Quirks and quests

Book 1

Chapter 1

Naina came to Mahimgarh, when the crumbling, labyrinthine Antaral was awash with the evening blush. In the placid, blood-warm light of the westerly sun, the haveli appeared to her as a place of shadow and gloominess; a far cry from the comfortable ,posh house of her father’s, which she had left behind. From the gate, the avenue opened inside to a wide expanse of dusty field. On one side was a ramshackle shed, which might once have housed the swanky carriage but now a dilapidated cart still limped in a dusty, dark corner.

Farther down the drive, the imposing mansion stood grim and desolate. The ekka (horse cart) drove to the main entrance and stood under the portico. Huge arches supported by balustrade faced outwards. Naina caressed the immense marble lions at the entrance, as always, but she shivered at their cold surface. Deven paid the fare and brought out her luggage from the ekka. It consisted of a small suitcase and her school bag.

Deven pulled the string of the metal balls, hanging from the side of the massive, strong, aluminium door. The door was rectangular at the base and the middle but it tapered in a triangle at the top. The door was decorated with small squares and each square had a spike. The wall holding the door was decorated with mouldings but the colours had faded long ago; only the carvings of humans, birds and animals remained.

Her grandfather Premen came out, touched her cheeks and said with delight, What a surprise! Nainananda!Since he had christened her with this name, he always called her Nainananda.

It was her formal name, used in school. Naina hated it, for besides being a tongue twister, the boys in her class called her, anda (egg). But her mother had explained to her that formal names should be dignified and heavy ,like a Benarasi sari. Besides, her name meant Beauty, something which was pleasing to the eye; Nain meant eye and ananda meant happiness. Naina was mollified and from thence onwards, reacted sharply when anybody dared to make fun of her name. But in informal circles she was known by the shortened version ,Naina.

Premen asked her, How is your father? How long are you going to stay here?

Then he looked at his son, Deven’s dour face and stopped.

Deven told her , Let’s go.

She entered a sumptuous hall which was again cold and dreary. There were some antique, heavy divans and sofas but the upholstery was dirty, the spring and the coir peeped out from beneath the pads; and the cushions looked old and faded. A huge chandelier hung from the ornate ceiling. A yellow bulb burned dimly. From the walls, large photographs in gilded frames looked down upon her.

The hall opened to a covered gallery which enclosed a courtyard on all four sides. Deven, seemed to be in a great hurry. Instead of walking along the entire gallery, he crossed the courtyard diagonally in quick, furious strides. Naina ran behind him to keep pace. Everything was very quiet. The door of the gallery again opened inwards to a room housing the staircase, leading upstairs. Deven crossed the room and came to another courtyard. This was also framed by a covered arcade and beyond it were rooms, vibrating with activity.

Deven pointed at the staircase and said, Sit here while I locate your grandmother.

Naina stared at the basil tree in the courtyard. A maid was swabbing the veranda. She smiled but Naina kept on staring. She was numb and dazed from the long journey. Suddenly she saw her grandmother, Prabha coming towards her. Her eyes were bright with tears but still she managed to smile as she said to the thin, frightened girl, Look, who has come!

But Naina was feeling sleepy .She nuzzled into Prabha’s breast and fell asleep.

At night, in the half gloom, half sleep, she heard some voices.

Premen asked, Deven, why did you bring her here? Who will take her responsibility?

Deven said, Her father and her stepmother created such a situation that I was forced …

There was silence for a moment.

Deven said, They had locked her in, while they went to a party. I noticed the lock on the door and was about to leave when I saw Naina standing at a window and waving at me. She handed me the keys through the window. I opened the lock and got myself in. Her father came much later and said that Naina was a big girl. She must look after her baby brother. She must do her homework etc. No wonder Naina ran off from home this time. Torturing a motherless girl…

Prabha wept. Premen said, Don’t cry. Naina will stay here.

And who will pay for her education? Marriage?

Deven said, Her father! He is legally bound to provide for her upkeep.

Prabha said, It’s our fate. My beautiful, talented daughter and amounting to nought.She started weeping bitterly.

*

Mahimgarh was a solid bastion in North India in ancient and medieval times. Set up on the shores of the Ganga, this city contained a part of the country’s fertile belt, rich in resources, which provided the socio-economic context to sustain empires. It was an important kingdom of the Hindu rajas from the mythological times. With the advent of the Sultanate and the Mughal dynasty ,it became a land of composite cultures. It was a centre for Hindu pilgrimage because of its ancient temples,the most venerated being the Hanuman temple and the Shiva temple. Near the idyllic locales of Mahimgarh was a famous mosque where Muslims from all over India came to pay homage.

