Aranya saw that Kamini’s hand under the pallu of her sari had a slight tremor.
It would be best to meet the bank manager. The bank accountant can also certify that it’s your signature. Our signatures do change from time to time.
Kamini noticed that Khuku was listening intently, and she flared up: Why do you stand around listening to us? Go do your work.
Memsahib, I’m the one who gets the money from the bank. It’s important for me to know about this, no, Sahib?
Yes.
Khuku said impertinently: Memsahib has also lost the duplicate key of the locker.
Ishan and Aranya looked at each other in alarm. So the key to the locker was being searched for.
Kamini remained lost for some times. Then she said angrily: Go and make some tea.
The wan sunshine in the room that opened to the north began to fade.
Aranya looked outside. The withering green of the creeper on the window was a sign that the season was changing.
To fall silently like leaves, isn’t that our fate too?
She took a deep breath, heaved a sigh and looked at Kamini.
The room was windless.
She rose and opened the long glass door, and a gust of wind blew in.
Kamini’s eyes were drooping with sleep.
Ishan rose.
As he put a cushion behind her head to support it, Kamini woke up with a start: Who? What are you doing here?
I’ve put a cushion there so that you can rest your head, Kamini.
She gazed for a long time at Ishan and then said, turning to Aranya: Ishan. You’ve forgotten Lakshmi.
Ishan touched her lightly on the shoulder, laughed and said: Kamini, you’re still siding with your friend.
Kamini laughed.
I know you well. You’ve fought with yourself, not with others. You love yourself alone. Am I wrong, Aranya?
Aranya smiled. At last something in this room had changed. A breath of fresh air had entered the old, desolate, expensive room. They heard the clatter of china from somewhere at the back.
Kamini started in alarm and began to scream:
Why did you open the door, Khuku? You want me to get bronchitis again? Is there any dearth of ill health around here?
Aranya stood up and quickly closed the door.
Kamini said softly: Thank you. This girl is such a dolt; she wants me to remain stuck in bed with one illness or another so that she can have free rein.
Aranya cast a stealthy glance at Ishan.
Khuku placed the tea tray on the table.
She put the medicine before Kamini: Please take this.
Kamini turned her gaze to the tray.
Have you brought nothing to eat with the tea?
There are some biscuits, should I get them?
Yes, there must also be some sweets in the fridge.
Khuku began to giggle. Baap re baap! How could threemonth-old sweets still be there, Memsahib? They were eaten
up ages ago.
How?
They were just turning stale, lying there. I distributed them amongst kids.
A cold anger clouded Kamini’s eyes. As if she was thinking, this Bengali woman is now the mistress of the house, not I.
Go get some barfis or rasgullas from the market.
Ishan broke in: We ate something at home; we’re completely full.
Aranya’s soles began to itch the moment the tea was poured. As if the hoarseness in her throat brought on a lack of oxygen in her lungs.
She glanced at the floor as she was putting the teapot back on the tray. The bright Kashmiri carpet looked lifeless, as if it too had ceased to pay heed to itself. It must have adorned the floor when this house was first built. Pictures would have hung on these walls.
Bhaiya and Bhabhi are calling me to the farmhouse, Ishan.
Ishan said enthusiastically: You must surely go, Kamini. You’ll recover quickly in the fresh air, sunshine and green over there.
Kamini listened attentively to him. Then she laughed as if in some kind of daze.
Kamini, you’ll truly like it there.
Her face clouded. Bhaiya and Bhabhi are not calling me to their house, but to the farmhouse. The field is clear there. I could be strangled by anyone at all.
No, no, Kamini. It’s not good to be so suspicious about everyone. They’re your only close relatives. You’ve always looked after them; why wouldn’t they care for you?
Aranya and Ishan both noticed that Khuku was standing close to the wall near the door.
Ishan called out to her: Khuku, go get a fresh kettle of water.
Kamini burst out in a helpless rage as she saw Khuku carry the tray off.
You were standing right here, weren’t you? I knew you would be standing right behind the door. Ishan, those people have spoiled her. She gets money for the information she passes on to them.
If you go on talking like this, Memsahib, I’m going to quit working for you. Please settle my account.
Go get tea first!
There was a briskness in Khuku’s steps as she left the room.
Aranya suggested: How would it be if you took in tenants in the annex upstairs? They would keep an eye on her.
Kamini said nothing. Then she beckoned to Ishan to come closer to her.
The broker has told me that my brother has sold this house. They’ve already taken the deposit. Khuku didn’t tell me, but the builder has twice seen the house from all sides and he’s been inside too. I was sleeping at the time.
Aranya and Ishan were filled with doubt and disbelief.
They were thinking: Is her mind unsound after all? Perhaps there is lack of blood circulation? Who knows what she’s seeing or thinking? Her memory isn’t helping her either. How can poor Khuku be expected to help her in this state? She’s just a servant after all.
Kamini was saying: When I looked for them one night, I found the house papers missing from my file. When Khuku locked the door and went out the next night, I opened the cupboard again. I hunted through all the shelves. When I opened the file again, instead of the original, photocopies of the papers had been placed there … I don’t have the originals any more.
