The Onus of Ancestry

by Arpita Mogford

  However, next morning at breakfast he noticed Dwita’s street attire, her handbag and briefcase.

  “Where are you off to?”

  “To work. I started some weeks ago.”

  “Whatever for? Wives of Dutta do not go out looking for jobs. Were you not being fed enough in my absence?” He said it nastily.

  “It is not always food or lack of it that drives one to work,” Prithwish cut in.

  “You keep quiet, brother. Dwita is not dumb – moreover why stand between husband and wife? She does not need your support surely.”

  “I must leave now, Nishith – I have a meeting to attend.” Dwita spoke quietly but with assurance.

  “I do not think you can go until you have answered me.”

  “There is nothing to answer – not this minute anyway. We can talk more on my return.”

  “Leave me your telephone number.”

  “Prithwish knows it. See you later.” She had left hurriedly before the argument deteriorated any further. His family could take care of his petty irritabilities. She felt no inclination to pamper him.

  It had been one of those days at work as well. She had been extremely busy organising Rusi Wadia’s schedules and was hard put to harness his flights of creativity. He wanted to make several changes in the management structure of the company and new as she was she felt it would be wiser to postpone them. She was also attached to the circulation department at the moment and the circulation manager had been particularly active with his training sessions. She was completely exhausted by the end of the day. Her peon Lakshman had brought her a cup of coffee out of the canteen machine and she was sipping it whilst clearing up her desk and tidying her papers. She would just love to go home, get into a warm foamy bath and relax completely, read a book and quietly fall asleep. The thought of confronting Nishith made her shudder inwardly – she could not face him now, nor his barrage of questions. The telephone rang – Parna was at the other end.

  “Dwita, how are things? You have not phoned me the last three days and have not been to see me for nearly a week.”

  “I am sorry, mother, I have been very busy. I rang you yesterday but you were out.”

  “Why don’t you have dinner with me tonight?”

  “Not tonight, mother.”

  “You have been avoiding me recently, Dwita. Whatever is the matter with you? When is Nishith expected back?”

  “He is back.” No use lying. She was bound to find out sooner or later.

  “Back? Good – then make it both of you, tomorrow night. I can offer you potluck tonight, but that won’t do for him – so make it tomorrow night at eight.”

  “Ma, I will have dinner with you tomorrow night. Leave Nishith out for the moment.”

  “Why, Dwita? That does not look nice when he is back in town.”

  “He won’t mind – he is in fact not too well.”

  “This long trip away from home must be the cause of the upset – all right then, you come tomorrow night. If you are coming alone, come early – make it before eight.”

  “I will; straight from work.”

  She had known all along that this moment had to come. She had been merely giving herself a little time before Parna would have to be told. Dwita was afraid of the reaction – would she blame herself for anything? Somehow, Dwita did not believe she would – she had never seen her mother regret any of her actions. She always managed to divest herself of guilt and find a scapegoat. Who was it going to be this time? Nishith, God or herself?

  Returning home had been far from pleasant – no relaxing bath, no book, no quiet surrender to sleep. Nishith was awaiting her, ready to pounce before she had time to put her case down. He had been unreasonable, petulant and cantankerous. He had threatened her with all kinds of dire consequences if she so much as stepped out of the house again. He had gone on ranting until he had exhausted his strength and vocabulary. She had not uttered a word. Finally he had declared, “You will stay at home – understood? Go and write your resignation now.”

  She did not speak or stir.

  “Your silence will not gain you anything, Dwita – speak up.”

  “Once you promised that you would help me with my career–” she began quietly.

  “I promised nothing of the sort.”

  She then gave up being patient and spoke to him more firmly. “All right then – I would like you to know that I do not wish to give up my job. I need it for very good reasons – one of them being to hold on to my sanity. You have nothing to offer me, Nishith, I have to find my own lifeline for body and soul – and that is going to be my work. Also, your job with Hutchinsons will not last for ever. We cannot live without money or material support.”

