5 Indian Masters

by Welknow Indian

  Leela asked him in a despairing tone by what time he would return. Lalaji enquired how she was feeling. Leela could not decide what to say. If she said that she was not well, he would probably stay at home and say nasty things to her. If on the other hand, she said that she was alright, he would stay away till the early hours of the morning. Guardedly she said, “I was much better but am not feeling too well today. Please try and come back early. The boys go off to sleep and I feel very lonely and afraid.” Lalaji replied, “I shall try and be back by twelve.” Leela’s heart sank. Beseechingly she asked if he couldn’t make it earlier. At last he agreed to be back by eleven and left for the shop. In the evening, however, a friend turned up and invited him to visit a dancing girl. Lalaji could not possibly turn down such an invitation. It would have been the height of discourtesy. And besides who has ever got respite from household worries? Something or the other is always happening, – sometimes there is an illness, sometimes unexpected guests, sometimes there is a Puja. Keeping in view these considerations, he accepted the invitation and returned home at two o’clock in the morning. Overcome by pain, fever and tiredom, Leela had by then dozed off to sleep.

  Lalaji’s ways did not change and Leela’s condition likewise did not improve. Ultimately she died. Lalaji was very grief-stricken at her death. There were condolence messages from friends. For days people poured in to convey personal condolences. A daily paper brought out an obituary eulogising the qualities of head and heart of the deceased. Lalaji thanked everyone for their messages of sympathy. He even offered a scholarship of five rupees a month in the local girls’ school in Leela’s memory. “She hasn’t died,” he would say to everyone. “I am dead. I cannot imagine a life without her. It must have been due to the good deeds of a past life that I was blessed with a wife like her. She was a goddess worth worshipping etc. etc.”

  Six months passed by in mourning. On friends’ insistence Lalaji decided to get married again. What could the poor man do? Life requires a companion especially in old age. One needs a stick only when the feet are unable to bear the burden.

  With the coming of the new bride, Lalaji’s life underwent a complete change. The shop no longer mattered. Even if he did not go for weeks, the business did not suffer. All he was now concerned with was to find ways and means of pleasing the new bride. A new car was purchased and the house was redecorated. There was an increase in the number of servants and a new radio set was brought. Most of his time was spent in the wife’s company and Lalaji’s pent up youth played more havoc than is possible from a young man. Boastfully he used to say that age has as much to do with youth as religion with culture or beauty with adornment and always insisted on taking Asha Devi, the new bride, to a cinema or a theatre or for a walk on the river bank. Asha never showed much interest in these recreations. Sometimes she went but only after great persuasion. One day Lalaji suggested boating. Asha as usual said no. Lalaji remonstrated, “what sort of a person are you that recreation does not appeal to you!” “You go,” replied Asha, “I have a number of things to attend to.” “Why should you work,” retorted Lalaji, “what is this retinue of servants for?” “Maharaj cannot cook properly,” replied Asha, trying to evade going out, “you will not like the food he cooks.” Lalaji was besides himself with joy. How much she cares for me, he said to himself, she sacrifices even her pleasures for my sake. On the other hand it was Leela who insisted on accompanying me wherever I went. All sorts of excuses had to be invented to get rid of her. Addressing Asha he said, indulgently, “You are a strange person. What difference will it make if the food is not cooked well one day? You are spoiling me like this. If you don’t come I will also not go out today.” Asha replied, trying to wriggle out, “It’s you who is spoiling me. If I get into the habit of being out the whole day, who will look after the household affairs?” “I don’t care how the household runs,” said Lalaji, “I want to spoil you. I want you to enjoy life. And why do you talk to me so reverentially? Call me by my name. Quarrel with me. Treat me like a young and naughty boy.” Asha smiled and said innocently, “How can I call you by your name? You are so much older to me. One calls only people of one’s own age by name.” These innocent words of Asha’s pierced Lalaji’s heart like a spear. He would not have got so much pain even if he had heard that he had lost a lakh of rupees. His enthusiasm subsided as if it had been given a cold douche. The intoxication at beholding the young and tender Asha vanished as if somebody had administered a strong antidote. Dismayed, he said, “Are you coming then or not?” “No,” replied Asha, “I do not feel like going out.” “Suppose I order you to?” asked Lalaji still persistent. “Then I shall have to,” said Asha, “it is my duty to obey your orders.” The words order and duty always annoyed Lalaji. They brought him face to face with the reality of the situation i.e. that all that Asha did was not out of love for him but because as his wife it was her duty to do it. Lalaji wanted to believe otherwise and yearned for love from his young wife. Quietly ‘he walked away. “When will you come back?” enquired Asha. “I am not going anywhere,” replied Lalaji. “You are annoyed,” Asha said, “alright, I will come.” Just as a stubborn child kicks away his most cherished toy, almost similarly Lalaji behaved. “You don’t have to,” he said curtly, “if you don’t feel like it. There is no compulsion.”

