Bhairavi Page 8

  ‘An Englishman once offered us five hundred for this first bottle.’ Rukmini had told her, but that man had scolded her a lot later: ‘Even your ancestors won’t be able to walk straight after drinking one drop of this; is this your land’s brandy?’

  It was the drop stolen from that bottle that had made Raji dance till midnight. Her friend Rukmini had moved to the Dharchula valley on the Nepalese side and perished there. There were still about three to four good Bhatia families living in the area, but hawk-eyed Rajeshwari had spotted two to three young faces and had imprisoned Chandan yet again. She was familiar with the free and fun-loving ways of these families. She wanted to deprive her daughter of the camaraderie and affection that she had experienced as a child, the memories of which were still buried deep inside her like a hidden treasure. How could she shut her daughter in a room with her discipline? And has anyone ever been able to shackle youth? At times, Chandan would run away even without asking her mother’s permission at the slightest invitation from some aunt in the neighbourhood. Her daughter’s running away didn’t scare her. What scared her was the presence of the well-built son of the aunt, Randhir, who had studied abroad and was working in Kathmandu. Was it her bad luck that wherever she went, all the young men in the vicinity would come home on vacations and roam around her beautiful daughter?

  All this, however, was only Rajeshwari’s imagination. It was not like Randhir Singh had known that an angel would descend in his neighbourhood for a holiday. He had come to hand over the house keys the day the mother and daughter had arrived in Dharchula. Not just that, he would keep checking in to see if they needed anything and stealing glances at Chandan with a grin on his face. His mother had gone to Almora to take her sick older sister to a doctor and would make sure they had everything once she returned. What he was saying was right. That affectionate and generous woman had internalized every courtesy and tradition of her community and Rajeshwari could also speak her language. To control any person, all you had to do was speak their language. The same lady had opened the doors of her ‘Milan’ for the mother and daughter duo on the very first day.

  ‘I also had a daughter just like you. She died when she was just seven. I feel like Mansabati has come back every time I look at you.’

  Even hearing this did not give Rajeshwari any peace. Chandan started getting invited to the ‘Milan’ of all the neighbours. But Rajeshwari had seen the free atmosphere of ‘Milan’ at close quarters. She began taking Chandan for long holidays to distant places or to her mother’s maiden home. Her poor maternal uncle lived in her mother’s run-down maiden home and made a living by running a watermill inside the house. There was no one living in that house now. Her maternal aunt had died a long time ago and her middle and younger uncles had shifted to Calcutta and Bombay for good. Her wise neighbours had by now understood why she didn’t like her beautiful daughter visiting their homes.

  One day, the neighbour deliberately gave Raji a piece of her mind. ‘Raji, I thought you have spent your childhood in our community and would understand our simple and clean way of life having seen it at close quarters. But I see that you haven’t understood us.’ She laughed after sighing deeply and continued, ‘Our community’s fun-loving way of life has got itself a bad reputation and nobody has been able to understand us. It is only foreigners who are able to appreciate us. Outsiders see our healthy bodies and smiling faces and erupt in suspicious anger. We have to do so much for that smile. Please don’t mind me, Raji.’ She laughed and holding Raji’s hand said, ‘Do we forget them when the men of our house play with danger by traversing the sharp edges of the hills to trade wool? There are two ways of dealing with sadness. One by keeping a sad, long face and the other by laughing and sharing stories and knitting and spinning to forget your sadness. Nobody would dare lay an eye on your daughter in our “Milan”; even if it were my Randhir, I’d gouge his eyes out.’

  The reproached Raji never stopped Chandan after that day. Her old Pitambar Uncle would sometimes visit her leaning on his walking stick. He had also slapped her a few times the night his brother-in-law had dragged his beautiful niece home by her long hair. With age, Raji’s face had started resembling her dead mother’s. She had aged her parents before their time with her foolishness. But time goes so fast, was what Pitambar was thinking. The same girl whose mother had pushed him to different lands in the pursuit of a groom had now become impatient herself.