  “My job is there for as long as I want it.”

  “Do not delude yourself, Nishith. It will last as long as the goodwill of Hutchinsons and your investments last.”

  He glared at her. “I have found out where you work – I shall speak to them and get you discharged. Do not underestimate Nishith Dutta.”

  “Of course I do not underestimate you, I never have – but your speaking to them will not make any difference. I have been employed in my own right, not as your wife. Moreover, the company is fully aware of my personal circumstances. Hence, nothing you say is going to be new or sensational to them. And if you must know, my managing director and yours are good friends – so please do not overstretch Hutchinsons’ loyalty to you.”

  She tried to govern her anger. She had not intended to speak like this to an ailing man, but his behaviour had pushed her into it. It had also silenced Nishith, at least temporarily.

  Her mother-in-law had taken her hand and placed a cup of tea in it. “Come with me, Dwita, enough is enough. Dr Mitra should never have allowed him home,” she muttered to herself.

  Nishith had not resumed the discussion that night and had not stopped her from going to work next morning. Dwita, however, dreaded the evening ahead of her with Parna and Maheshwari. But she thought it was much better to get it out of the way, so that they could leave her to lead her own life. She wanted nothing from either of the families, neither support nor sympathy. All she wanted was to be left with her few personal rights – the right to privacy and the right to survive.

  She had arrived at her mother’s with an overnight bag – Maheshwari was delighted to have Dwita all to herself as Parna had still not returned from her office. She showered her with questions, brought her iced coffee and piping hot samosas, took her hair down and combed it out gently, caressing every strand. It was like old times again and Dwita said, “I miss you, Mahama – no one pampers me as you do, not any more. Come and live with me.”

  “You know I can’t, my child. I miss you too, all the time. This house is so cold without you. Dwita, tell me, are you happy?”

  “What is happiness, Mahama? Define it for me.”

  “Do not talk to me in riddles, child. I am not clever enough to follow them and now too old to learn.”

  “I am married to a very sick man.” She pointed at her own head, “Sick here – and he will never be well again. So, happy? No, not really – on the other hand I am very happy with my work. I love my work.”

  “What? Sick in his head – oh, my God, are you sure?” When Dwita nodded silently, Maheshwari burst into tears with the lack of reservation of old age.

  “It is your mother’s fault. She could not be happy in her own marriage, so she made sure that she inflicted the same destiny on you. If he is sick in the head what are you going to do?”

  “Nothing – I can do nothing as long as one of us is alive. I cannot leave him – the family are kind to me. He is manageable until he is violent, then he has to go back to the hospital.”

  “What about your own future, my girl?”

  “If you mean children, I am not allowed to have them – forbidden by the doctor. So my future is my work.”

  “What?” A voice cried out in agonised tones from behind her – Dwita and Maheshwari had not heard Parna coming i
n. “What did you say?”

  “Do not excite yourself, Ma. Please sit down – we have all evening to discuss me.”

  “You just said you have been forbidden to have children – what is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing is wrong with me, for heaven’s sake – let us talk about it later, there is no desperate hurry. I am spending the night here.”

  “No, tell me now. I cannot wait.” Dwita was once again exasperated by her mother’s hysterical response to everything – such melodrama, all to no purpose.

  “Well, if you insist – Nishith is incurably ill. He suffers from mental illness. He has been in Dr Mitra’s clinic all these weeks.”

  “So you lied to me?”

  “Is that important?”

  “It is to me. However, how can this suddenly manifest itself? He was fine earlier.”

  “Fine in your eyes, mother. He has been a mental patient for nearly twenty years.”

  “How absurd – have they sought other medical opinion? After all, Bijit Mitra is not the only psychiatrist in town. What is his history?”

  “Look, Ma, it is very painful for me to go through all this with you – if you wish for further details, speak to Dr Mitra yourself.”

