A Gujarat Here, a Gujarat There

by Krishna Sobti

  ‘My mother’s maternal uncle and his family live in Matunga. I’ve wired them asking if it would be inconvenient to have me stay with them for a few days if I come to Bombay. I can decide once I get their response. If not, I’ll return from Ahmedabad.’

  ‘You can only get the apparatus from Bombay. You must also see it.’

  ‘How did you like the principal of Colwin?’ asked Miss William with a smile.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘You’ll manage, won’t you!’

  ‘So it seems. But if Zutshi Sahib had Mr Popat Lal with him, how much happier he would be.’

  The Queen Mother was smiling.

  ‘Miss William, tell me something about yourself.’

  ‘I spend all my time with Her Highness.’

  She turned towards the Queen Mother.

  ‘Your Highness, have you read K.M. Munshi?’

  The Maharani looked at her curiously.

  ‘I have. In the original Gujarati.’

  ‘I’ve read his novels in Hindi. I read his long novel Verni Vasulat.’

  Suddenly, she asked Miss William, ‘Is there a cinema hall in Sirohi?’

  ‘That’s necessary for you, is it?’

  She began to laugh.

  ‘Both yes and no, Miss William!’

  ‘Sirohi is not Delhi, but you should also know that Delhi is nothing like this land. Arbuda Giri is the peak of our kingdom of Sirohi. Mount Abu. It’s written in the Puranas that before there was this vast expanse of Shrimal, there was a deep sea here. Bhrigu Rishi went to meet the sun, so the Sun God dried up the deep waters of the sea with his splendour. He changed it into our earth of Rajputana. North of Sugandhika Mountain he laid down a lake. To the north-west, he placed Arbuda Giri.’

  The Queen Mother’s face lit up.

  ‘What a beautiful way that is to imagine it all,’ she said.

  ‘Imagine it?’

  ‘Yes, I know the difference between the Puranas and the Vedas. That’s why I’m saying that.’

  ‘Are you from an Arya Samaj family?’

  ‘For the most part, yes. But we’ve adopted many new customs beyond those, and so that seems to have fallen by the wayside. It’s limited mostly to puja, fasting and religious rituals.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘My mother reads the Guru Granth Sahib. My father is a supporter of both Shri Aurobindo and Shri Ramakrishna Paramahans. I am a great follower of Vivekananda. His emotion and language inspire me.’

  ‘And Aurobindo?’

  ‘At first, I read a bit about him, then I stopped at Savitri. I simply was not able to understand it.’

  Miss William looked at her watch. ‘Excuse me, Maharani Sahiba, Motagaon Thakur is here to be presented before you.’

  ‘Yes. So when will we invite Sobti Bai here again?’

  ‘Tomorrow evening.’

  14

  She slept that night as though she’d been riding a galloping horse for two days. Thank heavens her feet hadn’t got caught in the stirrups, her head hadn’t hit the ground and she was physically sound. The horse was munching grass somewhere nearby. And she was tied to the horse’s picket. But what’s this?

  The sky leans down to her and charcoal-black clouds waft above her head. It was in her sleep that she’d begun playing a childhood game in her favourite weather.

  Two rows of children face each other:

  Who’re you coming to get?

  You’re coming in cold weather

  I’m coming to get the dawn!

  I’m coming in cold weather

  Who’ll you send to get them

  Who’ll you send in cold weather

  We’ll send sunlight to get them

  We’ll send it in cold weather

  As she sleeps, she reaches the veranda with the large windows and takes down the wet hat in the window and begins to look outside.

  Dazzlingly bright white snow here and there, above and below, on trees and leaves, pillars and wires, uphill and downhill, on the paths to the house.

  Ma calls out, ‘Children, sit by the stove, you’ll get gur, pine nuts and walnuts!’

  Then then then.

  After that, all melts into sleep.

  And here we have open sesame and Ali Baba and the forty thieves. Sometimes they are hidden, then they suddenly appear. At night they may sleep, and in the morning awake.

  She’d not yet arisen when Mishri Bai appeared before her.

  She asked with astonishment, ‘Why are you here so early? Do you need something?’

  ‘Bai ji, you will bathe, yes? If you wish, I can oil your hair for you.’

