The Co-Wife & other Stories

by Ruth Vanita

Asha spent much of her time cooking a variety of dishes for Lalaji. She had heard somewhere that after a certain age, a man gets the greatest pleasure from his palate.

  Lalaji was thrilled to the core. How much she must love him to give up a trip on the river in order to serve him! What a contrast to Leela, who was always ready to go out, without being asked. One tried to get away from her but she would insist on outings, and spoil all one’s pleasure with her insistence.

  In a tone of affectionate reproach, he said, ‘You are very strange. What difference does it make if the food is not tasty once in a while? You are rendering me completely useless. If you won’t go, I won’t go either.’

  Asha said, trying to free her neck from the noose, ‘You too are pampering me by taking me out all the time. If I develop such habits, who will look after the house?’

  ‘I’m not the least bit concerned about the house. I want you to get away from this endless cycle of household chores. And why do you constantly address me with the polite form aap? I want you to call me by the familiar tum, even the impolite tu. I want you to abuse and bully me. You address me as aap and seem to keep me on a pedestal like a god. I want to be a mischievous child in my house, not a god.’

  Asha tried to smile, and said, ‘How can I address you as tum. That is used with equals, not with elders.’

  These thoughtless words probably caused Lalaji more suffering than if his accountant had announced a loss of a hundred thousand rupees. All his excitement and enthusiasm turned cold. The cap placed aslant on his head, the specially chosen saffron silk scarf round his neck, the embroidered kurta with gold buttons, seemed comical now, as if someone had cast a spell and defused his intoxication in a moment.

  Downcast, he said, ‘So, are you coming?’

  ‘No, I don’t feel like it.’

  ‘Then should I not go either?’

  ‘I’m not stopping you.’

  ‘Again the polite aap?’

  Asha forced herself to say the familiar tum, and her face turned red with embarrassment.

  ‘Yes, that’s it. So you won’t come? If I say you must, what then?’

  ‘Then I’ll go. It’s my duty to obey your orders.’

  Lalaji could not issue an order. Words like ‘order’ and ‘duty’ were unpleasant to his ears. He went outside, mortified. Asha felt sorry for him. She said, ‘So when will you get back?’

  ‘I’m not going.’

  ‘All right, then I’ll go with you.’

  Like an obstinate boy who gets what he wants after crying for it, but then kicks it away, Lalaji said, pulling a face, ‘If you don’t feel like it, there’s no need. I’m not insisting.’

  Asha went, but not enthusiastically. She went in the ordinary clothes she wore at home. No pretty sari, no gem-encrusted jewellery, no make-up—as if she were a widow.

  This irritated Lalaji. He had remarried to enjoy life, to pour oil into a flickering lamp and make it burn brightly again. If the lamp remained dim, what was the use of filling it with oil? Why was she so colourless and dry, like a tree planted in barren soil, which, however much you water it, will not bear green leaves? She had baskets full of jewellery inlaid with gemstones—from Delhi, from Calcutta, from France. She had very expensive saris—not one, but hundreds. But they lay in trunks, ending up as food for moths. This is the problem with girls from poor families. Their vision remains narrow. They can’t enjoy eating well, wearing fine clothes, or giving fine gifts. Even if they found a hidden treasure, they would not be able to enjoy spending it.

  They went on the river, but it was not much fun.

  3

  After trying unsuccessfully for several months to awaken Asha’s desires, Lalaji decided that she was gloomy by nature. Yet he did not give up hope. How could he abandon his merchant’s propensity to obtain the greatest possible profit from an investment? He kept coming up with new schemes for pleasure. If a gramophone grows faulty, refuses to play, or has an unclear sound, it has to be repaired. It would be folly to set it aside.

  Meanwhile, the old cook suddenly fell ill and went home. His seventeen- or eighteen-year-old son came as a substitute. He was an out-and-out rustic, entirely untrained and uncouth. He didn’t understand anything he was told. Each of the rotis he made was unique in shape. They were similar in one respect, though—they were all thick in the middle and thin at the edges. The lentils he cooked were sometimes as watery as tea, and sometimes as thick as curd. At times there was so little salt in the food that it was tasteless, and at other times so much that it was bitter. After her morning bath, Asha would go straight to the kitchen to teach this dullard how to cook. One day she said, ‘What a useless fellow you are, Jugal. What have you been doing all these years—digging grass or shovelling coal into a furnace? How come you cannot even make rotis?’