  Asha did go out with Lalaji but in the same clothes as she had been wearing the whole day. She hardly looked a newly-wed bride. There was no jewellery, no fancy clothes, no make-up. Lalaji used to wonder why she was so careless about herself and often found consolation in the thought that perhaps her background was to blame. “These girls from poor families do not know how to enjoy life,” he used to say, “Give them even a treasure and they will not know how to spend it.”

  Even after months of efforts on Lalaji’s part, Asha did not change. She was completely passive to all his overtures of love.

  Lalaji was convinced that her passiveness was due to her background. A persistent man as he was, however, he did not give up the effort. Every day he thought of new ways and means to break the shell.

  One day, Maharaj, their cook, fell ill and went home on leave. He left behind, in his place, his seventeen year old son. The boy was a complete novice and had never done any cooking before. Asha had to spend the whole morning in the kitchen. “You are absolutely worthless Jugal,” she would say, “you don’t even know how to make a chappati. What have you done all your life?” “All my life mistress?” Jugal would ask, almost in self-defence, “I am only seventeen.” Asha would give a hearty laugh and say, “And does cooking take twenty years to learn?”

  “Teach me for a month mistress,” Jugal would reply, “and see how well I cook. The day I learn how to make a good chappati, I will ask you for a reward. The vegetables I can cook a little.” “Like hell,” Asha would say teasingly, “only the other day you put so much salt in them that nobody could even touch them.” “But that was because you were not here,” Jugal would add, “I don’t know why but my senses take leave of me when you are not around. The body is here but the mind is at your doorstep.”

  One day Asha was trying to remove a pot from the hearth. Jugal stopped her. “You will spoil your beautiful saree,” he said, “let me do it. “ “Get away,” replied Asha, “it is too heavy for you. You will drop it on your feet and bother me for months.” Jugal kept quiet. Asha asked, smilingly, “What is the matter? Why have you become dumb all of a sudden?”

  Jugal: “You reprimand me for nothing. I don’t feel bad at all when the master rebukes me because I am at fault. But you get angry for no reason.”

  Asha: “It was for your own good. The pot may have fallen on your feet.”

  Jugal: “ It could as well fall on yours. You are no older than I.”

  Just then Lalaji came and called Asha to show her the plants that he had brought. Noticing that she was in the kitchen he said, “Why do you bother about cooking? Tell this boy to send for his father. We cannot put up with this cooking any longer.” And then addressi
ng Jugal, he said, “Do you hear me? Write to your father today.” Asha was preparing the chappaties. Jugal was waiting to put them on the pan. How could she come out to see the plants? From inside she replied, “I will be there in a minute. Let me finish this chappati. If I leave it to Jugal, he will make a mess of it.” Lalaji shouted annoyed, “If he’ doesn’t know how to cook properly why don’t you turn him out?” Asha did not pay much heed to Lalaji’s words and merely said, “He will learn by and by.”

  Lalaji: “Come and tell me where to put these plants.”

  Asha : “I told you I am cooking. How can I come till I have finished?”

  Lalaji was very angry. Asha had never before been rude to him. And her rudeness bore a touch of malice. Without saying anything further he walked away and almost felt like throwing all the plants down the gutter. Jugal said to Asha, “Please go, mistress. The master is angry.” “Shut up,” said Asha, “hurry up and finish the chappaties otherwise you will be turned out. And look take some money from me and buy yourself some clothes. I don’t like shabbily dressed people round me. Can’t you even get hold of a barber to cut your hair?”

