by Farahad Zama
“Are you all right?” Lalitha’s voice broke through the mist in his brain.
He jerked back and stood up straight, his fingers uncurling. “I am not feeling well. I have to go,” he said.
Ramu and Lalitha looked at him with concern. “What happened?” asked his friend.
“Nothing. Must be the sun. I have been standing outside too long.”
“But it’s been cloudy today,” said Ramu.
“And we had a double period of maths indoors,” said Lalitha.
“I have to go. You stay,” he said and blundered his way out of the canteen. He didn’t attend classes for the next three days.
On the fourth day, Rehman joined Ramu as his partner in the lab. “Where were you? I came to your room so many times but it was locked. What happened?”
Rehman shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I am feeling better now.”
Thinking back, Rehman felt proud of his younger self. Lalitha spent a lot of time with Ramu and consequently with Rehman too, but he had never, after that day, revealed his feelings. His episodic temper had disappeared too – sublimated in his unrequited love. When Ramu and Lalitha had their inevitable, very occasional, lovers’ tiffs, they both came to Rehman and he always played honest broker, doing his best to get them together again as quickly as possible.
Rehman changed in other ways as well. He became much more confident about talking to girls, joking and being friendly with them. And, as is often the way of the world, now that he didn’t care much for the girls round him, they showed more interest in him. Lalitha and Ramu got married soon after college but it didn’t last long. They died one after the other, but not before they had a son, Vasu, who was now living with his grandfather. Now, thought Rehman, was not the time to think about that tragedy.
He turned his mind to Usha again. How silly she had been to take the parrot astrologer’s words so seriously. The man probably said the same thing to anybody who looked as if they had money.
A bus went past on the road outside, honking loudly, and Rehman was jolted out of his reverie. It will be good to catch up with Usha. Where should he take her? An idea came to him for just the place – the university canteen. They served good samosas and there was a continuous supply of tea.
Did he love her? She was certainly in his thoughts far more than any woman since Lalitha. More importantly, did she love him? He wasn’t sure, but she always answered his calls and agreed to meet him. That must mean something. I am not making the same mistake again, thought Rehman. I am not waiting two years before speaking out this time. Usha was a great catch – her parents were probably already looking for a bridegroom for her. He drifted off for a while longer until his mobile phone rang and he rose slowly to pick it up. He didn’t recognise the number of the caller.
“Hello,” he said.
“Rehman, it’s Naidu. How are you?”
“Naidu gaaru, Mr Naidu. Is everything all right on the farm? I have just been thinking about Vasu’s parents.”
“There is not much work on the farm, now that you’ve helped me bring in the harvest. Actually I’m calling about Vasu.”
“What about your grandson?” asked Rehman. He sat back on the sofa, next to his mother.
“Vasu’s school has holidays next week and he wants to go over to the city. I have to be here because the red spinach still needs watering. I was wondering if you can show Vasu the sights of Vizag.”
“Of course he can come here,” said Rehman. His mother tapped him on the hand and looked at him quizzically.
“Just a moment, Uncle,” said Rehman and covered the mouthpiece. He asked his mother, “Can the boy, Vasu, stay with us next week?”
She nodded and he went back on the phone. “How is he going to come over, Uncle?”
“One of the guys in the village is going back to the city. I will send Vasu with him. Can you pick him up from that man’s house?”
“Sure, where does he live?”
“Marripalem, let me tell you the address,” said Mr Naidu.
Rehman hurriedly found a pencil and paper and wrote down the details.
“And one more thing, Rehman. I’ve decided to sign the contract with Modern Agro.”
“Are you sure, Uncle?”
“Yes, I’ve thought about it. My ancestors and I have been growing the same rice crop on the same land for ever and all we’ve ever had is a basic living. If my son was still living…” said Mr Naidu and stopped. After a moment, he continued in a hoarse voice, “If your friend was alive, things would have been different.”
“What exactly is the deal with the company?”