  ‘What are you talking about, Mishri Bai?’ she asked in wonderment. ‘There’s no need for you to do all this.’

  ‘Hukum, I’m here to serve you.’

  ‘You work for the preschool,’ she said with annoyance. ‘There’s absolutely no need to come here.’

  Mishri Bai stood there smiling. She peeked out from behind her veil. A pleasant, aged face, glimmering with the mingled charm and roughness of a long life.

  ‘Shall I massage your head, Hukum?’

  ‘Enough, Mishri Bai! Whatever work you do will be at the preschool.’

  Mishri Bai just stood there smiling, her dupatta in her hand. She smoothed her hair, adjusted her veil and said:

  ‘Phuli Bai is about to come too. Hukum, she’ll talk all manner of nonsense. She’s a tattletale. She has an opium habit too. And she always used to smoke a hookah.’

  ‘Look, Mishri Bai,’ she snapped, ‘your job is at the preschool. There is no need to come here or talk about one another. Please go now.’

  Mishri Bai stood there smiling.

  She glared at her.

  ‘Go.’

  ‘As you wish, Hukum, if you need anything please call for me.’

  She wrote a letter home. Told them how things were here and what was planned for the future. She asked for the correct address for her aunt and uncle in Ahmedabad and her great-uncle in Bombay.

  When Phuli Bai suddenly appeared wearing an old black skirt, kurti and dupatta, she stared at her. The exact opposite of Mishri Bai.

  A mottled complexion of wheat and chalky yellow. Hollow, devastated eyes. Carrying the weight of her skinny body lazily, as though it belonged to someone else.

  Phuli Bai sat down on the floor and asked, ‘Hukum, shall I massage you, shall I oil your head?’

  ‘Don’t say such things,’ she snapped irritably. ‘I didn’t call for you, so why have you come here so early in the morning?’

  Phuli Bai stared at her dumbfounded.

  Seeing her frown, she said, ‘Hukum, I said I’d report for duty.’

  ‘No, there was no need to come here. If there’s some work to be done, then I will call for you myself.’

  Phuli Bai straightened the cloth on her head. She pushed the hair falling across her forehead under the veil. She rubbed her eyes. Suddenly she looked like she was going to cry. For some reason she felt a sudden flash of anger as Phuli Bai stared at her. She stopped her from leaving and asked, ‘Tell me, how many in your family?’

  ‘One boy, Hukum.’

  ‘Does he study at all? Does he go to school?’

  Phuli Bai nodded her head. ‘Yes, Bai ji.’

  ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘At the opium dispensary.’

  ‘Does your husband work there?’

  Phuli Bai was silent. She stared about the room. Then she began to weep a little.

  This time she didn’t wipe her eyes.

  ‘Phuli Bai, it isn’t proper to come here early in the morning and weep.’

  Phuli Bai began to sob.

  She wondered how she could send her out of the room. She got up. She wet a small towel and held it out to her so she could wipe her face, but Phuli Bai started and stepped back from her.

  ‘Forgive me, Bai ji, I’ve come here to work for you.’

  ‘Take this, first wipe your eyes, then tell me why you are crying.’

  ‘I’m cryin
g at my fate. My husband lives with another woman. He’s cruel, and has me trapped. He stays in our room with that low-caste woman. I just can’t take it. My son is there too—with the two of them. What shall I do?’

  ‘Look, right now, go to the preschool.’

  ‘But it’s always locked up.’

  ‘Now it will be open,’ she said in an encouraging tone.

  ‘No, no, Hukum, the school won’t open yet. They say there’s tension between Gokul Bhai and the Queen Mother. The preschool won’t open. There’s a quarrel.’

  ‘Over what?’

  ‘That I don’t know, but that’s what people are saying. Hukum, it’s a quarrel between the Rajputs and the Baniyas.’

  What sort of a place is this? she thought. Even a quarrel over Jeet Kunwerba Preschool. The country has just become free and all sorts of fights are breaking out in the name of Brahmins, Baniyas, Rajputs and Kshatriyas.

  She thought to herself how Phuli Bai had seemed tongue-tied by opium before, and now she could suddenly describe the local infighting so clearly.