  “Yes, indeed I will – but what are your plans?”

  “I have no plans. I carry on.”

  “You carry on? Do you mean you carry on blaming me?”

  “I said nothing of the sort.”

  “We do not always speak out loud to convey our thoughts. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “Then you see too much.” Dwita was feeling increasingly fragile and vulnerable.

  “I am going to see a lawyer. I am sure the marriage can be annulled.”

  “Mother, I do not wish you to do anything of the sort. Please do not interfere in my life any more. I am an adult and I can take care of myself.”

  “As far as I am concerned you are still my daughter and I have every right to–”

  “No – I am sorry, you lost your right the day you handed me over to Nishith Dutta. He does have rights – but he cannot really exercise them and he has no role to play in my life. Still, I intend to stay by his side as long as he needs me and so long as he does not prevent me from leading my own life.”

  “Rusi Wadia has certainly given you some new ideas!”

  “Yes, he has given me the strength and confidence to stand on my own two feet.”

  “I am completely shaken by all this. I do not understand anything any more. Maheshwari, have you heard?”

  “I have – what did you expect?” The old woman turned and walked out, wiping her eyes with the end of her white than.

  Parna began weeping, not softly, but with choking sobs, wringing out every spasm from the depths of her heart. Dwita recognised it and was afraid – it was the beginning of the same syndrome that had sent her to the altar. What was it this time? What did she want now? She had nothing to offer any more, nor was she going to succumb to maternal blackmail as she had done so disastrously before.

  *

  Dwita sat in her new office in the premises to which Sunbeam had moved a month ago. She had now been with the company nearly three years and had completed her training before the stipulated period of two years. Rusi Wadia had promoted her to the position of a manager – a manager without portfolio. She was still his right-hand person and he had relied on her increasingly heavily as time went by. She was kept very busy, he sent her out on all kinds of errands to all sorts of places, alone or with teams of colleagues. She also had to accompany him on occasion to negotiation and board meetings. It sometimes felt to her as though Rusi Wadia was deliberately keeping her on her toes so that she had no time to dwell on her personal problems and private grief. She was hardly at home, always on the move, living out of suitcases, from one hotel room to another.

  He encouraged her to join clubs, take on speaking assignments, allowed her to deal with the press and other media in a PR capacity, and threw her into the deep end of all sorts of situations and events. She was often nervous, but nevertheless enjoyed every minute of her professional existence. When she went out to represent or negotiate for the company, Rusi Wadia forced her to rehearse in his office and then on completion of the exercise, made her repeat the performance so that he could correct her mistakes, detect any faux pas and applaud her when she had done well. She was most grateful to him for his attention and encouragement. She smiled to herself as she picked up her air-ticket. She was now off to Delhi and Bombay, to convey some of the policy decisions to their regional offices. She was also going to investigate the possibility of a move to Delhi. Rusi Wadia had indicated that Calcutta was becoming a difficult operational area: industrial disputes and political violence were making it increasingly impossible to run a viable business operation. He would like to move to Delhi, which would also mean proximity to the seat of power.

  The country was restive – the uncertain neighbourly relations with China and Pakistan had erupted. The volcano which had lain dormant for some years had begun to regurgitate lava, thick and threatening. There was more to come. The leaders were worried. Rusi Wadia felt that this was the time to be near Olympus, with his ear to the ground.

  Dwita knew that this could mean a move for her as well in the not too distant a future. The idea was not entirely unwelcome to her as her physical presence in Calcutta was not so much of a necessity in terms of Nishith these days. He was in and out of Dr Mitra’s clinic, he now hardly occupied his chair at Hutchinsons. His physical violence had increased – it came in spurts, but Prithwish always managed to remove him from home at the first sign of it.