Thus Mahimgarh had a secular culture, a philosophical strength and an old world ambience. It was famous for its cottage industries;wood carving, zari saris, domestic furnishings,etc. Everything gave Mahimgarh an exotic flavour. It was said that at one time, the prosperous Mahimgarh had more noblemen than common people .

The Lals were one such family of noblemen. The first Lal, Niren came to this ancient city in the eighteenth century from a remote hamlet in Eastern India, from another fertile Ganga plain. The sun was setting on the Mughal dynasty and in the faint rays, he tried to make as much hay as possible. After doing a couple of insignificant jobs in the city, he managed to get a job as a timekeeper in the Raj durbar. He did his work meticulously and by dint of his merit and a gift of gab, he was enrolled as an assistant to a royal minister. He was originally called Niren Lal but he wanted a grand name to match his status. He added Singh (in imitation to the royal surname) to his family name and became Niren Lal Singh. He was overawed with the opulence and power of the royal courts. Somewhere in the back of his mind lurked a desire to carve a niche for himself as a well-to-do nobleman.

However, his job did not offer him the scope. Aided by a thrifty wife, he managed to buy a small house in the outskirts of Mahimgarh. He had acquired a quiet assurance, a polished countenance and a distinguished manner which indicated that he was a gentleman of modest means. His native village did not beckon him anymore.

He ensured that his son Pravin got a good education. When Pravin was ready to take on the mantle, Niren was a medium officer in the palace. Niren was taking his life a bit easy but in his laid-back mindset, he kept his eyes and ears open. He took long walks near the ghats of the Ganga .On one such occasion, he came across rolling pasture lands not far from the palace. His ancestors being farmers, he dreamt that he would spend his retired life as a farmer. However, Pravin would hear none of it. He felt it would be a terrible let down from a sophisticated palace official to a cultivator.

There was a political cataclysm too.The then ruler of Mahimgarh was Raja Virbhadhra Singh. The East India trade company had created a firm foothold in Kolkata and making it their stronghold, it forced the Indian kings into submission. When Raja Virbhadra Singh refused to pay tarrif (the price of independence from the British), the then viceroy at once send troops to capture him. Though the king fought valiantly, he was defeated. His kingdom was placed under British jurisdiction.

Niren still held his office in the royal court. Amidst the political upheaval, Pravin kept his cool. He was employed as a palace accountant. But he understood that the winds of change were blowing. The rapid establishment of schools had sowed the seed of transformation. He wanted to be one among the few to spread this modern wind in the royal household. Due to his father’s glib articulateness, Pravin was engaged as a tutor to the prince.

When the prince passed his exams with flying colours and was recommended by the British surgeon to be sent abroad for advanced studies, the credit went to the tutor. Pravin was rewarded with ample gold coins. Then he purchased the land which his father had coveted; but not for the purpose of farming. He would live there with his family in royal style. Pravin bought more lands in the fertile belts of the east, Dacca and Chittagong and in the west,Sind and Punjab. With the advent of rail, distance did not seem insurmountable. His son Nripen Lal, had grown up to be a bright young man and was working in the railways. As his father indulged in a land-buying spree, Nripen left his job to look after the zamindari (landed property). He also participated with his father in teaching the royal children and the children of noblemen. Nripen was even better than his father, as if teaching was his forte. The king appreciated Nripen’s potential and sent him to England to hone up his teaching skills. When he came back, he was made Minister of Education and he was entrusted with the task of setting up schools throughout the kingdom.

The house that Pravin started and Nripen completed was an elaborate mixture of baroque and gothic style of architecture. It was constructed on the river-flat. It had an outstanding, aesthetic exterior. The centre was a huge block of building which stretched on all four sides in galleries. There were rampart and lion pilasters on either side of the front portico leading to the massive entrance. The rooms in the inner chambers were enfilade, opening into the inner courtyard. Both the inner and the outer courtyards were surrounded with chambers peripheried by colonnades. The vertical spaces were bridged with pillars while the horizontal spaces were spanned by laying out beams horizontally.

