be with Samuel after that? Several of my neighbours have suggested that I leave Samuel and find someone else. But I cannot do that. I know, even if someone does accept me, he won’t accept Abhay.’
After some time she said again, ‘Samuel and I bicker frequently these days. The moment I see him I tell him “Buy some land in my name. Start a fixed deposit in some bank. Buy me a house.” The constant nagging and quarrels have made me harsh and rough. My nature has changed. It’s humiliating to be constantly stretching out your hand for money. But let me tell you one thing, Madam, I wasn’t always like this.’ The helplessness in her voice had shaken Anupurba.
Slowly, Anupurba stood up. She touched Arundhati’s hand but could say nothing.
‘I am sorry, Madam.’
‘Take care of Abhay.’ That was all Anupurba could say in reply as she started walking towards her car.
Painting by P. Shishira © Spastics Society of Karnataka
Eleven
The silver Mercedes 220 E Class with a uniformed chauffeur in white was rather conspicuous in their school. Who on earth could this be, Anupurba wondered, walking towards her class.
Saroja, Prachi and Ambika had all returned after their two-week training and Anupurba was now mercifully back to her earlier routine. Now she had her art classes only on Mondays and Thursdays like before. In some ways it felt rather strange to her. In some ways, she was thankful. Mrs Mathur did send her a nice handwritten letter telling her how grateful she was for the additional help. Now more children knew her and called after her, ‘Anupurba Aunty, Anupurba Aunty,’ as she walked past their classroom. And Anupurba, very surprisingly, had become more aware of the school and its happenings.
Maybe for that reason, she looked at the Mercedes in the parking lot again and wondered who the owner was. The person had to be some prominent personality, maybe an important business executive from a multi-national company. Sometimes dignitaries came visiting through Shobha’s efforts or at the invitation of Mrs Mathur. Some came out of a desire to help while some others just wanted to know more about the school. But one thing Anupurba had noticed: no one came unannounced. Arrangements were usually made well in advance. Some were taken to the classrooms and others to the Health Centre or the Vocational Unit. There was a process.
If it was a VIP, the visit usually ended at the Art Room—which meant that Anupurba too had to be given advance notice. But this time she had not been told. So, she wondered who the sudden visitor could be.
She decided not to speculate. It wasn’t necessary for her to know everything. It could be anyone; everyone was welcome at the school.
‘Madam! Madam!’
Anupurba turned around. It was Radhika. She appeared to be very excited.
‘What’s the matter, Radhika?’
‘I’ve been waiting for you, Madam. Shanta Aunty is looking for you.’
‘Okay, I’ll go in and see her.’
Anupurba started walking towards the Principal’s office.
‘Madam, do you know who has come? In that big car?’ Radhika said breathlessly, unable to hold back the excitement any more. The words were jostling to come out.
‘No. Who?’
‘It’s Malini! You do not know? The film star!’
‘Why is she here?’
‘I don’t know. There’s someone with her.’
Anupurba was glad she was better informed now but really did not know who Malini was. Perhaps from the local film industry, which was big in its own right, but Anupurba was still so new to Bangalore.
Anupurba knocked on the open door to draw attention and then entered the Principal’s office. Mrs Mathur looked at her in the middle of a conversation with the visitors and gestured to her to come in. Across the desk from Mrs Mathur, sat a woman in a plain salwar kameez. This must be Malini. She was pretty, but without her make-up she looked like someone you knew, not like a star or celebrity. Anupurba realized, however, that she had seen that very face many times on billboards and in newspaper ads and was aware that she was the biggest star of the local film industry until only a few years ago. With age she had graduated to playing character roles but her popularity remained undiminished. Her last three films had all been box office hits.
By her side was a gentleman with a cultured appearance and a boy who was probably fifteen or sixteen. He had a fair complexion and blue eyes. But there was no lustre in those eyes. The lips were clamped together and his face looked tense, as though he had been brought here against his will. He looked at Anupurba and looked away.
Anupurba knew that many parents who visited Asha Jyoti compelled their children to accompany them, thinking this would give them a greater sense of so-called social responsibility and probably help them become better human beings. Most did not quite realize that it did not work that way. For some children, it was an unnerving experience. Some shrivelled up within themselves. Probably, that was how the boy was feeling.
‘Did you want to see me, Mrs Mathur?’
‘Yes. I want you to meet Ms Malini. I am sure you know who she is. This is Anupurba.’
‘Yes of course, I’ve seen her photographs. Hello, Ms Malini!’
‘Hello!’ There was that familiar smile on her face.
‘This is Mr Manish, her brother, who has come from the US. And this is his son, Raja.’
‘Hello,’ said Manish. But Raja looked away, saying nothing.
Anupurba looked at Raja and said, ‘Hi!’
Raja did not respond to Anupurba. He picked up a pencil that was lying on the desk and started drawing lines in the notebook he held in his hand.
‘Raja, the lady is saying “Hi” to you!’ Malini said, embarrassed.
Raja looked up from his notebook and mumbled reluctantly, ‘Oh, hi!’
‘Please don’t mind,’ Malini said again. �
��Our Raja has his moods. When he feels like it he talks so much it’s difficult to make him stop. But if he’s not in the mood you just can’t get a word out of him.’
Anupurba was feeling uneasy. Why say such things about the child in his presence? Although Anupurba had taught only in an elementary school she had come across many teenagers, both here and in America. She had always noticed one thing: adolescent children did not like adults discussing their behaviour with strangers.
But Malini had not finished. ‘Raja was not always like this,’ she went on. ‘It’s only in the last four or five months that he has become so moody. My brother has tried many things—counselling, psychiatric treatment and what not. You know, in the US all these are easy to access; but nothing seems to have worked.’
Stop it please! Couldn’t she see that all this was making things more difficult for the child?
Malini noticed the uneasiness in Anupurba’s eyes. With a careless gesture of her hand she said, ‘Don’t worry! I don’t think he has heard a word of what we have been saying. He has a problem.’
How easily she said the word! Anupurba was shocked.
Mrs Mathur interjected, ‘Raja has been admitted to the eighth standard in our school today. We don’t usually admit children at the close of the year, but Raja is different. He is very talented.’
Anupurba’s eyes turned back to Raja. Did that mean he had cerebral palsy? She felt a churning inside her. Externally, there was absolutely nothing abnormal about the child, neither in his speech nor in his physical appearance. Then her eyes took in the child’s feet. The shoe on his left foot was normal, but the one on the right was designed differently.
‘Anupurba, I sent for you for two reasons,’ Mrs Mathur said. ‘Firstly, because of Raja’s language problem.’
‘Language? His English seemed perfect.’
‘I mean, his American accent,’ Mrs Mathur explained. ‘Raja was born in the US and has been raised there, so he speaks English the American way. I found it difficult to follow what he was saying, so I expect it will be even more difficult for the others. But I’m sure you’ll have no problems.’
Children of A Better God Page 10
