by Farahad Zama
“If you are wondering why I am so openly airing the family’s dirty linen, there is nothing secret about any of this. Everybody in our village knows what happened to our house. The harlot sank her fangs deep and started extracting gold, gems, silk saris and God knows what else from my father. Soon, her brother became the manager of our lands. Over the next few years, while the fields groaned under the weight of golden sheaves of rice and the harvests were bountiful, our income kept falling. Eventually the manager suggested to my father that he sell some land. Selling land, like smoking cigarettes or drinking alcohol, is habit forming – the first time, it is shocking, but it becomes progressively easier and soon you cannot do without it. Our fields, so fertile and well watered, were parcelled off for the same price as less productive farms halfway up a hill and away from the road. I don’t know why the manager bothered to fleece us, because all that money would have gone to his sister anyway. But that’s how the world is – once people know that you are a sheep who can be cheated, they will ravage you from all sides like ravenous jackals.”
Mr Ali got an inkling of how Mr Chandra had become the successful businessman that he now was.
“My friend and I grew up and we both got married. Surya had a boy and, soon after, Mani graced our house. I tried to reason with my father but was unsuccessful. After my mother passed away, I left home and moved to Vizag with my wife and Mani. I got a small job in a car dealership that barely paid enough to survive on. And so life continued for a few more years until, one rainy evening, my father was involved in an accident when returning home from the harlot’s house and he died. We rushed to the village as soon as we got the news. The Jezebel and her brother were nowhere to be seen.”
Mr Chandra looked up at the ceiling for a moment and closed his eyes.
“When I went through the papers and discovered just how much of our wealth had been drained away, I felt physically sick. I cursed my father for being a besotted fool and robbing me of my patrimony. Even our house was pawned to the rafters and did not belong to me.”
Mr Ali nodded sympathetically. “It must have been a bad time for you,” he said.
“Yes,” said Mr Chandra, sighing at the memory. “A couple of days later, while we were still at the village, my friend Surya came to our house with his son. Mani and the boy started running around and playing but I sat there on my haunches, staring miserably at the ground.
“‘Are you all right?’ he asked, after some time.
“I looked up at my friend. ‘How could he do this, Surya? How could my father betray us so badly? What am I going to do now? How can I look after my family on the pittance that I am bringing in?’
“I started sobbing and Surya hugged me. ‘God will provide,’ he said.
“I pushed him away. ‘What will God do? Make brinjal sour curry, that’s what He will do. How can I save for Mani’s future on what I am earning? Who is going to marry a penniless girl?’
“Surya looked at me and my wife and said, ‘That, at least, is a problem I can solve.’ He turned and called the children over. ‘Do you kids like each other?’ he asked.
“‘Yes,’ said the boy. ‘She is all right for a girl. She knows how to play marbles.’
“Mani just nodded.
“‘Do you two want to get married?’ Surya asked.
“‘What? Now?’ asked the boy, looking startled.
“‘No, silly,’ said his father, and laughed. ‘When you are grown up.’
“‘That’s all right then,’ said the boy and the two children ran away, giggling.
“‘I don’t understand,’ I said.
“‘It’s simple,’ said Surya. ‘I propose an engagement to tie our families together.’
“Surya was a true friend. I broke down again. ‘I will remain forever in your debt,’ I said, bringing my hands together in a salutation.
“After the tenth-day death ceremony for my father, I packed up and left the village for probably the last time. Now, I had no ancestral house to go back to.
“About a month later, when cleaning his car, I found a wallet belonging to the owner of the dealership. It was stuffed with money and papers and he was very happy when I handed it back without stealing anything from it. After that I got promoted to a more responsible job and saved up enough money to buy a beat-up mini-van that had been involved in an accident. I got it repaired by one of the mechanics in the workshop, took it to my village and hired one of my father’s old farmworkers’ sons as a driver. The van became a shuttle taxi between the village and the market town. The fare was cheap but the taxi was always overflowing and soon paid for itself. I bought another taxi and then another. Business boomed and I left my job to set up on my own.
