The Co-Wife & other Stories

by Ruth Vanita

  A Widow with Sons

  WHEN PANDIT AYODHYANATH DIED, PEOPLE SAID, ‘GOD SHOULD GIVE everyone such a death.’ He had four grown-up sons and one daughter. All the sons were married; only the daughter was not yet married. He left plenty of property too. A fine house, two orchards, jewellery worth several thousands, and twenty thousand rupees in cash. The widow, Phulmati, grieved, and was beside herself for several days, but then having her four sons around consoled her. The boys were all so well-behaved, and the daughters-in-law so obedient. When she lay down at night, the daughters-in-law took turns to massage her feet. When she went to bathe, they rinsed out her sari. The whole house ran according to her instructions.

  The oldest son, Kamta, earned Rs 50 as an office worker; the second, Umanath, had just finished his education as a doctor and was trying to open a clinic; the third, Dayanath, had failed the BA exam and earned a little by writing articles in newspapers; the youngest, Sitanath, was the most intelligent and promising of all. He had passed the BA in the first division and was now studying for the MA. None of the boys had those bad habits of self-indulgence and wastefulness which upset parents and destroy family reputation. Phulmati was the mistress of the house, even though the keys were with the eldest daughter-in-law. The old woman did not have that love of authority which makes elders bitter and quarrelsome, yet not even a child in the house could buy sweets against her will.

  It was evening, the twelfth day after the Pandit’s death. Brahmans would be fed the next day, the thirteenth. People of the community had been invited. Preparations were afoot. Phulmati sat in her room watching as sacks of flour, canisters of ghee, baskets of vegetables, bags of sugar, and pots of curd came in. Pots and pans, clothes, beds, bedding, umbrellas, shoes, canes and lanterns had been bought to give in alms, but none of these things had been shown to Phulmati. Normally, all the goods would have been brought to her. She would look at each, choose what she wanted, decide on the quantity, and then send the stuff to the storeroom. Why had they not thought it necessary to show her the purchases and seek her opinion? Why had only three sacks of flour arrived? She had ordered five. There were only five canisters of ghee, though she had asked for ten. The amounts of vegetables, sugar and curd must also have been reduced proportionately. Who had interfered with her order? Once she had made a decision, who had the authority to increase or decrease the amount?

  For forty years, Phulmati’s word had been law in every matter pertaining to the household. If she said a hundred was to be spent, a hundred was spent, if she said one, then one. Even Pandit Ayodhyanath never went against her wishes; but today her orders were being flouted openly. How could she accept this?

  For some time she restrained herself and sat quietly, but not for long. Uncontested rule had become second nature to her. Filled with rage, she went to Kamtanath and said, ‘Have only three sacks of flour come? I ordered five. And you’ve got only five canisters of ghee? Do you remember, I asked for ten. I am not against thrift, but it would be shameful if the soul of the one who dug this well were to go thirsty.’

  Kamtanath did not apologize or acknowledge his mistake, nor was he embarrassed. He stood silent for a minute in a rebellious frame of mind, and then said, ‘We all agreed on three sacks of flour, and five canisters of ghee were enough for three sacks. Everything else was also reduced accordingly.’

  Phulmati grew even more annoyed, and said, ‘Who decided to reduce the flour?’

  ‘All of us.’

  ‘Does my opinion count for nothing?’

  ‘That’s not the point. We also understand profit and loss.’

  Phulmati stared at him, speechless. She could not understand the import of this statement. Profit and loss! She herself was responsible for the profit and loss in her own house. How could anyone else, even the son born of her womb, have the right to interfere in her affairs? This boy was answering as brazenly as if the house was his, as if he had toiled to build up the household, and as if she were an outsider! What insolence!

  Her face flushed with anger, she said, ‘You are not responsible for my profit and loss. I have the right to do what I think is proper. Go immediately and get two sacks of flour and five canisters of ghee, and, in future, don’t any of you dare contradict my instructions.’

