by Basu, Bani
Smiling widely, Bikram said, ‘Don’t worry, Dada, we’ve only just arrived. I haven’t had the chance for any mischief yet.’ Turning to Esha, he said, ‘You see, Esha-ji, wherever Bikram goes, his reputation precedes him. And once Bikram arrives, all the other gentlemen recede to the background.’ Thrusting his chest out, he continued, ‘Which is why all these dainty men don’t like me at all.’ Throwing his arms skywards he sang: “The bandits have been sent, like a roaring torrent.”’
‘What a lovely voice,’ exclaimed Esha spontaneously.
Tilting his head, Bikram looked at Aritra and laughed. ‘Did you see Dada, did you see Bhabi, how I won the first round so easily? I come, I see, I conquer.’
Ignoring him completely, Aritra asked Seema, ‘How are you, Seemachalam?’
‘Me!’ said Seema. ‘How do you think? I’m in the grips of this evil planet for life. I have no news of my own.’ Turning to Bikram, she said, ‘We should get our things in order first, shouldn’t we?’
Bikram waved her away. ‘That’s your job, you can do it. I’m going to hold court now with Neelam Bhabi on one side and Esha-ji on the other, while Chowdhury-da stares greedily.’
Everyone except Ari produced a laugh at this. Bikram had started his business enterprise in Pune, where he had arrived with a little capital and some experience. Aritra had helped him a lot to secure orders. His pleasant, sociable nature endeared him to everyone. At that time Bikram and Seema were part of Aritra’s shopping expeditions, Neelam’s meetings and events, going to the cinema, short holidays, everything. Bikram had practically brought Pupu up. But Aritra felt, in fact he was convinced, that Bikram had not honoured the faith they had reposed in him. Trying to gauge Neelam’s involvement in this made him knit his brows. The passage between his heart and lungs felt constricted, so he preferred not to think about it. If Neelam hadn’t shielded Bikram, Aritra had considered publicly humiliating him and severing all connections. But he couldn’t. One big reason was Pupu. Seema too was a sweet, innocent woman, anyone would think twice before hurting her. Bikram’s business had expanded so much that his main office had moved to the suburbs of Bombay. He had a palatial house in Thane. But he hadn’t sold his flat in Pune, where he had bought the land at the same time as Aritra. He had a flat in D1, just a few blocks away, with a caretaker in place. He stayed there when he came to Poona, which was quite often.
Seema had picked up a suitcase, with the keys in the other hand, and slung a heavy bag over her shoulder. Aritra said, ‘Let me walk you to your flat, Seemachal.’
Looking at him gratefully, Seema said, ‘There’s no need, Ari-da, really.’
‘That’s impossible, Seema. I’m told Burma and China have a tradition of women carrying loads, but we have different practices.’ Assuming he had delivered a palpable blow, Aritra snatched the suitcase from Seema’s hand.
Bikram burst into laughter. ‘Abuse me as much as you like, Dada, but Bikram Seal is not budging. I earn millions for her, drove her all the way here. Carry her load too? Can’t do so much.’
‘Come, Seema,’ said Ari, putting his hand on her shoulder.
Seema was slim, petite, nondescript features, a little puffy. She dressed flawlessly, having apparently mastered every secret of looking attractive from the top beauty parlours of Bombay and Pune. She was articulate, without any inhibitions. Only, Aritra thought of her as a colourful bubble which could burst any moment. So fragile, inflated with so much emptiness. He had never felt the urge to get to know Seema well enough to understand whether the emptiness was in her nature or her experiences. Ari put his hand on her shoulder with great affection. A slender shoulder, which might break under the slightest pressure. How could Bikram let her go off with the suitcase? He was a beast. How could he make her suffer so much? Not a beast, he was a monster.
‘What are you thinking about with such concentration, Ari-da?’ asked Seema.
‘Nothing in particular. Have you informed the caretaker?’
‘We don’t have a separate caretaker these days. Mohan, the common guard of D1, has a set of keys. We phoned him yesterday, he will have cleaned the flat by now. Your flat’s small, you could send Esha-di to ours if you like. There’s an entire spare bedroom.’
‘Of course not,’ said Aritra in panic. Then, calming down a bit, he said, ‘Esha is visiting us. What will she think if we pack her off to your flat? There’s no need. And I’ve contacted the MTDC—we’re planning to leave tomorrow or the day after.’
‘Where are you going? Who’s going?’
They had reached Seema and Bikram’s flat. Climbing to the first floor and unlocking the door, Seema grew quite cheerful. ‘Give me a minute Ari-da, I need to talk to Mohan.’