  ‘Mama, I can’t sleep all night worrying about this girl.’ What a surprise it was! She was repeating the exact words her mother had uttered! His toothless smile escaped from under his white moustache and spread all over his face. He felt like asking her, ‘Have you forgotten so soon your mother’s worried sleeplessness compounded by your foolishness that made her sleep forever after a point?’

  ‘I have to find her a good groom somehow. I would like to get this done by next year.’

  However, the anxious Rajeshwari did not have to wait till the next year and neither did Mama. Even as they looked harder for a groom, the daughter, whose future she was losing her mind over, that same daughter’s beauty snagged a groom and that too one who made Rajeshwari incredulous about her daughter’s good fortune.

  FIVE

  It had been two months since mother and daughter had arrived in Dharchula. Even if Mama managed to find a groom or two, their details would make Rajeshwari’s face fall. One closer to Chandan’s father’s age, the other asking for dowry. One of Rajeshwari’s widowed paternal aunts lived in Almora. Till now, she had all but forgotten about this aunt, but Mama pointed out that this Bua sold laddoos of panjeri and methi and choorna at many well-to-do households. She would surely be able to help in finding a groom!

  Chandan had been sitting as if stuck to the fireplace that day. Her discipline-loving mother had scolded her again for roaming outside till late in the day and she sulked even as she sat reading an old, battered film magazine. Rajeshwari was, in the meantime, apologizing to her Bua for her terrible memory and entreating her to find a groom for Chandan in the letter she was writing.

  It was severely cold that day. The valley, which was only at the height of 3500 feet and should have been hot like Haldwani, would sometimes turn icy cold even in summer. The weather was imitating the season that was the enemy of the hill folk—the monsoon. A storm of hail had rained down on the stone terrace the entire day. The sky was quiet now but even if the windows were opened a crack, a cold gust would pierce the body like a thousand arrows. Chandan had said that she wouldn’t eat dinner that day, that she had indigestion. While writing the letter, Rajeshwari sensed the nature of the indigestion. For not being able to gossip with the neighbours till midnight. Fine, the girl won’t die if she doesn’t eat for a day. The cure of discipline for indigestion had drawn lines of irritation on her face. She had also not eaten anything. She had just drained a glass of tea and was going to get another kettle going when someone knocked on the door. Who could it be in this cold weather? Outside, nature had started its fireworks all over again. Hail, each a quarter of a kilo, was raining down on the stone terrace. The handle of the door clanged noisily this time.

  Could it be Randhir Singh? He would always arrive on some pretext, sometimes to deliver the newspaper or sometimes to borrow a matchbox. And would he ever leave quickly after arriving? If it happened to be him, she’d twist his neck at the doorstep itself and turn him away. But it wasn’t him this time. She would have to twist a dozen necks at the same height because outside the door, there were a dozen young men of similar height and wearing the same uniform, with bags slung over their shoulders as if they were Sherpas.

  She kept staring at them in surprise.

  Had an army group lost its way here?

  ‘We apologize, Aunty!’ One of the members of the group stepped ahead. ‘Our group has come from Delhi and got stuck in this weather. Could you please let us rest here for a bit?’

  He had barely finished speaking when a gust of cyclonic wind made his strange costume puff up like a parachute. C
oats made of raincoat material with cotton lining had inflated like balloons. The hailstorm became stronger. Fallen chestnut seeds had turned the ground green and trees having shed their flowers had become bare. For a moment, Rajeshwari forgot that her beautiful princess was sitting inside, and twenty-four young eyes would see her as soon as they entered the drawing room. Her latent motherhood roused itself on seeing the twelve innocent faces out under the pouring sky and thundering hailstorm. Their uniforms had ballooned up to such an extent that Rajeshwari felt that with the next gust of wind they would start flying in the sky. The poor foreign boys at this late hour of the night—how could she turn them away from her door?

  ‘Please come inside.’ She opened the same door with great generosity that till now had been opened with infinite miserliness.

  The soaked boys thanked her profusely, removed their shoes and sank into the rug in the drawing room.