  She thought this reproof was quite enough. Perhaps she had even been too harsh. She regretted her anger. They were just boys; they must have thought they ought to economize. Perhaps they had not consulted her because they knew that she herself was so thrifty. Had they known that she did not want to economize in this matter, they would never have dared ignore her wishes. Even though Kamtanath was still standing there, and, from his manner, did not seem overeager to obey her orders, Phulmati went calmly back to her room. The possibility that anyone could contravene her orders even after such a reproof never occurred to her.

  But as time passed, she began to realize that she no longer had the status in this house that was hers ten or twelve days earlier. When relatives sent invitations, along with sugar, sweets, curd, pickles and so on, the eldest daughter-in-law had all of them stored away, with the air of the mistress of the house. No one came to consult her. Members of the community consulted only Kamtanath or his wife. Kamtanath was no great organizer; he lay day and night in an opium-induced stupor. It was with great difficulty that he even went to work. He took not less than fifteen days’ leave in a month. The boss respected Panditji, otherwise he would have kicked Kamtanath out long ago. And what would an uncouth woman like the eldest daughter-in-law understand of such matters? She could not even keep her own clothes and linen neat, and here she was, trying to run the household! Chaos would result. All of them would disgrace the family. Something or the other would run out when required. A great deal of experience was needed for such tasks. Otherwise, too much would be cooked of one item and would go to waste, while so little would be cooked of another that it would fall short. What had happened to all of them? And why was the eldest daughter-in-law opening the safe? Who was she to open the safe without Phulmati’s permission? She had the key, yes, but the safe was never opened unless Phulmati said that cash was to be taken out. Today, she was opening it as if Phulmati counted for nothing at all. Phulmati could not put up with this.

  She got up with a jerk, went to the eldest daughter-in-law, and said sternly, ‘Why are you opening the safe, Bahu? I didn’t ask you to.’

  The eldest daughter-in-law answered without hesitation, ‘Goods have come from the market, don’t we have to pay for them?’

  ‘I don’t know what has come, or at what price, and how much of it. How can payment be made unless accounts are checked.’

  ‘The accounts have been checked.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘How am I to know? Go and ask the men. I was asked to take out money so I’m doing it.’

  Phulmati had to digest the insult. This was not the time to lose her temper. The house was full of guests. If she scolded the boys now, people would say that the family had begun squabbling the moment Panditji died. She forced herself to go back to her room. After the guests left, she would deal with each one of them. She would see who dared confront her and argue with her. They would soon stop this tomfoolery.

  But she could not sit peacefully in the solitude of her room. She watched everything with the eyes of a vulture—how the rules of etiquette were being violated, and the customs ignored. The feast had begun. The whole community was seated at one time. The courtyard could with difficulty accommodate two hundred people. How could five hundred squeeze in there? Would people sit on top of each other? Why not feed them in two shifts? That way, the feast would end at two instead of twelve, and, of course, the whole family was eager to go to sleep. All they wanted was to be done with the nuisance so that they could peacefully go to sleep. People were seated so close together that they could barely move. The leaf plates were practically on top of one another. The puris were cold. People were asking for hot puris. Puris made of maida become leathery when cold. Who can eat them? Why ha
d the cook been told to stop frying fresh ones? Such are the incidents that lead to disgrace.

  Suddenly, there was a commotion—there was no salt in the vegetables. The eldest daughter-in-law hastily started pounding salt. Phulmati bit her lips in anger, but she could not open her mouth at this moment. Salt was pounded and distributed. Another commotion arose—the water is warm, bring cold water! There was no arrangement for cold water, as ice had not been purchased. A man was sent rushing to the market, but how could he find ice so late at night? He came back empty-handed. The guests had to drink warm tap water. Phulmati would have liked to slap her sons. Never had her house witnessed such a disaster. All of them dying to be masters but unable to keep track of a necessary item like ice! How could they? They were too busy chatting. What would the guests think—these people invite the community for a feast but don’t even have ice in their house.

  Oh, no, another uproar. People were getting up from their seats. What had happened?