Seema returned soon. Aritra saw a shadow on her face. ‘Did you know Bikram has been here recently, Ari-da?’ she asked.
‘No, I didn’t,’ Aritra said. ‘He didn’t visit us. I didn’t see him anywhere either.’
‘Mohan says he was here.’
Aritra could sense Seema’s throat was dry. She walked across the hall quickly, opening the bedroom door. She was standing with her back to Ari, looking like a very fragile and helpless young girl. What was she looking for? Would Bikram have left any evidence? What if he had? Could Seema do anything about it?
‘What are you doing, Seemachal?’ asked Aritra. ‘Are you going to unpack now? I can help you.’
With her back still turned to him, Seema said, ‘No, I’ll do it myself. Everything’s all right. Let me check the kitchen.’
Seema took a tour of the kitchen. She was restless. ‘You’d better go back Ari-da,’ she said, ‘your friend’s here. I’ll do whatever little needs to be done here.’
Aritra felt a wave of sympathy. ‘I’m in no hurry,’ he told her. ‘We’ll go back together. You can’t have much to do here, finish it off quickly and have a cup of tea with Neelam. You must be thirsty.’
Opening the wardrobe, Seema arranged the clothes. Mohan had packed the fridge with liquor. Tinned food too. Seema made some coffee quickly, surprising Ari with a steaming cup. Putting it down in front of him, she said, ‘Actually it’s you who’s thirsty, Ari-da.’
‘Aren’t you?’
‘Very. This coffee won’t quench my thirst, Ari-da,’ Seema said in a strange voice.
‘Oh, I forgot.’ She went back into the kitchen and emerged with a plate of biscuits.
‘Have some biscuits with your coffee, Ari-da, it’s not right to drink coffee without any food. Now tell me who’s going on this trip, and where you’re going.’
‘We’re probably taking the night bus to Aurangabad tomorrow. Early in the morning we’ll take the tourism board bus there. Two days. The first at Ajanta, the second at Ellora. That’s the plan right now. Esha and I are going, so is an old professor of ours, Dr Roy, who’s also in Pune right now.’
‘Isn’t Neelam-di going? Pupu?’
‘No. Neelam isn’t going because of Pupu’s exams. She has her semester exams.’
‘If you’re off tomorrow, why did you send for us?’ complained Seema.
‘I’m not sure what Neelam had in mind. But we’ll be back in two days. You and Bikram could come along too.’
‘But how will we get tickets? Let’s go back and tell him at once, then.’
Aritra felt himself on the horns of a dilemma. He did not have the slightest desire to take Bikram along. But nor was it possible to leave his home and household in Bikram’s hands again.
Aritra began to fidget. Suppressing the feeling as much as possible, he said, ‘If it’s going to take you some time more, Seema, I’ll go now.’ Getting to his feet, he added, ‘Come quickly.’
Seema shut the door after Aritra had left. The hall was packed with expensive objects. A chandelier in the centre, casting its light on the revolving bookcase with the encyclopaedia, and on the statue or plants set against each of the walls. Low sofas scattered around the room. Three-legged tables with surfaces resembling brass trays from Moradabad. At first glance the house wou
ld be mistaken for the home of an art enthusiast. But the owner was not a connoisseur at all. The owner’s wife didn’t understand art either. The interior decorator who had done up the flat had fulfilled her own unmet desires. With time hanging heavy on her hands, Seema had also been taking a course in interior decoration. But while she was busy with her course, it provided Bikram a golden opportunity to stray. So Seema had given up her course midway to settle herself back at home.
She found herself crying. Tears streamed from her eyes, her heart ached. But she hadn’t realized it. She had discovered some things in the bedroom that had brought fresh confirmation of her husband’s infidelity. Mohan would disclose nothing even at the pain of death. What he had revealed was inadvertent.
Going into the bathroom, Seema washed her face with imported soap at the pink basin. Covering her face with foam, she opened her eyes slightly to look at herself in the mirror. In the glow of the pink tiles and the soft light, the foam-covered face in the mirror looked like it was part of a dream. Rinsing the foam would reveal an incredible, enchanting, exquisite woman with a commanding personality, a signal from whose eyes made worlds break up and join again. Everyone knew of them, Seema too. Cleopatra, Noor Jehan, even Mata Hari. Seema thought of them every time she used soap. Slowly, reluctantly, she rinsed her face, observing the emergence of a disappointed girl.
Her brother was sitting on the tree, throwing guavas down and saying, ‘Catch, Seema.’ A little later she said, ‘I want to climb the tree too.’