The hair on the back of Aranya’s neck stood on end. She stood up.
Ishan, I have to go the market. I’ll be back in half an hour.
Then she turned to Kamini and asked: Tell me if you need anything.
Khuku was called again.
Go get the prescription from my table. You’ll also find a list there. And bring some money as well.
All this was entrusted to Aranya and she left the house.
How suffocating. It was impossible to breathe inside!
Ishan asked Khuku: You keep the keys to Memsahib’s cupboard, don’t you?
Sometimes they’re with Memsahib, at other times with me. She can’t remember things. She forgets after keeping them somewhere, and then I’m showered with abuse. What am I supposed to do, Sahib? I could quit this job, but she’s in such a state—I feel sorry for her.
Treat her like your mother. It’s fallen to your lot to look after her; you’ll be rewarded if you serve her well. God will be pleased with you.
Kamini was calling out: Lock the cupboard and give me the keys.
I’m bringing them, Memsahib.
Sahib, I live in the room above the garage. Ask Memsahib to have it transferred in my name.
Ishan was startled. How can that happen?
Nothing is going to remain hers, Sahib. Her brothers have already sold the house. If I had a paper in her handwriting, I could also make a couple of thousand.
When did her brothers come to meet her?
They never meet Memsahib. They come with the contractor or engineer three to four times in the week. But they stay outside.
And Memsahib, does she...
She sleeps most of the time. The doctor must be giving her sleeping pills. She’s dead to the world when she’s sleeping. She was awake one day, Sahib, when she saw her brother outside. She
started yelling. There was so much shouting and cursing … A lot of people gathered.
Has the doctor prescribed sleeping pills to her?
I don’t know, Sahib. I buy from the chemist whatever’s written.
Can you read the prescription? Do you know what medicines to give to her and when?
Khuku became defensive. Sahib, now you’re getting suspicious too. I get the chemist to put marks on the medicine strips for me.
You have his telephone number, don’t you? Just dial it. Let me speak to him.
Khuku stood there, sunk in deep thought.
Then she said softly: There are two sets of doctors, Sahib, not one. On Tuesdays, the brothers’ doctor comes by. I do whatever he tells me to do.
And the other one?
He’s Memsahib’s old doctor. I can’t understand what he says.
As Ishan turned to go inside, Khuku said: Her elder brother has told me that she’ll be moved to a nursing home in a couple of days. He’s asking for Memsahib’s keys, Sahib. How long can I keep them hidden from him?
Ishan peeped inside.
Kamini’s eyes were shut and the cushion had slipped from under her head into a corner of the sofa. It occurred to him to touch her to make sure she was all right.
But then, in a nervous haste, he left the room.
Khuku shut the door to Kamini’s room.
All right, Khuku, we’re off. Look after Memsahib.
Yes, Sahib, but that paper about my room …
This is something only Memsahib’s brother can do. Discuss it with him whenever he comes.
Aranya was almost running as she came back and handed the packet of medicine to Khuku.
As she handed over a second packet, she said: There’s ice-cream and pineapple cake in this one. Give them to Memsahib for sure. She can easily eat them.
Yes.
Khuku’s eyes began to gleam. Aranya handed her some money:
This ice-cream isn’t for the kids. I’ve bought it hoping you’ll give it to her.
Khuku nodded: Yes, Sahib.
They sped along in silence for ten kilometres.
There was little left to say to each other. It was as if a dead stillness plumbed the depths of their heart and mind. Are we also going to face this?
No.
A long, wide bridge joins the two shores—the two shores of age— and then, there’s the end.
Ishan entered the gateway. He heaved a long sigh as he parked the car in the garage.
Their blocks of flats, their floors, the laundry drying on the walkway, everything was known and familiar. Just as they’d left it in the morning.
Thank god, nothing had changed here.
They proceeded to their respective blocks without exchanging a word.
Aranya entered her flat and went straight to the bathroom. She washed her hands and face, changed her clothes, pulled a brush though her hair and, who knows why, tied it in a tighter knot.
Let go, allow it to end, this business of ageing. Kamini must be younger than you … Can’t you forget what you’ve just seen?
Oh!
The thought of Kamini, again and again. She reprimanded herself: Let this wash away. Forget her misery; she needs help. But can one person really help another? An old-age home … ? That is the only remedy, perhaps. Where are those people who used to care for others? Where are the families of yore?
The lush green flowerpots from the balcony opposite hers are peeping in. There’s a bird hopping on the vine climbing over the window.
But what’s this? Kamini’s old face peers in from across the flowerpots. If only Kamini could also grow in the balcony of some house. Why, she could grow in her own balcony.
What a house that was.
There was sunshine and there wasn’t.
There was breeze and there wasn’t.
It was as if all the oxygen had been sealed in some cylinder and locked.
Kamini had worked hard in her professional life. There had been no dearth of money. She had earned her pension. Then why did this happen to her? Her body chained by illness and her soul in anguish, she’ll reach the nursing home soon and the house will be lost. A new building will come up in its place. Lying there, Aranya thought: Kamini, why couldn’t you anticipate your future? You studied astrology in Benares, didn’t you?