  Phulmati could remain silent no longer. She came out of her room into the veranda and asked Kamtanath, ‘What happened, dear? Why are people getting up?’ Kamta did not answer. He slipped away. Phulmati was irritated. Suddenly, she saw the water-carrier woman. She asked her the same question. She was told that a dead mouse had been found in someone’s gravy. Phulmati stood still, as if carved from stone. She was boiling with rage and felt like hitting her head on the wall. The wretches set out to give a feast! Was there no end to this slovenliness? How many people’s religious scruples had been offended! Of course, they would get up from their seats. Who could knowingly violate religious rules? Oh God! All that she had worked for was wrecked. Hundreds of rupees had been wasted, not to mention the disgrace.

  The guests had left. The food lay uneaten on their plates. The four boys were standing in the courtyard, looking crestfallen, and accusing one another. The eldest daughter-in-law was blaming her younger sisters-in-law, and they were putting all the blame on the daughter, Kumud. Kumud was crying. Just then, Phulmati came up, furious, and said, ‘Well, have you disgraced yourselves sufficiently or is there more to be done? You should all go drown yourselves for shame. We are not fit to show our faces anywhere in the city.’

  None of the boys answered.

  Phulmati grew even more wrathful. ‘What does it matter to you? You have no sense of shame or honour. His soul is weeping who spent his life nurturing the family name. You have tainted his pure soul. The whole city is spitting at us. Now no one will come to your door even to urinate.’

  Kamtanath listened quietly for a while. Then he said crossly, ‘All right, be quiet now, Amma. We all acknowledge that it was a mistake, a terrible mistake. So what—will you now kill us? Everyone makes mistakes. All one can do is regret it. One can’t kill anyone for it.’

  The eldest daughter-in-law defended herself, ‘How could we know that Bibi (Kumud) wouldn’t be able to take care of such a small chore? She should have put the vegetables carefully into the cooking pot; instead, she emptied the whole basket in it. How is it our fault?’

  Kamtanath rebuked his wife, ‘It’s not Kumud’s fault or yours or mine. It’s a matter of chance. Disgrace was written in our fate, so it happened. One doesn’t put vegetables in by the handful when cooking for so many people. One pours in whole baskets. Sometimes, such accidents do occur—it’s not a matter for people to laugh at us or defame us. You are unnecessarily sprinkling salt on a wound!’

  Phulmati said, grinding her teeth, ‘Instead of feeling ashamed, you’re talking even more shamelessly.’

  Kamtanath said boldly, ‘Why should I feel ashamed? Have I committed a theft? No one bothers about ants in sugar or weevils in flour. The only problem was that we didn’t notice it beforehand. Otherwise, we would quietly have taken out the mouse and thrown it away. No one would even have known.’

  Phulmati was horrified. ‘What are you saying—you would have destroyed everyone’s religion by feeding them a dead mouse?’

  Kamta laughed and said, ‘What old-fashioned talk is this, Amma? These things have no effect on religion. All these pious people, who today got up without eating, regularly eat sheep and goats. They don’t even spare turtles and snails from the lake. What does a small mouse matter?’

  Phulmati felt as if the end of the world was upon her. If educated people spoke so impiously, only God could protect religion. She quietly went away.

  2

  Two months passed. One night, the four brothers had finished the day’s work and were sitting together, chatting. The eldest daughter-in-law was also part of the conspiracy. They were talking about Kumud’s marriage.

  Leaning back on a cushion, Kamtanath said, ‘Father’s ideas departed with father. Murari Pandit is a scholar and belongs to a good family. But a man who sells his scholarship and breeding for money is base. We will not give Kumud in marriage into such a family even for free, let alone for five thousand. Get rid of his son and find another groom. We have a total of only twenty thousand, so each of us gets five thousand. If we give five thousand in dowry and spend five thousand on the wedding, the band, and the feast, we will be ruined.’

  Umanath said, ‘I need at least five thousand to open my clinic. I can’t give a penny from my share, and the clinic won’t start bringing in money the moment it opens. I’ll have to draw on the household income for at least a year.’

  Dayanath was glancing through the newspaper. Taking off his glasses, he said, ‘I’m thinking of starting a journal. I need an initial investment of at least ten thousand for the press and the journal. If I have five thousand I’ll be able to find a partner. I can’t make a living just writing for newspapers.’