  Having not heard a voice other than her mother’s for many days, save Pitambar Nana’s or Randhir Singh’s, Chandan, on hearing so many fresh voices at once, couldn’t help her curiosity. The door didn’t have a curtain; she ran and stood at the doorstep. In her excitement, the twenty-four eyes appeared even more innocent and her face glowed. Rajeshwari got up with a start and went inside taking her daughter along after saying something to her. As soon as the mother-daughter duo left, an argument erupted in the old-style drawing room over the beautiful fairy who had stood at the door.

  One said, she must be her daughter.

  Another said—oh you optimists, why are you building castles in the air? By our misfortune, she could be the landlady’s daughter-in-law too! The hills have such young underage brides.

  With that a silent laugh echoed. The wise Raji understood that a peal of laughter had been swallowed when she entered the room.

  Were the boys laughing at her? What could she do? ‘Whenever you are forced to do anything, Rajeshwari’ her mentor Sharda Behenji had always exhorted her, ‘do it with grace. What is the point of being sullen and irritated in doing the chore? The work can also be done with a smile and happily.’ Taking a leaf from her role model’s book, she brought out some dried flowers and burning coals on a big platter.

  ‘Please warm your hands and feet, I’ll get some tea for all of you.’ She got twelve glasses of hot tea with salted butter in just a little while. ‘You’ll forget your tiredness as soon as you drink this tea.’ She laughed and handed a glass to each of them and got up with the empty tray. ‘I’ll boil some more water, some of you might want another glass.’ And she went away.

  ‘She is so stern!’ One boy said, stoking his friends’ laughter yet again, ‘Looks like the wretched woman will serve even the next round herself. Has she buried the girl in the stove?’ The colourful question evoked titters that had not died out even when Rajeshwari brought the next round of tea. The rain had stopped, Rajeshwari had dropped a few hints too, but the young men continue to loll on the rug like bales of cloth without a care. It was ten in the night, how could she tell them to leave at this late hour? She was having to pay a hefty fine for her momentary foolishness. When she came to check on them a third time, she found that they had taken their bags off their shoulders and settled into the room like they belonged there. One was smoking a cigarette, one was humming tune after tune and one was sprawled on the floor, fast asleep.

  Finding Rajeshwari in the room, they realized she was politely asking them to leave. They would have left after drinking the tea had they not seen Chandan, but now unseen shackles bound them there.

  ‘Aunty!’ Their leader got up yet again smiling and walked towards Rajeshwari. She was a little taken in, partly by his clear English pronunciation and partly by his innocent baby face. That made his request even more agreeable, ‘Looks like we will have to bother you for one night. Look how the weather keeps changing.’ The hollowness of his white lie lit up a mischievous smile on his face. The sky was crystal clear, there wasn’t a drop of water, let alone any hail falling from the roof.

  ‘We are absolute strangers here.’ He had affected the tragic tone of a damsel with the same canniness of young actors in Parsi theatre companies, ‘The commissioner had given us a letter in Uttarakhand.’ He took out a thick envelope from his pocket, so that Rajeshwari would be assured that they weren’t a party of thieves. ‘All inspection houses were instructed to open their doors for us but you tell us, can any inspection house in the world serve such lovely tea?’

  Rajeshwari was flattered by the diplomacy of that intelligent young boy. She didn’t say a word but kept smiling at him. That smile reassured the boy and he started jabbering away again, ‘Please don’t worry about food. We are carrying tiffin boxes and vitamins worth two months. We have sleeping bags to sleep in. We will leave early in the morning.’ The request was made so politely and the face of the appellant was so childlike and innocent that it never occurred to Rajeshwari that she could have said no. The man with that innocent face was also carrying a bottle of ‘gangajal’ in his pocket. The traditional Rajeshwari would have thrown him out by the scruff of his neck but she was entranced by that face. His bright smile reminded her of another such young face, bringing to her heart a sweet ache. It was not like anything would happen to her drawing room if twelve boys stayed in it. All she would have to do was sweep away the dust of twelve pairs of shoes when they were gone.