“I have to grow cotton for them. They will provide the seeds and fertiliser, and the herbicide to control weeds. They will also send experts, professors from universities, to advise farmers like me when to water the fields, how much fertiliser and herbicide to apply.”
“I see,” said Rehman. “Why do you need the contract with the company? Why don’t you just grow the cotton yourself?”
“Two things – firstly, they guarantee to purchase the crop from me so I don’t have to worry about finding a buyer, and secondly, they explained to me that the seeds the company gives us are different. The man said something about their jeans being changed. I didn’t understand exactly – I thought jeans were trousers that men like you wore, but what does an illiterate farmer like me know, eh?”
“Genetically modified, Uncle,” said Rehman.
“Yes, that’s what the man said. Cotton is a good cash crop but a pest called the bollworm is almost definite to attack it. Apparently, the plants that grow from these seeds are resistant to this pest, so the yield is better and we don’t have to use pesticides.”
“Hmm,” said Rehman.
“Also, the company will come to the village and take the cotton from me. That’ll save me having to hire a cart like we did last week and transport it to the market.”
Rehman scratched his head, thinking. It sounded good, but he couldn’t help wondering whether there was a catch somewhere. “Are you sure, Uncle? I don’t know…”
“We have to move with the times, Rehman. I am an old man with a young grandson. If it was just me, I could have continued the way we’ve been farming all these years and live from harvest to harvest. But I won’t be here for ever and I have to save enough money before my strength goes, so Vasu can go to college and get a job in the city like his father.”
Three
“Kaka, have you packed the snacks?” The shout came from the hall.
Aruna was pinning the edge of her mustard-yellow silk sari to the blouse on her left shoulder. She smiled at her husband who was almost ready and was putting on his watch.
He said, “Amma is getting a bit tense.”
“A bit…” she laughed.
Ramanujam finished first and sat down on the bed, waiting for Aruna.
“Can you fasten this clasp, please?” She was standing in front of the mirror, holding a necklace. He got off the bed and took a long step towards her. He brought the ends of the gold chains together, lifted some strands of hair out of the way and fastened the clasp. “Thanks,” she said, centring the pendant over the top of her sari. She tried to move away but was trapped between the dressing table and her husband. “Thanks,” she said again. He still didn’t let her go. “What is it?” she asked, looking back at him.
“I am looking at my beautiful wife,” he said, gazing into her eyes, and bent down to nibble her ear.
She closed her eyes for a moment and a small shiver went through her body.
“Aruna-a-a, are you ready?” her mother-in-law called from outside the room.
Aruna squirmed in panic, trying to push Ramanujam away. He continued holding her and Aruna looked at him wildly. She whispered fiercely, “Let me go, your mother’s waiting. What if she came in?”
His arms tightened round her slim frame. “She won’t come in. She knows I am in the room with you.”
Aruna fell silent and after a few moments her husband let h
er go. She was almost opening the door when he said, “People can see where you’ve been kissed.”
“What?” she said, shocked, and rushed back to the mirror. “Where?” she asked, scanning her reflection.
“I’m just joking,” he said and smiled.
“Brute!” she said angrily and then laughed. She hit him lightly on the chest. “Let’s go now. Your mother’s waiting.”
The big living room, which they called the hall, was in chaos when they entered it. Her father-in-law was standing by the entrance, wearing a crisply starched dhoti and a long dark Nehru shirt. There were bags of clothes, vegetables and toys everywhere. Her mother-in-law came rushing out of another room with a bunch of bananas and put them in a wicker basket.
“We have only six kinds of snacks,” she said to Aruna. “What are we going to do?”
“Didn’t you say we needed only five varieties?” said Aruna.
“I know. That’s what we did last time, but that demoness, Mani’s mother-in-law, called up and said we had to bring seven types because this is the second child. I bet she waited until the last minute just to embarrass us.”
Ramanujam went and stood with his father.