  Jugal said, with tears in his eyes, ‘How old am I, after all, Bahuji? I’m just seventeen!’

  Asha couldn’t help laughing. She said, ‘Does it take five or ten years to learn to make rotis?’

  ‘If you teach me for just a month, Bahuji, you’ll see, I’ll make rotis for you that you will love. I’ll take a reward from you the day I learn to make rotis. I’ve begun to cook vegetables fairly well, haven’t I?’

  Asha smiled encouragingly and said, ‘Hardly! There was so much salt yesterday that it was inedible. And the spices smelt half-cooked.’

  ‘You were not here when I was cooking the vegetables.’

  ‘I see, so your vegetables will be well cooked only if I keep sitting here?’

  ‘When you sit here, my brain functions properly.’

  Asha laughed a lot at Jugal’s naïve ideas. She wanted to control her laughter, but it erupted as if from an uncorked bottle.

  ‘And what does it do when I’m not here?’

  ‘It sits at the door of your room, and bewails its fate.’

  Holding back her laughter, Asha asked, ‘Why?’

  ‘Don’t ask, Bahuji. You won’t understand these things.’

  Asha looked at him questioningly. She partly understood his meaning, but pretended not to.

  ‘When your father comes, you’ll leave, won’t you?’

  ‘What else can I do? If you find me some work here, I’ll stay on. Get me driving lessons. I’ll drive you around. No, no, Bahuji, don’t touch that pot, I’ll take it off the fire. It’s such a nice sari, what if it gets stained?’

  Asha was taking the pot off the fire. Jugal tried to take the pot-holder from her hand.

  ‘Leave it. You are so clumsy. If you drop the pot on your foot, you’ll complain for months.’

  Jugal looked downcast.

  Asha asked, smiling, ‘Why the long face?’

  Jugal said, tearfully, ‘My heart breaks when you scold me, Bahuji. However much Lalaji reproves me, I don’t feel bad at all. But my blood turns cold if you even look stern.’

  Asha said consolingly, ‘I didn’t scold you. I just said, what will happen if the pot falls on your foot?’

  ‘Your hands are no different from mine. What if it fell from your hand?’

  Lala Dangamal came to the kitchen door and said, ‘Asha, come here for a minute. Look, I have brought you some beautiful potted plants. They’ll be kept in front of your room. Why are you troubling yourself, working in this smoky kitchen? Tell this boy to call the cook back soon otherwise I’m going to appoint someone else. There’s no shortage of cooks. After all, how long can we put up with this—the ass has no sense at all. Jugal, do you hear me? Write to your father today.’

  The pan was on the fire. Asha was rolling rotis. Jugal was waiting to cook the rotis on the pan. How could she go to look at the plants?

  She said, ‘Jugal will ruin the rotis.’

  Lalaji got somewhat annoyed and replied, ‘If he does, he’ll be turned out.’

  Asha said, ‘He’ll learn in a few days, where’s the need to turn him out?’

  ‘Come and tell me where the plants should be placed.’

  ‘I said I’ll come after the roti
s are done.’

  ‘I tell you, you need not make the rotis.’

  ‘You are being obstinate for nothing.’

  Lalaji was stunned. Asha had never answered him coldly before. And this was not just coldness; there was bitterness in it too. Embarrassed, he went away. He felt angry enough to break all the pots and throw the plants into the cooking stove.

  Jugal said in subdued tones, ‘Bahuji, you should go, Lalaji is getting angry.’

  ‘Don’t keep chattering. Roast the rotis quickly, or you will be dismissed. And take money from me today to buy new clothes. You go around looking like a beggar. Why have you let your hair grow so long? Can’t you go to a barber?’

  Jugal was farsighted. He said, ‘If I buy clothes from my wages, I’ll have to give my father an account.’

  ‘You crazy fellow! I’m not telling you to take an advance from your wages. I’ll give you the money separately.’