  ‘Please sleep well, I wake up early in the morning. I will make you some tea before you leave.’ The wise Raji made it clear that she would serve them tea in the morning and see them off.

  ‘Thank you, thank you!’

  She found Chandan sleeping with her back to her when she came back to her room garlanded by a multitude of voices.

  ‘Chandan!’ She called out but her daughter really was fast asleep. This was the best thing about the girl, no matter how badly she had been scolded in the day, as soon as night came, she’d forget everything, put her head on the pillow and sleep like a babe. Her ability to sleep quickly like a child beat the enemy in her mother’s mind, her fears. Would she have been able to sleep so quickly had she been struck by Cupid’s arrow? Rajeshwari latched the door, moved her sleeping daughter to a side and lay down next to her.

  The sound of laughter kept erupting from the drawing room. The vacant house that would seem haunted after six in the evening felt like a house where a wedding was taking place. Her daughter was fast asleep but the mother had no sleep in her eyes. Her house reminded her of the children’s story about the selfish giant whose garden would flower the moment children clambered up the trees. She wondered for a moment whether she should give her guests the quilts kept in her father’s godown. The poor boys, being unused to the chills of the hills, must be shivering. The next moment her conscience warned her, ‘They’d sleep till late tomorrow if they get too comfortable.’

  Somebody knocked on the door just as she was about to fall asleep. She pushed Chandan to a side and wrapping her sari securely around herself opened the door a crack. One of the boys must want a quilt. She was right.

  Covered in a mirjai from head to toe, one of the twelve boys smiled and said, ‘Excuse me aunty, I should have probably asked this earlier—can I sleep with your daughter?’ He asked the question in English.

  Had Rajeshwari not been a serious and patient woman she would have probably punched the indecent boy’s teeth into his stomach, but she had been a college principal for a long time. She had dealt with many such boys who would throw envelopes into the girls’ buses and whistle and make vulgar comments. Before government college, she had taught at many private schools and colleges too, and the managers at such schools had not been much better than the boys. She had mastered her anger in such situations and made herself so passive that had someone slapped her on a cheek, she would have offered the other one with ease.

  She didn’t say a word though the boy had asked such a vulgar question at eleven in the night. Anyway, when she got angry, she could never say a word; her eyes did all the talking.

  Her face turne
d red and her eyes could have burnt the boy right where he stood. He suddenly started laughing and said, ‘Oh, I understand. I have been so foolish!’ He quickly started undoing the zipper of his strange uniform. Rajeshwari trembled. Will this impudent boy get naked in front of her? She started closing the door in a hurry but by then the uniform had turned into a heap of bamboo shavings on the floor. Rajeshwari saw that this was no boy standing in front of her but a slim girl with an attractive, pleasant face and a wheatish complexion.

  ‘Do you still not believe me?’ This time, she aimed a smile that found its mark. She started pulling out all the tricks hidden in her strange uniform and charmed Rajeshwari with her words. Pulling a long, serpentine braid out of the collar of her turtleneck, she started swinging it and teasing Rajeshwari, who was probably her mother’s age: ‘This is a real snake! Found it in the Gorakhpur jungles. Even if it smelled someone, the person would die a bad death on the spot. Jai Guru Gorakhnath!’

  At this point, Chandan sat up in bed and laughing loudly, said, ‘What stupidity is this, Amma! Let her come in. Can’t you see she is shivering in the cold?’

  Evidently, she had been awake for a while and had heard the indecent proposal and its theatrical end.

  Looking at her with gratitude, the other girl picked up her uniform from the floor and walked in before Rajeshwari could say a yes or no.

  ‘Now, you tell me, aunty!’ She started saying, ‘How could I sleep in the middle of so many men? I am the only girl in the group going to the mountain.’

  ‘Don’t you feel ashamed saying that?’ Rajeshwari thought to herself, grinding her teeth, ‘Why did you have to come with these Pandavas as the only Draupadi?’ But she didn’t say a word.