“One evening, my old friend, Surya, visited us with his son. I was shocked to learn that my friend’s entire extended family had been wiped out by Naxalites in a night-time raid. The Maoist guerrillas had burned down their house, in which I had spent so many happy hours, as well. He and his son had escaped only because they had been away for the night. He was now destitute.
“‘What are you going to do?’ I asked him.
“‘I have heard that the Gulf is booming. Even ordinary workers are earning vast sums. I want to go there and try my fortune. I know an agent who can organise a visa and a job but I need money to pay his fees.’
“I agreed to help him. I mean, money wasn’t such an issue for me any more.
“‘I have one more favour to ask,’ he said. ‘Can I leave my son in your house while I am in the Gulf?’
“‘Of course. He is going to be my son-in-law anyway. I’ll be glad to bring him up in my house. Don’t worry about your son. Go in peace and concentrate on making your fortune.’
“Did my friend have a premonition of the future? Who knows? He said, ‘If anything happens to me, will you continue to look after my son?’
“I said, ‘In the name of the Lord, your son will receive a good education. He will never lack for love or care.’
“He, in turn, promised, ‘In the name of the Lord, you will not have to look elsewhere for a son-in-law. When they come of age, my son and your daughter will get married.’”
♦
Mr Chandra drained the glass of water and looked up at Mr Ali and Pari. “Sorry for taking so much of your time.”
“Your story is fascinating,” said Mr Ali. “What happened after your friend left?”
“He died in that faraway land within weeks of his arrival. The police there didn’t care. To them, he was just a number on a passport – not a father with a son. They said it was an accident and closed the case.”
“I see,” said Mr Ali. “And your friend’s son continued living with you? What was his name?”
“Yes,” said Mr Chandra’s daughter, Mani. “His name is Kiran. We went to school together. I was never very good at studies and after twelfth grade I just gave up, but Kiran went on to do bigger things.”
Mr Chandra spoke again. “He now comes back and says that he has fallen in love with another girl from his medical college and doesn’t want to marry Mani. After his father died and he became a penniless orphan, I could have used him as a servant, but I didn’t. I raised him as if he were family, spent lots of money on his education. Becoming a doctor is not cheap. I did all this because of my word to his father and also with the understanding that he would marry my daughter. There was nothing secret about that. Everybody, including him, knew and agreed to the pact. He claims to be an educated man, but how can he be when he makes his father a liar by breaking his promise?”
“Don’t say that, naanna,” said Mani. “He has fallen in love with another girl. It is just my karma that I am in love with him.”
Mr Chandra turned to Mr Ali. “Even now she won’t hear anything against that boy. But tell me, sir, shouldn’t a father’s word carry greater weight than this…this love?”
Mr Ali said, “The world is changing, Mr Chandra, and the old certainties are no more. But I think your daughter has the right attitude
. He has grown up for many years in your house like a son. Why curse him now? He has made his decision. It is best to see how we can move forward.”
“That’s why I am here,” said Mr Chandra. “To look for other matches.”
“No,” said Mani. “I know I cannot have Kiran, but I will never get married. I have grown up expecting to marry him and I cannot imagine anyone else as my husband. I feel as if caterpillars are crawling on my body even to think of any other man.” She shuddered, and her eyes filled with tears.
Mr Chandra gave a sigh and slumped in the sofa, like a balloon deflating. “This is what she keeps saying. What can I do, sir?”
Before Mr Ali could reply, Pari turned to Mani. “You have shared the story of your life. Now, listen to me. Do you know that I am a widow?”
Mani shook her head.
“Yes, I guessed,” said Mr Chandra.
“Do you think this is the life I chose for myself?” Pari kept her eyes on Mani until she was forced to respond in the negative.