  Prithwish now had fewer headaches. Ashish was no longer around. About a year before, during the festival of Kalipuja, when the whole household of Benebagan were busy celebrating with their fireworks, their tubris, chhunchobaajis and phooljhuris, Ashish had been forgotten and was left to indulge in his own pyrotechnics. Madhu, who was supposed to have been on duty at the cottage had gone off to a party and left him unguarded. Ashish had broken through the back door, got hold of some incendiaries and had set fire to the house. He had also set fire to himself. When the tongues of ascending flames sought to devour him, he had fled to the pond unobserved, and thrown himself into its cool waters. People were too busy putting down the fire, no one in particular thought of looking for Ashish beyond the cottage and its immediate surroundings. Most of them had been high on bhang and shiddhi, too inebriated to carry on the search.

  When Madhu, Ashishi’s carer, woke up next morning from his intoxicated stupor, he found himself prostrate among the ashes of the burnt cottage. He had then run around the estate in a frenzy and when he found Ashish nowhere, he decided to run for his own life. Nishith’s warnings still rang in his ears. Prithwish had found the body, two days later, entangled in weeds and hyacinths in the pond. Ashish’s death was mourned as a social obligation, only his mother had shed a tear or two of genuine loss, others behaved as propriety demanded.

  Maya and Mohua had left home as well, having chosen their own husbands. Prithwish had refused to marry them off personally, nor would he allow his mother to stage another wedding on the Dutta premises. His sisters were hurt, their fiancés complained but Prithwish was adamant. He had given each of them an endowment and their share of the family wealth and jewels. Mohua and Maya had left angry and unhappy, vowing not to return home. Prithwish later confided to Dwita, “I am relieved that the girls have gone – maybe their rejection of the Duttas will release them from the family curse. I pray so – they do not know that I acted as I did to free them from this terrible bondage.” Dwita too hoped their brother had succeeded in setting them free.

  Dwita’s mother-in-law herself hardly spent any time in Calcutta. The Brahmo Samaj had ceased to be a solace to her and she wandered from Puri to Banaras, Nabadweep to Brindavan, looking for peace and tranquillity. When the temples of the Hindu gods failed to comfort her, her restlessness took her to ashrams in Riskikesh, Bangalore and Pondicherry. She only returned when
Dwita was back in Calcutta from one tour or another. Prithwish was now leading a lonely existence, surrounded by the ghosts of his family and the paperwork of their no longer profitable enterprises. His mind was not in business, though he occupied Nishith’s mostly vacant chair at Hutchinsons from time to time. Dwita felt he did not care one way or another and knew that he was fighting a losing battle.

  She shook herself out of her reverie, and phoned Prithwish to remind him of her imminent departure. The packed valise was parked next to her desk. She was ready to leave for the airport straight from work.

  *

  It was a Sunday when it happened. Dwita had returned on the Friday after two weeks’ exhausting travelling. The house was deserted except for the two durwans and the usual kitchen staff. Protima was away on one of her many pilgrimages and Prithwish had gone to Benebagan to check on the estate. She was glad of the peace – she often wondered these days whether it would not be more appropriate to have a place of her own. After all Mr Katrak had mentioned recently that she was now entitled to subsidised company accommodation. She had declined it then, anxious not to hurt the feelings of the Duttas. She did not mind Nishith any more as he was more ‘in’ than ‘out’ these days.

  She spent that Saturday and Sunday compiling her report, read and re-read her recommendations and then decided it was enough. She decided to retire early on the Sunday as Monday was not going to be an easy day. She fell asleep easily, thinking that she slept too much and too deeply lately – maybe she was tired and needed a holiday. She was dreaming about her meeting with Rusi Wadia and the board which was scheduled for Monday afternoon and the heavy backing of files were pressing down upon her – very heavy, nearly suffocating her with their weight. She suddenly became aware they were not files. Someone was on top of her, pressing her down, penetrating her. A hand pressed shut her mouth and a thick voice said, “You thought you could deny my rights forever – no such luck, my dear wife. Do not try to shout, there is no one here tonight – I shall kill you if you so much as stir, so be quiet.”