Difficult Daughters (9 page)

XIV
 

I can write to you because Paro got me paper, pen and ink tablet. I asked her for my study books and something to practise writing with. Please, otherwise I would go mad, alone in this place. I think Paro still has some feeling for me because she agreed. Maybe one day I will be able to show you what I have written, though my scribbles are so silly it doesn’t matter if they are read or not.

The first time Paro crept up to my window, she asked me why I was locked up, what had I done that was so bad? What could I say? I could only cry, which made her cry too. Now she doesn’t ask.

Time stands still in this large, dark room where they have put me. When it rains, I sit next to the small window, usually on a bin of rice. Sometimes the breeze blows a few welcome drops on my face. Long ago I used to dance and run in the rain when nobody was looking. Now I pine for drops.

They say men are not to be trusted. That I am giving up my life for nothing. That because I am stupid and foolish, they have to lock me up to save me from myself and you.

Indu is going to marry Inderjit. You must have heard that already. She will be happy, I know. Inderjit is a good boy, his family is good. Do you remember how jealous you used to be of him? See, it has all come to nothing.

I don’t think they will let me attend the wedding, nor do I want to. What face will I show all those people who were almost my own? I feel safer here.

The evening is coming. The light in the angan grows dimmer and more mellow. You have taught me to notice such things. Before, I saw without any eyes. With my food will come a lantern, and then shadows will cover the walls. I go to sleep early, and get up with the sun. The first thing I do is my sandhya, slowly, and with great concentration.

It is the next day. Alone, my thoughts flow vacantly about in my head. This godown reminds me of my grandfather’s in Sultanpur. It was always dim and mysterious, the only source of light was criss-crossed with bars, from the opening in the angan floor upstairs. I thought it the biggest, most wonderful room in the whole world, unlike this one, a place of imprisonment, with nothing but potatoes, onions, dal, rice, wheat, and winter quilts.

That one was full of – oh, all kinds of things. My grandfather dealt in spices, dry fruit, pickles, and morabbas, all of which we weren’t supposed to touch. That’s what he said, but sitting in his little office that opened on to one side of the godown, do you think my grandfather didn’t know we were helping ourselves from the sacks and jars, and running into the outer courtyard to eat what we had stolen?

What has happened to that girl? Her family used to love her, how has she lost it all?

  V.

 

Tuesday, 5 September, 1939

 

 

Precious love,

That little girl is the one I love, running wild and free through her grandfather’s godown, and straight into my heart, where I hope to keep her forever!

Dearest, how could you? What I went through! Next time you contemplate such a thing, take me with you because it is now abundantly clear that I cannot, cannot live without you. Not in this world, or in the next.

I don’t care how melodramatic that sounds. The threat of losing you makes all priorities clear. God, what hell have I been through. To be forced to put on a mask and pretend normalcy, when my deepest instincts were to scream and dash my head against the wall.

My darling, I feel I am responsible for driving you to this desperate measure. You must have felt so alone in those last few hours, a tragic irony when you are what I hold most dear on earth, when your face is the constant shadow in my mind. Those few, dreadful hours when I thought I had lost you are moments I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

First the fears, then the assurance that you were all right, then the fears again as to what was happening to you, and now this certainty, that you, my brave one, are locked in the godown while I roam at leisure – a free man ostensibly, but actually with every fibre of my being, next to you, by your side.

Oh, I knew what was happening to you. I have a wife who is a very good neighbour in times of trouble, and who doesn’t hesitate to share the news she has been able to gather. Yes, I have a wife, very generous with her information, and therefore I knew you were locked up, that you refused to marry Inderjit, that Indu is going to preserve the family integrity. Bit by bit these nuggets fall, while she is feeding me, for we hardly meet otherwise. Bit by bit, while she looks closely at my face, where not a muscle twitches. Everybody is very upset, and your grandfather avoids coming to Amrit-sar, he is so ashamed. You have disgraced the family. Your sisters’ chances of marriage are ruined. Indu is getting married, true, she says (though I don’t say a word – she provides her own arguments), but that was settled before, and what about all the others? She doesn’t dare say too much, but she doesn’t leave the topic alone either.

I thank God there is some way of communicating with you. Your angel of a sister came. ‘Pehnji has sent some work for you to correct,’ she said, chewing her plait and standing on one leg. Then she added, ‘You can send it back corrected, if you have the time.’ I think God at least looks after lovers, no matter how the world treats them.

Enough, I can hear them coming back from a film,
Tulsidas.
One rupee was well spent to get the house to myself, to pour out my heart to you undisturbed, to let you know that I am ever, ever yours.

*

 

Later. The house is quiet. They have discussed the film nonstop, mainly gossip about Leela Chitnis. The war that Britain declared the day before yesterday on Germany after the attack on Poland leaves them unmoved, though every radio shop in Amritsar is thronged with people waiting for the latest news. London is being evacuated, the Army and the Navy are being mobilized. Churchill talks about defending everything sacred to man, freedom and democracy, all the ideals that are blatantly disregarded here every day. Ha! The left hand refuses to know what the right is doing.

Oh! I forgot to mention that soon we have to move. Our gracious landlady, your aunt, said her son is so worried about her health, she needs peace and quiet, and of course a most troublesome tenant out!

I have to live on Lepel Griffin Road or nowhere. Wild horses cannot drag me far from you. I need a little time, I said. That is all right, she said, and my wife hovered in the background and tried to keep the smile off her face.

  Sweetheart,

  Your H.

 

A morning, and the rains have stopped.