Pari said, “My husband and I loved each other. We got married young, set up house and enjoyed life – going to movies, eating pakoras on the ghat, having picnics by the riverside with friends and throwing dinner parties on Saturdays. We talked about the future as if we were standing at the head of a long river, like the Godavari or the Ganges. Our days stretched out in front of us, in a never-ending stream. When shall we have children? Not right now. When should we go to the saint’s anniversary festival, in Ajmer Sharif, on a pilgrimage? In a year or two. Let’s visit the Taj Mahal – but not this season…”
A bus went past on the road outside, its horn blaring loudly.
Pari continued, “One afternoon, my husband went out on some silly errand and our dreams all ended, just like that. What I am saying, Mani, is that life does not go as we plan. That’s what your father’s life should teach you as well. If you had asked him as a boy whether he would have been happy to lose his father’s lands and leave his village, he would have definitely been horrified. But today, he is a far more successful man than he would have been if he had stayed in the village. I wanted to kill myself on the night that my husband died. But today, if I am not exactly happy, I am not unhappy either. I have a son and I have received a marriage proposal from a man who seems quite nice. You don’t have to get married right now when your heart has not yet mended. You are still young. But don’t say never and give up entirely on life either.”
Pari turned to Mani’s father. “I know that you are just worrying about your daughter, sir. But don’t hurry her. She is still hurting. Support her through this difficulty and in time she will start to live fully again.”
Mani nodded slowly.
Mr Chandra exhaled loudly, his body sagging. “You are right,” he said finally. “Wisdom is not dependent upon age. You’ve proved that today, my girl.”
After they left, Mr Ali turned to Pari and said, “That was lovely. The girl now has space to recover from her heartbreak while at the same time the father is more hopeful and less anxious. It was lucky that he didn’t ask for his fees back, though. Too many more of these good deeds and I’ll be left without a business.”
Pari looked at her uncle apprehensively, until she saw the twinkle in his eye and laughed.
Fourteen
Mrs Ali closed the iron gate of the verandah noisily and stormed in. With her face set, she did not even glance at her husband, who was working at the table. Seeing her expression, he said, “What happened? Where is Pari? She said she would come back to help.”
When she did not deign to reply, he got up and followed her into the house. Mrs Ali went into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her. In the corridor just outside stood Rehman, who had returned from visiting friends about fifteen minutes ago and had been taking a quick bath. He was bare-chested, with a long towel round his waist. Father and son looked at each other, mystified.
Rehman said silently, with exaggerated lip movement, “What?”
Mr Ali shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know,” he replied in the same silent-movie mode.
Mrs Ali and Pari had gone to put down the deposit on the two-bedroom flat in the building next door and take possession of the keys. Pari and Vasu had packed everything up in their room across the road. Rehman had agreed to help them and they reckoned that they could shift all their belongings in less than an hour.
“It will be such a relief to be able to move freely again without banging into something,” Pari had said. She had promised Vasu that he could have a room for himself with his own bed.
As Rehman’s fresh clothes were inside the bedroom that was now inaccessible, he went back to the bathroom to put on what he had been wearing, hoping they hadn’t got wet during his bath.
Ten minutes later, Mrs Ali joined her husband and son in the living room, having changed into an old, faded cotton sari.
“What happened?” said Mr Ali.
“I tried calling Pari but she is not answering her mobile,” said Rehman.
Mrs Ali glared at him. “She has some sense, at least,” she said. She took a deep breath and said, slowly and deliberately, “I have…never…been so insulted in my life.”
“What?” said Mr Ali. “What are you talking about?”
Mrs Ali turned on her husband. “Do you know what the neighbours are saying about us? Do you have any interest in what is going on around you, apart from that stupid marriage bureau of yours?”
“You are not making any sense,” said Mr Ali. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
“As you know, Pari has been really looking forward to moving into a bigger flat. Everything was agreed with the landlord and he said that today after two in the afternoon was an auspicious time to take the deposit and formally give us the keys. So, Pari and I went there with the money.”
Mr Ali nodded. He was aware of all that, but he knew better than to interrupt his wife. She seemed calmer now but it wouldn’t take much to upset her again.