Her brother said, ‘Hmmph! You! Stay where you are.’ Seema had become exhausted seeing her brother, just two years older, always perched higher than her. A constant sense of inferiority in her head. As though her brother was always on a pedestal, the giver, and she, eternally lower, the recipient. When she tried to force her way on to the tree, she was bitten by ants, her legs swelling. Her brother said, ‘Will you dare climb my tree again? Ever again? Never forget your limits.’ Seema’s father would visit on the weekend. Or leave on a train. Higher than the ground. Much higher than Seema. Arriving from a distance, going away into the distance. Out of reach.
She was safe as long as her father or brother was near her. There was nothing to be afraid of. No one could harm her. With Bikram next to her, too, Seema was a mere atom. She would have to accept whatever he did, without protesting. Or else she could be flung far, far out of her security net. A great fear. How strange Bikram was. He used to be a music teacher in a small town, singing in his generous voice at local soirees and being invited by neighbours. He started by supplying sand from Magra to builders. Neither the lorry nor the sand was his own. He would talk his way into getting contracts, without any assets of his own. Then, summoning courage, the Bombay Mail with Seema alongside. Incredible determination, boldness, abilities. Seema graduated from Bombay University, did a course in nutrition in Pune, a beautician’s course too, but she could not match Bikram’s prowess. She did get the prince she had dreamt of in her childhood, but an eternal question mark remained over the last episode of the fairy-tale where they were supposed to have lived happily ever after. This made Seema hysterical at times, forcing her to tear out her hair, such pain, such discomfort, spreading across her body and her mind. Bikram didn’t even keep their son at home. First he had the boy admitted to a boarding school in Ooty, and now, in distant Dehradun.
Locking the door of the flat, Seemachal treaded darkness in daylight to walk like a spirit, her eyes guided only by the lights in Ari-da’s house. How happy Neelam-di was. How nice Ari-da was. So much affection, caring, compassion. Ari-da had always loved her. From the time they used to live in Pune, next to one another. Ari-da had not become as successful as he was now, nor had Bikram. Ari-da had cared for her like his own sister ever since then. Today all of them were chatting together. Bikram’s neglect was palpable. Amidst this humiliation, Ari-da had accompanied her with the suitcase, sat with her in the flat. Did he understand Seema’s sadness? Even if he did, he didn’t say it. He only wanted to wipe it away with fondness and feeling. Seema felt all the tears in her breast welling up for Ari-da. Only there, only in Ari-da’s kind heart would there be room for all her humiliation, neglect, and the agony of unbearable daily jealousy.
TWELVE
‘No tickets, no problems, we’ll drive,’ bellowed Bikram. ‘But I don’t understand why you’ve planned to travel at night.’
‘That’s when it’s cool. We’ll have to bear the intense heat at Ajanta and Ellora in any case. If we also have to travel all that way in the heat, any head except an idiot’s will ache,’ answered Aritra.
Neelam had been sitting quietly for a long time. Esha was in the kitchen. The aroma of chicken in the pot. Seema and Aritra were absorbed in their argument with Bikram. Ari wanted Bikram to try getting tickets, or else hire a Land Rover. Bikram insisted on following the bus in his own car. Neelam felt as though she was visiting someone else’s house. Someone she knew only slightly. The stiffness had not been dispelled. She was unable to match her enthusiasm to theirs. She was surrounded by an arc of extreme loneliness. There would soon be a time when no one would be able to enter this magic circle, and she would not be able to escape it either. She felt choked.
Pupu parked her scooter and came up then. She had been to a friend’s place early in the morning. ‘You’re here, Bikram Kaku?’ she said. ‘You’re very late. Kakima! Why didn’t you come earlier? Have you met Mashi?’
Bikram reached out and grabbed her. A big smile on his face. Seema said, ‘Have you grown taller again?’
‘I look taller every time you see me. If I keep growing at this rate you won’t need a flag staff anymore. You can fix the flag to my ear on Republic Day. What were you discussing, all of you?’
Aritra said, ‘We’re going to Aurangabad tomorrow night, Pup. You and your mother are staying back. You’ll be all right, won’t you? Such a bad time for your exams.’
‘Why isn’t Ma going?’ asked Pupu. ‘Is it because of me?’
‘Naturally,’ said Aritra.
‘Absolutely no need. I can stay at the hostel with Prita for a few days. Why should Ma be stuck here? I wish I could go too. Such a fantastic group to travel with.’
‘Your mother won’t agree to leaving you behind, take it from me,’ said Aritra.
Neelam said in a subdued voice, ‘It won’t be easy staying in the hostel and taking your exams, Pupu.’