  ‘You know the country has become free,’ she explained. ‘Now the royal family will become equals with everyone else.’

  Phuli Bai stared at her. ‘Hukum is making no sense at all talking like that.’ Then she added, ‘Hukum, when Mahatma Gandhi went to heaven, the Rajputs here said, “Oh! Look! The father of the Baniyas has been shot!” Hukum, all the Baniyas in the kingdom shaved their heads.’

  For some reason she felt a kind of rage bubbling up inside her. What is this backwardness, this lack of education? Why did Partition even happen? Here they have problems between Baniyas, Brahmins and Rajputs—there it was Hindus and Muslims.

  Was. Is.

  Phuli Bai said, ‘I have a request, Hukum.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘The Raj will give you a home to live in. If you give me a small room there, I will stay there with you. I’ll do all your work for you.’

  ‘Phuli Bai, right now I’m still right here, at this guest house. If I get a house and there’s room in it for you, then I’ll think about it. There’s no need to keep reminding me.’

  ‘Hukum, if I don’t come crying to you, then who will I tell my story to? The Inspector will take you to look for a house today. Think of me then.’

  She’s not just making Devla-esque predictions, she thought. Phuli Bai is actually trying to tell me something!

  15

  She had bathed and only just finished breakfast when the Inspector appeared.

  So Phuli Bai had done her work.

  A miracle.

  Decisions were not circulated like advertisements and orders from governmental departments; instead they wandered hither and thither like rumours.

  Devla knocked on the door.

  ‘Bai Sahiba, the Inspector wants to see you. Can he come in?’

  ‘Yes, yes, let him come in.’

  He entered. The Inspector, with Mr Champak Lal Soni.

  ‘Please come in. Have a seat.’

  ‘Bai Sahiba, we’ve been ordered to help you choose your favourite house. Let’s go, if you wish.’

  She picked up her purse, and the three of them walked to the jeep.

  The jeep stopped in the middle of a dense settlement. Stairs that led down into the bazaar. Steps rising into the narrow darkness. Thick ropes to grab hold of on each side. On arriving upstairs, a wide courtyard. Open. Bright. Two rooms to the right: a storeroom, cooking area attached.

  ‘Where are the conveniences?’ she asked.

  ‘Straight ahead, Hukum. Ahead is also the living area. They use both of them.’

  For a few moments she looked about the roof. Then she said, ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Bai Sahiba, it’s a large open courtyard. You could sit out in the open or dry your clothes. If a few people came to see you, they could sit here too. How could you bring them inside your room, anyway? Yes, Phuli Bai will stay in this small room. She will do the work for you. Hukum, you don’t even have to give her anything. The preschool isn’t open yet. You are earning wages for free.’

  She remained silent. The Inspector was so courteous she felt by turns suspicious of both him and his courtesy. Perhaps it was the etiquette-filled pomp of the old Raj.

  So Phuli Bai is also having her home arranged for.

  A second home.

  After driving through the bazaar, at the second bend in the narrow lane, a finely carved wooden door, with a vine climbing up each side. The door opened. A small courtyard. Two rooms straight ahead after climbing two steps. Shuttered windows with old tin bars.

  And where to bathe?

  ‘There’s a faucet right in the cooking area. There’s room right there.’

  ‘Refugee bathroom,’ she muttered to herself.

  ‘Bai Sahiba,’ Soni started in the car, ‘that one wasn’t worthy of you. I liked the first one. What do you think, Inspector ji?’

  ‘Yes, for one thing, what’s nice about that one is that the person living upstairs can see people downstairs, but the downstairs people can’t see up. No fear of peeping.’

  She interrupted him: ‘Can you show me some other place as well?’

  ‘Bai Sahiba, we’ve been ordered to show only these two homes for the time being.’

  She stared out across the street into the distance.

  ‘What is that building?’ she asked.

  ‘Hukum, that is Swaroop Vilas. Maharaja Tej Singh resides there.’

  ‘Driver Sahib, show me that one from the outside.’

  Driver Sahib wouldn’t stop the car until she had pleaded with the Inspector a second time.

  ‘I want to see it. People must also come by here to see it from the outside. The building does look magnificent.’