  Jugal laughed languidly. ‘If you pay I’ll buy nice clothes. A khadi muslin kurta, a khadi dhoti, a silk shawl, and good slippers.’

  Asha smiled sweetly and said, ‘And if you have to pay for them?’

  ‘Then why would I buy clothes at all?’

  ‘You are quite clever, aren’t you?’

  Jugal demonstrated his wisdom. ‘A man may eat dry rotis at home, but when he’s invited to a feast, he eats fine dishes. If he has to eat dry rotis there too, why would he go to the feast?’

  ‘I don’t know about all that. Buy a kurta of coarse cloth and a cap. And take two annas for a haircut too.’

  Now on his mettle, Jugal said, ‘Let it be, then. I don’t want any clothes. If I wear nice clothes and go out, I’ll remember you. If I wear bad clothes, I’ll only feel more unhappy.’

  ‘You are greedy, you want clothes for free and they must be fine too!’

  ‘When I leave here, give me a photo of yourself.’

  ‘What will you do with my photo?’

  ‘I’ll put it up in my room and keep looking at it. Get the photo taken wearing the sari you wore yesterday, and that string of pearls. I don’t like bare faces. I’m sure you have a lot of jewellery. Why don’t you wear it?’

  ‘So you like jewellery a lot?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  Lalaji appeared again and said, his heart agitated, ‘Jugal, are your rotis not yet ready? From tomorrow, if you do not make good rotis on your own, you’ll be dismissed.’

  Asha immediately washed her hands and face, and went cheerfully with Lalaji to look at the plants. At this moment, her beauty glowed radiantly, and her words too were sweet. Lalaji’s annoyance vanished.

  She looked at the plants, as if charmed by them. She said, ‘I won’t give up even one of these plants. Keep all of them in front of my room. How beautiful these plants are! Tell me their names too.’

  Lalaji teased her, ‘What will you do with so many of them? Choose half a dozen. The rest can go outside.’

  ‘No, definitely not. I won’t give up a single one. All of them will be kept here.’

  ‘You are very greedy!’

  ‘Fine, I am. I won’t give you even one.’

  ‘Give me just a few. I took so much trouble to bring them.’

  ‘No, you won’t get any!’

  4

  The next day, when Asha emerged in a turquoise-coloured sari, and decked with jewellery, Lalaji’s eyes lit up. He decided that the magic of his love was finally taking effect. She had so far refused to wear any jewellery even when he repeatedly insisted and requested that she do so. At most, she would put a string of pearls round her neck, that too not as if she enjoyed it. Today, she could hardly contain her pleasure; she seemed to be swaying with delight, as if saying, ‘Look how beautiful I am!’

  Lalaji felt drunk with joy. He wanted all his friends and companions to come and feast their eyes on this golden queen, and notice how happy, contented and cheerful she was. He wanted those who had expressed doubts at the time of the wedding, to come and see how happy he was, and to see what a miracle trust, passion and experience had wrought.

  He suggested, ‘Let’s go out somewhere. There’s a pleasant breeze blowing.’

  How could Asha go just then? She had to go to the kitchen, and would be free of her work there only at twelve or one. Then she would have other chores to do. Could she wreck her household for the sake of pleasure outings?

  Sethji caught her hand and said, ‘No, I won’t let you go to the kitchen today.’

  ‘Then nothing will be cooked.’

  ‘In that case, today will be his last day here.’

  The glow on Asha’s face faded. Her heart sank. She lay down on a sofa and said, ‘Today, I don’t know why I have a slight ache in my liver. I’ve never had such an ache before.’

  Sethji grew worried.

  ‘Since when have you had this pain?’

  ‘It started last night, but then it lessened. It’s just increased again. Off and on, it grows sharp.’

  Sethji thought of something which made his heart beat faster. Those pills were taking effect! The Ayurveda doctor had told him to use them sparingly. Why shouldn’t the pills work! The doctor came from a family of reputed doctors. His father was physician to the maharaja of Banaras. He had tried-and-tested recipes! He said, ‘So you’ve had this pain since last night. You didn’t tell me, or I’d have got some medicine from the doctor.’

  ‘I thought it would get well on its own, but it’s getting worse.’

  ‘Where does it hurt? Let me see. Is there any swelling?’