Aruna walked over to the basket and said, “Let’s see…We have muruku, samosas, boorulu, pakodi, gulab jamun and kaju katri.” She thought for a moment and said, “Do vadiyalu count?”
Her mother-in-law shook her head. “No, they are eaten with lunch or dinner. They don’t count as snacks.”
Ramanujam said, “Amma, relax. I’m sure we can find something on the way.”
“You keep quiet,” said his mother. “Nobody will say anything to you men. It’s we women who will be insulted.”
Ramanujam’s father said, “Stand here, son. This is ladies’ business. It’s better if you don’t get involved.”
Aruna said, “I know. Mirapa kaya bajji – battered green chillies!”
Her mother-in-law’s face brightened. “You are right. We can whip them up in ten minutes.”
Aruna said, “But there’s a problem. We don’t have the long mild chillies. The ones we have in the house are quite spicy.”
Aruna’s mother-in-law said, “Even better. I hope the battleaxe bites deep into one and burns her mouth.” She laughed, almost a cackle, and called out, shouting, “Kaka-a-a!”
“Yes, amma,” he said softly, right behind her.
She jumped, startled, and turned around, looking cross. She said, “What are you doing, lurking behind me like that? Go, get into the kitchen and mix the senaga pappu flour for the batter. Don’t wait.”
Forty-five minutes later, Aruna and her family got out of the car at her sister-in-law’s house. Aruna carried a flat cardboard box that contained the silk sari for her sister-in-law’s mother-in-law.
Inside the house, Aruna’s sister-in-law, Mani, was sitting on the sofa, her big belly showing. Her husband and his parents got up to welcome them. Her son, Sanjay, was watching a big television on one side of the room – Tom was chasing Jerry around a kitchen and pots and pans were crashing to the ground behind them. Aruna handed the sari she was carrying to her mother-in-law. The two older ladies greeted each other effusively. Anybody would think they are old school friends, the way they are greeting each other, thought Aruna. She flicked a glance at her husband and he shook his head, rolling his eyes. She looked down at the floor to hide her smile.
Ramanujam walked over and sat next to his sister. “Hello, Mani. How are you feeling?”
“Like a whale,” she said. “I had forgotten what it was like.”
Ramanujam laughed. Mani’s husband came over and sat next to them. Aruna looked at the three young people and would have liked to join them, but she didn’t move from her mother-in-law’s side. A servant maid came out of the kitchen and served them all water and sweets.
Once the maid left and they had all taken a sip, Mani’s mother-in-law said, “What a good daughter-in-law you have.” Her voice was as sweet as sugarcane juice.
“She’s not bad,” said Aruna’s mother-in-law, in an off-hand manner. “But she’s from a poor family. She didn’t bring a single cent of land with her.”
Aruna knew that the two older ladies were playing a game of cat and mouse. They were the cats, their claws sheathed but darting out in quick flashes to try to draw blood. The two daughters-in-law were the mice. By referring to her family’s poverty, her mother-in-law was reminding the other lady that they had given a piece of a mango orchard in Sonthyam, on the other side of the temple town of Simhachalam, as part of Mani’s dowry. Nevertheless, Aruna felt hurt. She kept a clear face and looked across the room towards her husband. Mani’s husband said something, and Ramanujam and Mani laughed. Were they laughing about her? She didn’t think so, but she still felt a teensy bit lonely.
“People tell us that because the land is still in Mani’s name it doesn’t really count.”
“People always talk, how does it matter?” said Aruna’s mother-in-law.
Aruna’s father-in-law spoke for the first time from the chair where he was sitting. “You shouldn’t go by what people say. Stray dogs may bark but that doesn’t stop the wedding guests enjoying their feast.”
Aruna’s mother-in-law nodded. “You are so lucky. You already have a grandson in your family and Mani is expecting again. Aruna here is still not pregnant even though she’s been married for six months. We are wondering whether we should take her to see a gynaecologist.”