  Kamtanath shook his head and said, ‘Of course not. Far from paying for articles, the newspapers are reluctant even to publish them for free.’

  Dayanath retorted, ‘No, that’s not the case. I never write without advance payment.’

  Kamta took back his words, ‘I wasn’t talking about you, brother. You somehow manage to get money out of them, but most people don’t.’

  The eldest daughter-in-law said piously, ‘If a girl is fortunate, she’ll be happy even in a poor family. If she is not, she’ll weep even in a king’s house. It’s all the play of destiny.’

  Kamtanath looked approvingly at his wife, and said, ‘We also have to get Sita married this year.’

  Sitanath was the youngest. He had been listening with bowed head to his brothers’ selfish talk, and longing to intervene. When he heard his name, he said, ‘Please don’t worry about my marriage. I won’t think of marriage until I start earning, and, to tell the truth, I don’t even want to get married. The country doesn’t need children now, it needs workers. Please spend my share on Kumud’s marriage. After the whole thing has been arranged, it’s not proper to break the engagement with Pandit Murarilal’s son.’

  Uma said sharply, ‘Where will we get ten thousand rupees?’

  Sita said fearfully, ‘I’m just talking about giving up my share of the money.’

  ‘And the rest?’

  ‘We can ask Murarilal to reduce the amount of dowry. He is not so blindly selfish as to refuse to make some adjustments at this time. If he’s satisfied with three thousand, we can manage the whole thing with five thousand.’

  Uma said to Kamtanath, ‘Do you hear what he’s saying, Bhai Sahib?’

  Dayanath spoke up. ‘How does it affect you both? If he’s giving up his share, spend it. We have no enmity with Murari Pandit. I am happy that at least one of us is willing to make a sacrifice. Sita doesn’t need money immediately. He gets a government scholarship. When he passes out, he’ll certainly find a job. Our situation is different.’

  Kamtanath gave evidence of his far-sightedness, saying, ‘If one of us suffers, will the others sit by and do nothing? He’s just a boy and doesn’t realize that when you need money, one rupee may be as good as a million. Who knows, tomorrow he may get a government scholarship to study abroad or may get into the civil services. In that case, four or five thousand will b
e required for the journey. Whom will he ask for money then? I don’t want his life to be ruined for the sake of dowry.’

  This argument broke Sitanath. He said bashfully, ‘Yes, if that happens I’ll need money.’

  ‘Is it impossible for it to happen?’

  ‘Not impossible, but unlikely, I think. Those who have contacts get scholarships. Who’ll bother about me?’

  ‘Sometimes, people with contacts don’t get anywhere and those without contacts win through.’

  ‘Well, then, do as you see fit. I don’t mind not going abroad, but I want Kumud to marry well.’

  Kamtanath said unctuously, ‘A good marriage does not depend on dowry alone, Bhaiya! As your Bhabhi said, it’s the work of destiny. I want to break off with Murarilal and find a family who will agree to much less expenditure. I can’t spend more than one thousand on the marriage. What do you think of Pandit Dindayal?’

  Uma was pleased and said, ‘Excellent. He may not have a BA or an MA, but he has a good income from his patrons.’

  Dayanath put in, ‘We should ask mother what she thinks.’

  Kamtanath thought this was unnecessary. He said, ‘She seems to be going senile. She keeps harking back to old days. She swears by Murarilal. She doesn’t realize that times have changed. All she wants is for Kumud to go to Murarilal’s house, even if it means we all go bankrupt.’

  Uma raised a doubt. ‘Mother will give all her jewellery to Kumud, wait and see.’

  Even Kamtanath’s selfishness could not go so far as to violate ethical principles. He said, ‘She has full control over the jewellery. That is her stridhan.1 She can give it to whomever she likes.’

  Uma said, ‘Just because it’s stridhan, she cannot be allowed to throw it away. After all, father bought the jewellery with his earnings.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter whose earnings paid for it. She has complete authority over her stridhan.’

  ‘These are legal intricacies. Four of us have to share twenty thousand, while mother has jewellery worth ten thousand. Wait and see, she’ll use it to marry Kumud into Murari Pandit’s family.’