“The landlord ushered us into the flat. His wife and the woman, Swaroop, from one of the other flats on the same floor, were waiting for us. ‘Do you want tea?’ said the landlord’s wife.
“‘No, no. We are fine,’ I said.
“‘I insist.’
“Soon we were all sipping tea. ‘Did Leela come to your house on time today?’ asked Swaroop. ‘I ask her to come early and she always delays in the morning. I don’t like to have a dirty flat until lunchtime.’
“Swaroop knows that Leela works in her flat before she comes to our house, because Swaroop insisted on it. She has put Leela in a difficult position and upset all my morning routines, and now that woman sits there, as if a kulfi won’t melt in her mouth, making comments like this. I was angry, but just nodded.
“After a minute or so, Swaroop said to Pari, ‘Vasu is not your real son, is he?’
“Pari said, ‘Do you think he is imaginary?’
“Swaroop flushed and I smiled at Pari. ‘You know what I mean,’ Swaroop said.
“‘No,’ said Pari, quite seriously. ‘What exactly do you mean?’
“‘Haven’t you adopted him?’ she said, almost triumphantly, which was a bit puzzling.
“‘Yes,’ said Pari. ‘But that doesn’t make him any less real. He is my son.’
“‘Adopt, shadopt,’ Swaroop said, dismissively waving her hand like someone brushing off a fly. ‘That’s just a piece of paper. A woman cannot really claim that a child is hers until she has carried him in her womb for nine months.’
“Pari went dumb and bit her lip. I knew that the vile woman had landed a mean blow.
“‘I thought you Hindus had more respect for adoption than that,’ I said. ‘After all, wasn’t one of your gods, Krishna, raised by his aunt, Yashoda? And before he went to meet his biological mother, didn’t he tell Yashoda that she was his real mother, forever ahead of the woman who had given him birth?’
“They were all silent, perhaps surprised by my knowledge of Hindu mythology. I didn’t tell them that I knew
about Krishna and Yashoda because I had watched the TV serial a few years ago.
“I drank some more tea and looked around, It was a nice flat. Pari would be very comfortable here. The windows faced east, so the morning sun would shine into the house and in the afternoon a cooling breeze would blow in. The side of the flat wasn’t so ideal because it was very close to the building next door, but you cannot have everything. Why was this Swaroop woman sticking to the flat owners like a gecko to a wall? If she leaves, we can conclude our business and go on our way, I thought.
“‘Leela tells me that your son brought that boy from the village,’ Swaroop said.
“‘Yes. Vasu is the son of his best friend who died, so Rehman brought him home,’ I said. I doubted very much that Leela had volunteered the information. All servants gossiped, of course; that was only to be expected, but Leela was more discreet than most.
“After some more time, it was clear that the woman had no intention of leaving and the landlord and his wife didn’t seem to be saying anything, so I signalled to Pari. She took out a bundle of notes from her handbag. ‘The deposit for the flat,’ she said.
“The landlord’s wife shrank from the money as if it was the root of all evil. The landlord licked his lips and shook his head. ‘I am sorry,’ he said to Pari. ‘We have already given the flat to somebody else.’ He wouldn’t look at me.
“‘What?’ said Pari. ‘But you promised…I have packed up everything, just ready to move.’
“The landlord and his wife just stared ahead with stony expressions on their faces. Swaroop, the dai’n, was smiling like a witch. I am sure she had something to do with this.
“‘It is not good to go back on your word like this,’ I said to the landlord. ‘What is the matter? Have you been offered a higher rent?’
“‘No, nothing like that,’ said the landlord, finally looking at me. ‘Umm…we’ve just decided against it.’
“‘But how can you change your mind like that?’ said Pari. ‘My son is looking forward to moving into a bigger flat; he will be disappointed so much. I have packed; I have arranged with Mrs Ali’s son to help me with the luggage. It is not fair to tell me at the last minute that I cannot have the flat. I thought we had agreed everything and today was just a formality. Why are you saying no now?’