Aruna jerked her head up and looked at her in-laws, surprised and shocked. This was the first she had heard anything about this. She turned towards Ramanujam and tried to signal him with her eyes, but her husband was busy talking to his sister and brother-in-law and didn’t see her.
“I know a good doctor. She is very experienced,” said Mani’s mother-in-law. “Malathi, the corporator’s daughter-in-law, didn’t conceive for almost three years. They took her to big doctors in Hyderabad and Mumbai but nobody could help. Finally, I told them that they shouldn’t waste money going to the big cities when there was such a good doctor right on our doorstep. They took my advice and last month their daughter-in-law gave birth. It was only a daughter, but still…”
Aruna’s mother-in-law leaned forward. “Really, who – ”
Aruna’s heart sank. This was getting worse by the minute. She looked again at her husband and this time he saw her. She signalled with her head and he walked over. Aruna smiled at him in relief.
“What are you all talking about?” he asked, sitting down on the sofa next to Aruna.
“Oh, nothing,” said his mother, relaxing back.
Obviously, they wouldn’t dare talk in front of their son.
Ramanujam looked at his watch. “Let’s get going. I have a complicated case tomorrow and I want to study the scans again.”
Ramanujam’s father got up and called out to their driver to come in with the basket. The snacks were laid out on plates on the central table.
“One, two, three…seven,” counted Aruna’s mother-in-law, looking triumphantly at her daughter’s mother-in-law, who didn’t say anything.
Their driver Peter and the servants of Mani’s house carried out a suitcase and two bags. Mani got up from the sofa and arched her back. She asked her son to switch off the television.
“One minute, amma,” said the boy, continuing to watch the cartoon.
Peter came back and picked up a big yellow plastic box overflowing with toys. He grunted and staggered towards the door; one of his legs was weaker than the other so he walked with a limp even when not carrying anything.
“Come on, we are going now. Look, your toys are being put in the car too.”
One of the toys in the box suddenly started beeping loudly. The boy looked at the driver and started crying. “I don’t want to go. Leave my toys here.”
Mani went up to her son. “Come on, darling. I’ve already told you. We are going to thaatha’s place until the baby is born and big enough to bring back. Daddy will come and visit you every day.”
“No. Don’t want to go,” said the boy shaking his head.
His father went and picked him up, laughing as the plump boy struggled. “I swear this boy is getting heavier by the day.”
“Don’t attract the evil eye to him,” Mani said. “He’s just a healthy boy.”
Sanjay started kicking against his father’s body.
“That’s enough, babu! Stop it now,” he said, as the boy almost slipped out of his grip.
“I’ll give you a chocolate when we get to thaatha’s place. And, you can go with thaatha tomorrow and buy a toy,” said his mother.
Sanjay stopped crying. “Can I get the same video game that next-door Om has?”
His mother nodded and they all went outside.
♦
That evening, Rehman took his motorbike, which had been lying unused for a while, and drove to Marripalem. He followed the instructions given to him until he reached the right colony but got lost in the warren of narrow, twisting streets lined with small houses. He parked his scooter on the main road and walked into a narrow side street.
Some houses were thatched with palm leaves, others were pukka houses made of brick and cement. Little semi-naked children ran around playing with marbles. A bigger boy was rolling the metal rim of a bicycle wheel along the ground. Some girls sat at the corner of a house, playing with tamarind seeds, flicking them up in the air with the backs of their right hands and then catching them before they fell to the ground. At one end of the street, water poured out of a communal standpipe at which a group of women and older girls were filling a variety of vessels for the next day before it stopped. As he walked past them, a loud fight broke out between two women, each accusing the other of pushing in out of turn.
Rehman shook his head – the flow was never enough to supply all the families with the water they needed and fights were common. When he was a boy, he had lived in a house with one tap for all the families in the building, but there had never been any fights. His mother had ensured that everyone had their turn and nobody went against her because she was scrupulously fair, even for herself. And also because she had a sharp tongue that could strip the bark off a tree, he thought.