  Jugal: “How can I get clothes made, mistress? I have to send all my pay to my father.”

  Asha: “Who is asking you to spend your pay? I will give you some extra money for the clothes.”

  Jugal: “Oh in that case I will get a nice set of clothes made-a kurta and a dhoti of thin khadi, a scarf and a nice pair of chappals.”

  Asha : “And if you had to pay for them yourself ?” Jugal: “Then I won’t buy any clothes at all” Asha : “Aren’t you clever?”

  Jugal: “Don’t you know that even though a man may be living on dry bread in his own house, when he goes to a feast he expects all kinds of delicacies?”

  Asha: “Don’t talk nonsense. Get yourself a kurta made out of coarse khadi and a cap. And take two annas for a hair cut.”

  Jugal: “Oh then please don’t bother. If I get nice clothes made, they will always remind me of you. If they are ordinary I will feel unhappy.”

  Asha: “How clever you are! You want clothes without having to pay for them and then want the best!”

  Jugal: “When I go from here, please give me a photograph of yours, mistress.”

  Asha: “What will you do with my photograph?”

  Jugal: “I will put it up in my room. But please wear the saree that you wore yesterday. And the same pearl necklace. I don’t like you when you are not wearing any jewellery. You must be having plenty of ornaments. Why don’t you wear them?”

  Asha : “Op you like ornaments?” Jugal: “Yes, very much.”

  Lalaji came again and enquired if Asha had finished cooking. In the same breath he warned Jugal again that if he didn’t cook well independently from the next day, he would be turned out. Asha washed her hands and came out of the kitchen to inspect the plants. Her face was aglow with joy and she was unusually chirpy. Seeing her, Lalaji’s anger vanished. Looking at the plants she said, “What a beautiful collection. Please do tell me their Hindi names. I won’t let you have a single one of them. They will all adorn my room.” Lalaji pulled her leg, “What will you do with all of them? Select a few. The rest I shall get them to put in the garden.” “No,” replied Asha, vehemently, “I won’t spare even a single one. They will all remain here in front of my room.” “You are a very greedy girl,” said Lalaji indulgently. “Alright, I am greedy” replied Asha “but you cannot have even a single plant out of these.” “Oh please, let me have at least a few,” entreated Lalaji, beaming with joy at this lover’s game, “I have taken so much trouble in selecting them.” “Not one,” replied Asha gaily.

  Next day Asha decked herself with jewellery and wore a light blue silk saree. Seeing her Lalaji was confident that his efforts were bearing fruit, at last. She looked a perfect picture of beauty and as she went around the house it appeared that she was whispering, “The bud has now become a full blown flower.” Lalaji could not contain himself with joy. He wanted the whole world to share his pleasure and feel jealous at his good fortune in possessing such a peerless gem. “Let’s go for a walk on the river bank,” he suggested to Asha. But how could Asha go? This was the time for her to go to the kitchen. “I have a pain in my chest since last night,” she said. Lalaji jumped to the conclusion that the vaid’s pills must be having effect. “Where is the pain?” he asked, “Let me see.” Asha retraced her steps and said coquettishly, “You cannot think of anything except mischief. Why don’t you go and get me some medicine?” Lalaji was all too eager to go out and convey the news to all his friends and acquaintances especially those who doubted the success of his marriage. Immediately therefore he left to get her the medicine.