Paro got your letter, saying briefly, ‘He has corrected your work.’ I took it, and continued in a calm voice to talk to her. This enforced stillness increases my self-control.

At first I was afraid of involving Paro. She is so young, not yet five. I told her that she must not talk about me to anybody because they are angry with me, and everything I do earns their disapproval. Fortunately, she believed me, as why should she not? She can see for herself how it is.

Indu has married and gone away. Because of the family shame it was a small, brief affair. I was allowed to help dress her, and during the time of the vida, they let me say goodbye. Indu feels strongly that she should not be getting married before me. But the wrong I have done seems irreparable. Either our commitment is dishonoured, or the second daughter gets married first.

To be with my sisters again, and that too on such an important occasion, was almost as it used to be. However, nothing can take you back in time, and I noticed, though I didn’t want to, how well they managed without me, how strained their conversation was in my presence.

As far as Inderjit is concerned, I don’t feel I have done him any wrong. He has got Indu, who will make him an infinitely better wife. As for me, I know I have failed in my duty and I will be punished one day. Nobody can escape their karma. Maybe what is happening to me now is part of it, and there is no use protesting.

My fate is cast, and I am free now. I feel far more peaceful in the godown than I did in the days before I went to the river. Then, the confusion in my mind was terrible. I couldn’t think, and all I heard around me was talk of my marriage. If I was to be a rubber doll for others to move as they willed, then I didn’t want to live. I thought of what you taught us about Sydney Carton, and how noble and fine he seemed at the moment of his death. His last words echoed in my ears all that day. So you of all people should understand my actions!

I will wait a while before I give this to Paro. I dread her getting into trouble. People will say I am not satisfied with my own corruption, but I must start on my innocent sister too.

*

 

Many days later. Each day I say to myself. Not today. Wait one more day. You can wait one more day. But now I think it’s all right, Paro can take it.

On Mahatmaji’s birthday, they allowed me to join them in spinning. We spun the whole morning. It was nice to be able to do this again. I asked Pitaji if I could do this inside, and as he agreed he looked so sad.

Mati and Pitaji want me to promise I will have nothing more to do with you, then they will let me out. Soon you are going away, they say, and then you will forget me. A man who is already married and a traitor to his wife can never give happiness to any woman. He is a worldly person caught in his own desires. Nothing solid.

The nights are beginning to get cold, and I now sleep with them. In the day they still lock me in the godown. Each time I hear the doors shut, I burn with anger and humiliation. What have I done? I am just like the sacks of wheat and dal here, without my own life. Mati blames it all on college. She should have married after Inter, she keeps saying. See what this reading has done to her. She feels she knows more than her own father and mother. It seems I have given a setback to the Arya Samaj effort to educate girls.

Moti Cottage
Lepel Griffin Road
Wednesday, 25 October

 

 

Vir, love,

Paro came with the letter safe and sound. I kissed it over and over, imagining it was your hand under my lips, and not the cold paper.

We are
both
buffeted by the winds of opposition, my darling. Friends tell me in indirect ways to give you up. After the passionate ardour of romance dies down, wives are all the same. How does it matter who is managing the house and looking after the children. Keep her as a friend, they counsel in their infinite wisdom, but why do you want to
marry
her?

What can I say? I feel sorry for them, because they do not know what it is to feel united with what one holds dearest on this earth, they cannot be elevated above the
practical
and the
convenient.
Before such worldly-wise souls, I do not reason. I only tell them I am committed, and I change the subject.

You see from the address that we have shifted. Though I derived some meagre comfort from being physically near you, I could no longer stay in that house. The situation was getting impossible. At least now there won’t be those toings and froings between my wife and your mother – what a deadly combination. I was always apprehensive that you would be treated harshly as a result of what my wife said and yet I was powerless to stop these neighbourly visits. My mother too gave me no peace. She feels it deeply that her eldest son, the pride of her heart, should consider a second marriage. She has brought Ganga up, whereas you would be a stranger to her and the family ways. They do not recognize that I need the companionship of an educated, thinking woman nor that I feel lonely and desolate among all these people who care for me.

We spent our first Dussehra here. We did a small puja at noon. That evening we went to see Ravana, Meghnath and Kumbhkarna being burnt. In Ferozepur an effigy of Hitler was also included amongst the demon trio, but Amritsar is obviously more traditional. The aviation grounds were crowded, but we managed to push ourselves to a good viewing place.

Here, in Moti Cottage, my heart stretches far in your direction to pull you towards me to this place you haven’t seen. I will describe it, and then, when you imagine me in it, imagine amid the noise and hubbub of a large household, a solitary, isolated man, yearning for you, always, always. At times I think I cannot bear it, and then the thought of what you are going through for the sake of our love makes me feel ashamed of my impatience.

The garden is small, but it has space enough for four fruit trees, malta, mango, mulberry, and mithha. (I wonder if the owner has an attachment to fruits beginning with ‘m’!) In the middle of the garden is a small brick platform, cemented over so we can avoid sitting on wet grass if we want to. The two large rooms in front are a drawing-room and a bedroom with an attached dressing-room. At the back stretches the kitchen, storerooms, bathing-rooms, cowshed, all in a row. And in the middle of the angan is this most wonderful tank! A tube-well fills it and in the summer it promises delightful relief from the heat.

Night falls, and my hand aches. Today I have corrected over fifty essays – in an effort to clear the backlog of work that had piled up during these past few weeks. If you knew how difficult it has been for me to function even minimally! Teaching has been a colossal strain, correction impossible. Only now, with your letters which I read and reread constantly, do I feel a whole man again.

  H.