  The Inspector motioned to the driver. The car turned around.

  ‘Bai Sahiba, there’s a large garden surrounding Swaroop Vilas Palace. There’s quite a bit of greenery. Swaroop Vilas is very large compared to Kesar Vilas. The Jam Sahib of Nawanagar is the son-in-law of Sirohi. Whenever he visits he stays at this palace. The Maharani of Nawanagar, Gulab Kunwerba, is the daughter of Sirohi. Her people adore her. Sirohi is very proud of her.’

  ‘Yes, see? The gate to Swaroop Vilas.’

  ‘That small cottage, in front of the tree—what is that place?’ she asked with curiosity.

  The Inspector and Soni looked at one another.

  ‘That’s the haunted house. No one lives there. Whoever lives there soon meets his Maker.’

  This piqued her interest.

  ‘Inspector ji, I will have to see this house. How does one get there?’

  The Driver Sahib interjected for some reason: ‘This way. If you follow the wire, you get to Gangawa.’

  ‘Let’s go look up-close,’ she said, pressuring the Inspector.

  There was nothing for it but to stop the car.

  The three of them went and stood in front of the paved well. The cottage looked like something out of a dream.

  Green bamboo latticework and, above, a sloping roof of clay tiles.

  Right behind the cottage stood an old tree smugly flaunting its branches.

  ‘Dream cottage,’ she said to herself.

  The Inspector examined her face with experienced eyes.

  ‘Bai ji, if it weren’t haunted, you would like this cottage.’

  She looked over at Soni. There was a wrinkle somewhere.

  She laughed and said, ‘Inspector ji, how wonderful it would be if you could drive the ghost away. At least I could stay here a few days.’

  ‘No, no, Bai ji,’ they both spoke at once. ‘Don’t even think such things. This house is not suitable for habitation.’

  ‘Is the water and electricity working, or no?’ she asked.

  ‘Bai Sahiba, it has everything, but right now it’s all turned off.’

  She made a strange face and looked at the two of them.

  ‘Then only the guest house will suit me,’ she said curtly. ‘I can live there, can’t I?’

  �
��Bai Sahiba,’ the Inspector said in a peculiarly polite tone, ‘for that, please speak with the Engineer Sahib. In my opinion that upstairs home will be absolutely perfect for you. No difficulties with anything. If you need anything, you can just order it from downstairs. Phuli Bai is assigned to you.’

  When she got back to the guest house, she kept laughing at the whole farce. What sort of houses had they shown her? Those were some truly amazing conveniences. It could be that such arrangements were the standard for refugees.

  She took out her compact and looked at her face: Do I really look so innocent that they think I can’t see through their games? But there’s one thing I do understand: the more polite the behaviour, the more polished and strategic the trickery. Everyone is a spy out to confuse everyone else.

  She then wrote Miss William a brief note:

  I did not care for the two houses shown to me for my living arrangements by Inspector Insaf Ali and Mr Champak Lal Soni.

  By coincidence, I happened to see the locked Gangawa Cottage behind Swaroop Vilas Palace. That suited me very well. I can live there comfortably, and will have no inconvenience walking to the preschool from there.

  If you know of some administrative reason why Gangawa cannot be allotted to me, then please give me permission to live in the guest house.

  Good news came before leaving for Bombay, that too in dusty weather. Miss William had had her name submitted for the lovely Gangawa Cottage behind Swaroop Vilas Palace. It was as though a pleasant dream had been granted her in the midst of a dust storm. So lovely after the trials she’d faced up to now. After Miss William had written back in response to her note, announcing that Sirohi Raj’s PWD district had allotted the cottage to her, she had decided that now she would have to take this job seriously. She would have to change her plan to return to Delhi. She no longer had any excuse for leaving Sirohi. All the arrangements here were fine. In the servants’ quarters behind the cottage, there was room for a couple of guards, a cook, Hamid, and Phuli Bai or Mishri Bai. Those two would take turns staying at Gangawa.

  16

  Phuli Bai placed the tray Hamid had set on the table and sat down against the bamboo lattice.

  ‘Hukum, the district’s orders are that I sleep by you one night and Mishri Bai sleeps by you one night.’