  Sethji put his hand out to lift Asha’s clothes. Asha hung her head bashfully. ‘I don’t like these mischievous ways of yours. Here I’m dying and you’re teasing me. Go and get some medicine.’

  Sethji felt much more pleasure on receiving this diploma of his masculinity than he would have if the government conferred on him the title of Rai Bahadur. How could he delay announcing his victory? Such a good opportunity had come his way, so soon, to give the lie to those who had made envious comments about his marriage.

  First, he went to Pandit Bholanath and announced his good fortune. ‘I’m in big trouble, brother. She’s had pain in her liver since last night. I don’t know what to do. She says she has never had such pain before.’

  Bholanath didn’t show much sympathy.

  Sethji next went to his friend Lala Phagmal and gave him the sad news in more or less the same words.

  Phagmal was a bit of a rogue. He smiled and said, ‘Looks to me like your mischief.’

  Sethji was thrilled. He said, ‘I’m telling you my troubles and you are making a joke of them. You have not the slightest human feeling.’

  ‘I’m not joking. What is there to joke about? She’s tender and delicate, and you are an old hand at fencing, an experienced wrestler. If that isn’t the cause, shave off my moustache.’

  Sethji’s eyes shone. Youthful vigour rose in his breast and the glow of youth appeared on his face. His chest seemed to grow broader. When he left, his feet seemed to tread more firmly, and the cap on his head had somehow gone flirtatiously awry. Rakishness seemed to radiate from his countenance.

  5

  Looking at Asha glittering from head to foot, Jugal said, ‘This is it, Bahuji, you should always dress like this. Today, I won’t let you come near the stove.’

  Asha said, letting loose an arrow from her eyes, ‘Why this new command today? You never objected before.’

  ‘Today, things are different.’

  ‘What’s different?’

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll get angry.’

  ‘No, no, say what you want. I won’t get angry.’

  ‘You’re looking very beautiful.’

  Lala Dangamal had praised Asha’s youth and beauty countless times; but his praise seemed artificial to her. Those words coming from his mouth reminded her of a cripple trying to run. There was an excitement, an intoxication, something in the way Jugal said these simple words that wrenched her heart. A tremor ran through Asha’s whole body.

  �
�You’ll cast the evil eye on me, Jugal. Why are you staring like that?’

  ‘When I go away, I’ll miss you a lot.’

  ‘What do you do all day after you finish cooking? I never see you.’

  ‘Lalaji is around, so I don’t come into the house. Now, in any case, I’m being dismissed. I wonder where God will take me.’

  Asha looked stern and determined. She said, ‘Who’s dismissing you?’

  ‘Lalaji says he’ll turn me out.’

  ‘Keep doing your work, no one will turn you out. Now you have started making nicely puffed-up rotis too.’

  ‘Lalaji is very hot tempered.’

  ‘I’ll fix his temper in a few days’ time.’

  ‘When he walks with you, he looks like your father.’

  ‘You are very rude. Watch what you say.’

  But this transparent veil of displeasure could not hide her heart’s secret. That shone out from her like light.

  Jugal said, fearlessly, ‘Even if I keep my mouth shut, everyone says the same thing. I would run away from home if I were married off to an old woman of fifty years. I’d either take poison or give her poison. At worst, I’d be hanged.’

  Asha could no longer keep up the pretence of anger. Jugal had forcefully struck a chord in the depths of her heart. Despite her best attempts at self-restraint her heart’s sorrow emerged. She said, ‘Fate counts for something too.’

  ‘To hell with such fate!’

  ‘I’ll get you married to an old woman, wait and see.’

  ‘I’ll take poison, you wait and see.’

  ‘Why, an old woman will love you more than a young woman, and serve you better. She’ll keep you on a straight path.’

  ‘All that is for a mother to do. A wife is meant for other things.’

  ‘What’s a wife meant for?’

  ‘You are the mistress otherwise I would tell you what a wife is meant for.’

  At this moment, they heard the car drive up. Somehow, the end of Asha’s sari had slipped off her head and landed on her shoulder. She hastily pulled it back over her head and darted towards her room, telling Jugal to come after Lalaji had had his lunch and gone to work.