‘It’s most convenient in the hostel, Ma. I’m going to miss Ajanta anyway, but if you miss it too . . . and Esha Mashi doesn’t visit us every day.’
‘But we haven’t got a ticket for your mother.’
‘Hardly matters,’ said Bikram. ‘What’s the use of a big car that remains empty?’
Pupu said, ‘You and Kakima are going too, aren’t you, Bikram Kaku? I’m sure you’ll be singing on the way. What has Dr Roy decided, Baba? Is he going with you?’
‘He is.’
‘How I wish my exam could be deferred.’
‘Would you have enjoyed travelling with old people like us?’ asked Aritra.
‘Who’s old? You people? A most interesting lot. Esha Mashi, Dr Roy, oooh! Bikram singing, Seema singing, think of me when you sing, Seema.’
Something had got into Neelam’s eyes. They were watering. ‘Splash water in your eyes, Neelam-di,’ said Seema. ‘Don’t rub them.’ Neelam left the room. Aritra was not at all keen on Neelam’s going.
Mahanam, Seema and Bikram left around noon after lunch at Neelam’s house. The bus would leave at night. Neelam would travel on Mahanam’s ticket. Bikram had suggested that Seema, Esha and Neelam should all go in his car. There was plenty of space, it didn’t matter if one of the tickets was wasted. No problem. Arita said, ‘Yes, three women with you, you will show off and drive the car off a cliff.’ Bikram and the rest would wait one night for them. The next day they would go to Ellora together.
Neelam discovered that after the long uphill and downhill journey, they had finally arrived at the plains stretching to the horizon. The sun was
rising over Aurangabad. Fallow land as well as farms lay on both sides of the road. Aritra on one side of her and Esha on the other were both sunk in deep sleep. Neelam had kept herself awake all night. Softly she called, ‘Wake up, Esha. We’ve reached Aurangabad, Ari.’ Neelam felt as though Pupu had been standing by her side all night, holding a flaming torch. What a nightmarish journey!
They had planned to bathe at the rest house and then leave for Ellora. On the way they would pass the Daulatabad fort. The Maharashtra Tourism bus would leave around eight-thirty. When they got off the bus they found Bikram, Seema and Mahanam ready and waiting. Bikram said, ‘We’ll all go in the car behind the bus. I’ve worked it out with the guide.’
‘That’s best,’ said Neelam. ‘It’s difficult to get into and out of a high bus all the time.’
It was a tight squeeze. Mahanam had occupied a lion’s share of the space on the front seat, barely leaving room for Bikram’s elbows. Aritra’s leanness was trying to compensate for it. Whatever space Seema and Esha had left on the back seat had been utilized by Neelam. ‘It’s quite comfortable,’ said Neelam happily. Aritra said, ‘Make sure your comfort doesn’t mean discomfort for others,’ said Aritra. ‘Not to worry, Bhabi,’ said Bikram. ‘Why don’t you lean back, Esha-di, I’ll shift forward.’ Mahanam said, ‘You should exercise, Neelam, if only out of consideration for others.’ Neelam said, ‘I can’t bear all this criticism anymore.’ Esha was silent. She and Piku had a pact—whenever either of them travelled anywhere, they always wrote to the other one with every last detail. Esha hadn’t written to Piku yet. She was wondering whether to write tonight.
The interiors of the car smelt of middle-age desire. It was redolent in the air. Had a young girl like Pupu been here, the tender scent of her personality would have permeated everything. Everyone—at least, most of them—could indistinctly sense a powerful sexual whirlwind willing itself within them. Aritra felt a strong desire for Esha. Seema wanted her husband, whom she had never had in the fullest sense. Bikram wanted Esha if possible, or else Neelam, or else any other woman except Seema, whom he was habituated to. Neelam wanted Mahanam. Mahanam did not want anyone in particular, but a desire for desire was taking shape silently, swamping his very existence. Sensing its presence within a mist of consciousness, he was stricken by the possibility of a bond in the near future and yet, the longing in his body and mind were a natural outcome of the demands of his soul. Understanding this wish and its possible form of fulfilment was building a quiet expectation. Esha wanted Ajanta, complete with all its nuanced shades of historical, mythical, artistic and human form and colour. This wanting was so deep that she was oblivious to the scent of sex in the atmosphere. Neelam was seated on one side of her, Seema on the other. No one seemed to perceive her silent, almost concealed presence between them. She too was not aware of anyone else. She always turned deeply self-absorbed when she was confronted with an extreme situation. She didn’t want to talk, her tongue seemed to go to sleep, her throat was sunk in a dream. Her limbs grew heavy. It needed great effort to be able to move again.