  As soon as Lalaji was gone, Asha went to the kitchen. “You must always dress up like this,” said Jugal, “I won’t let you come near the hearth today.” Asha looked at him with mischief in her eyes, “Why this cruelty?” she asked. “Because you are looking so beautiful,” replied Jugal. Lala Dongamal had said the same words to Asha a hundred times but in his mouth they had always appeared to her like a sword in the hands of a eunuch. The very same words from Jugal’s lips filled Asha with a strange stupor. Smiling she said, “Keep the evil eye away.” Jugal resumed, “I don’t know what I will do if I have to go away from here.” Asha asked, “What do you do when you finish your work? I never see you.” “For fear of the master,” replied Jugal, “I try and keep out of sight as much as possible. Now anyhow I am going away. Let’s see where fate takes me now.” “You are not going away anywhere,” observed Asha, “Keep on doing your work properly and there would be no question of your going away. You can even make chappaties now.” Jugal smiled, “The master has a terrible temper.” “Don’t worry about him,” replied Asha, “he will be alright soon.” “When he walks by your side,” said Jugal: “he looks like your father.” “Shut up” replied Asha annoyed, “You must never talk like that.” “Everyone says so,” continued Jugal, “if somone were to marry me to an old woman, I would commit suicide.” The words of Jugal struck a sore point. The thin veil of annoyance lifted giving place to a feeling of resignation. “There is something called fate also,” she said. “To hell with such a fate,” observed Jugal. “Alright,” said Asha, “I will see that you get tied down to an old woman.” “I will poison myself, I promise you,” replied Jugal.

  Asha: “But what is wrong with marrying an old woman. She will love you more and will look after you better.”

  Jugal: “For looking after, a mother is needed; a wife is meant for a different purpose.”

  Asha: “What is a wife meant for?”

  Jugal: “You are the mistress otherwise I would have told you what a wife is meant for.”

  The horn of Lalaji’s car sounded. Asha hurried back to her room saying, “Lalaji will be going back to the shop after lunch. Come and see me in the afternoon.”

  10 The Police of Justice

  Seth Nanak Chand picked up the envelope. It had the same familiar handwriting. His face turned pale. He had received quite a few such letters recently and their contents he knew by heart by now. Ordinarily Seth Sahib was not given to such weaknesses as fear, pity or kindness; otherwise he could not have been a successful moneylender. But since he started getting these letters he had become very nervous. Even the prayers about which he was so regular, or the feeding of the Brahmins, or offerings every week to Mahavirji, or the daily baths in the Jumna, did not give him courage. He was certain that one Chaukidar1 would not be a match for the dacoits if five or six of them raided the place. He may even run away against such odds. And amongst the neighbours there was none who would risk his life for him al-though some time or the other every one of them had been his debtor. “They are a thankless lot,” Seth Sahib muttered to himself, “when they are in need they come begging; when the need is over they become not only unfriendly but positively hostile. If a gang of five or ten people attacked, it would really become a problem.” But he got a little satisfaction from the thought that the
gates of the house were strong and that the walls were high and made of solid stone. To further reassure himself, he took out his gun and started inspecting it. “If the need arose,” he thought, “I would combat single-handed five or ten of them with this gun.” The momentary courage however vanished soon and he found himself again in the grip of a chilling fear. “Who knows that the Chaukidar’ is not in league with the gang? These servants need only a little temptation to become fifth columnists.” Alternating with fear and courage, he went inside the house and opening the envelope said to Kesar, his wife, “Another letter today. This time they have given a final warning that if the money is not deposited under the tree in front of the Rameshwar Temple by eight o’clock, they will raid the house the day after tomorrow. They must be thinking that they will be able to extort such a large sum from me by these threats. They don’t know me.” Kesar did not know how to read but taking the letter from Seth Sahib’s hands she said, “I suggest that we go away from here for a month or so to Hardwar, Prayag or Kashi – it would serve both purposes. We would have done a pilgrimage and got some respite from this haunting fear. I can’t even sleep at night.” “If I started running at such threats,” replied Seth Sahib with assumed courage, “I would be a fine moneylender. These rascals must be some of the people whose property I have got auctioned to recover my debts. They will run for dear life at the very sound of a gun shot. I am also informing the police. I was reluctant to do so because on the pretext of protecting me they will relieve me of a few thousand rupees. But on second thought I feel that it is advisable to take all precautions.” For Kesar this was not enough consolation. She was mortally afraid of death. Her union with Seth Sahib had not been blessed with children and she was afraid that after their death all their wealth will be usurped by others. She therefore wanted to drink the cup of life to its very dregs. Beseechingly she said, “Informing the police will not be of much help. Listen to me and let us go away somewhere.” “You are unnecessarily scared,” replied Seth Sahib, “when the police is informed it would become their duty to protect us. After all don’t we pay five thousand a year in taxes? If they don’t take any action I shall send a petition to the Governor.”