She put on some music. The twang of sitar strings sent a shiver
through her.
Are body and soul one?
No, the body is merely the sheath.
Such disregard for the body.
Aranya seemed to be looking at the next leg of her journey. What did she see?
That which no one wants to see.
An afternoon which made the heart tremble. Was it really necessary to have gone there?
When Kamini fell sick last year, Khuku had phoned him. Kamini had had a heart attack and was in a nursing home.
Brothers and nephews showed up but complained that she hadn’t written a single post-dated cheque. She trusted no one and confided in no one.
Ishan had felt awkward.
In a week, Kamini was out of danger. When he went to see her, Kamini asked Ishan: Will you be able to write two cheques for twenty-five thousand each? I’ll have to pay the bill before I leave. I’ll pay you back when I get home.
Ishan had written two cheques and she had returned the money. But when he went to see her one evening, her brother came and sat next to him.
Ishan bhai, she doubts everyone. No one has any sense of her accounts. And she’s unpredictable. She likes the son of one sister one day, another on another day. She is entirely indifferent to the sons of her brothers. She used to share things with Lakshmi didi. Do you have any idea where she has made her investments?
Ishan said: Please forgive me. These are family matters, I know nothing. I came to the nursing home when Khuku phoned me.
The brother asked in a strange, unfriendly voice: What was the figure on the cheque that Kamini returned to you?
Two of twenty-five each.
The brother frowned angrily.
There’s been no question of returning what I’ve spent on her.
Ishan stood up. I’ll leave now.
Ishan had a long history with Kamini. She and his wife Lakshmi had been friends. They were colleagues and had taught together. After Lakshmi left, something very natural had developed between the two of them. And then for some reason, some lack of trust, awkwardness had crept in. What fate! The webs we weave … I’ve been fortunate. Why am I thinking about all this?
However patient she may be, this must irk Aranya.
She fled from the claustrophobia of Kamini’s house to buy something from the bazaar. Quick empathy …
Aranya was watching Khuku with mocking eyes, but also the two of us. How could one tell what she was thinking?
Evening came. Ishan was in a quandary. Should he phone her or not? Who knows how she is feeling after coming back from that house.
He dialled her number.
Aranya, did you have anything for lunch?
Yes.
What?
Chapati and omlette. And there was some paneer left over from yesterday.
Then there was a long silence.
I can send over some cassettes if you like.
No thanks.
I’m sorry I asked you to come with me. There was no need to trouble you.
Aranya said softly: I don’t know why I am feeling scared, but after seeing Kamini, I find myself questioning everything around me.
Aranya, do I hear right? Scared and you?
Ishan, say something to reassure me.
Aranya, we are free to act, only unfree to bear the fruit of our actions.
Ishan, not these aphorisms. You know, after returning from Kamini’s, it feels like we, too, have stepped into a parallel universe.
What makes you think so? We’re no strangers to this world.
Ishan, Kamini’s silence was hurting you deeply. As if you were responsible for getting her i
nto this fix.
Aranya, she was Lakshmi’s friend, not mine.
Aranya began to laugh.
I’m not asking you about that. I am just stating what I saw in her.
The phone rang at dinnertime.
What if we ate together?
Ishan, I’ve cooked nothing till now.
Dinner’s being made here. I’ll bring it over. You’ll just have to wait for fifteen minutes.
Thanks, Ishan.
Aranya rose.
She freshened up and took stock of the table.
She arranged the placemats, changed the napkins and brought out two plates.
Two plates on one table.
As long as it lasts …
Ishan will have made khichri, vegetables, with a dollop of butter on top!
She took out some fruit from the fridge and put them in a bowl. That cheered up the table.
Forget the afternoon at Kamini’s. That’s the only cure.
It’s evening now.
Remember, each day is a blessing.
The doorbell rang.
Aranya’s old feet began to dance.
Ishan!
eleven
Sometimes, one finds the right resolutions to old feuds, at other times, the wrong ones. Older people, left on their own, away from their families, have different problems and muddles. Enveloped in their own pathos, their existence is shaped by possibilities and hopes gone stale. Sometimes, they are at peace with the uncertainties of body and mind; and at other times, they fret over illness and anxieties—blood pressure moving high and low; pulse racing or crawling; abstaining from sugar and salt … Doctors’ prescriptions are made according to the social status of the patient. In case family funds are limited, medication comes from the Central Government Health Scheme. But if the sons are professionally employed, the responsibility of providing medical care is theirs. And if there is too much wealth and too many means, there’s an excess of medical tests. Also, from the parallel universe of Yunani and Ayurvedic treatments, advice and dosages keep flowing.
This group of elderly comes out every evening to meet in this small garden outside their homes, away from the closed evenings of the younger generation, making it easier for sons and daughters-in-law. One’s rights shrink with time. Pranams and namaskars is what they get in return for the blessings they shower. The warmth and oppression of living with the family, both come at once. The pre-conditions and predicaments of age.
The Music of Solitude Page 9