A substantial amount of land was left barren which was later converted into a garden, with fountains and marble statues interspersed at regular intervals. From the heavy iron gate to the main house, it was a considerable drive down the gravel path. The house gave an impression of vastness, stability and a sense of nobility. The last feature was evident from the spiritual and visual concepts of the in-campus temple . It was a majestic house and came to be known as Lal Singh Ki Haveli. The name changed to Antaral during the later generations.

The rooms of the outer house, which were separated from the zenana mahal by an open courtyard, were magnificent in their glory days. Tapestries, gilt-edged photographs, high windows with stained glass, stag heads, stuffed tigers, guns held pride of place. There was no dearth of money which was obtained as tax from the land. Grains, vegetables, fruits were also from the land. Cows at the cow shed behind the haveli provided ample milk. Money was spent on idle pleasures like cock-fights, kite-flying and pigeon races. Still, the Lals Singhs were entrepreneurs who marshalled the craftsmen, peasants and labourers in their never-ending beautification and expansion of their lands and possessions.

The latter generations did not add anything to the property. The rot started with Nripen Lal’s son Gagan. He grew up to be the useless product of a feudal family. He was born after his mother Charulata lost a couple of sons at child birth. So he was the apple of everybody’s eyes especially his grandmother Kripadevi’s, which blinded her to his faults. He did not complete his education nor did he take an interest in the zamindari. He did not like to meet his subjects nor to supervise the accounts. He was not satisfied with the nautch girls performing at his house often .He visited the red light areas regularly. However, he renovated one part of the haveli as his music room and built vestibules or antarals throughout the haveli. He joined the subsidiary havelis in his campus with wynds. Word went around that Lal Singh Ki Haveli was full of secret passages or Antarals. Hence, from Gagan’s time the house came to be known as Antaral.

As long as Nripen was alive, the manager, Radheshyam served him faithfully. But after his master’s death, he showed his true colours. Radheshyam would personally oversee the arrangements of Gagan’s escapades. For the more decadent Gagan became, the more Radheshyam’s future shone bright. He would earn huge commissions from the toadies and the pimps. He could not touch the bulk of the property because it was in Kripadevi ’s name.

So during a soiree at the haveli the music room would be lined with the costliest Persian carpet. A snow-white bed would be laid on it with pillows and bolsters. Gagan would recline on the bed wearing clothes made of the finest muslin. He would chew paan while a hanger-on would hold an elaborate brass bowl in which he would discharge the spittle. At a reasonable distance, his friends and crawlers would sit on another bed .Their clothes would be of a coarser quality. In the middle, on a circular carpet, the performing girls showcased their skills. The musicians sat in a nearby corner. The whiteness of the bed and the dress code would be compensated by the abundance of colours all around. The chandeliers would be lit, cut-glass and brass vases would be filled with tuberoses; marble tables adorned with costly artefacts would occupy pride of place. Heavy brocade curtains would be tied with silk cords; behind them shimmered the blue, pink and white lace curtains. The room would be delicately perfumed with incense sticks, tuberoses and the wafting fragrance of the jasmine from the garden. Faint tunes of the sitar and sarod would be accompanied by the light beat of the tabla. The stage would be set for the evening to unfold.

In the inner chambers, Gagan’s young wife Sushma would cradle her infant son, Sukhen and shed tears of rage and agony. Gagan’s mother, Charulata would lament, Prosperity and benediction will now leave us. God will never stay in such a sinful house where He is not respected.

But Kripadevi would admonish her, Don’t say unlucky things. Gagan is a hot-blooded male. He must have his diversions.

Then all the lamentations, tears and forebodings would be silenced by the loud beat of the tabla signalling the start of the revelry. Faint strains of the nautch girls’ thumbri would splash over the courtyard and try to enter the inner chambers. Sushma would clap her ears in grief.

This would have gone on for many more years but India gained independence from the colonial rule. Due to the partition, the fertile lands of the east and the west went to Pakistan. Another blow was struck. The government abolished feudalism. With the land gone, the Lal Singhs became middle class.

Gagan died at an young age. His grandmother Kripadevi divided the remnants of the possessions. When the Lal Singhs were amassing assets ,many relatives had come from their native village. These assorted relatives had lived at rack and ranger through generations in Antaral. Premen’s ancestor had thought ahead. He had constructed two modest houses in the same campus and he asked his relations to stay there. They helped in looking after the land and did odd jobs but they did not add anything to the wealth. However, when they (relatives) understood that they would no longer get free maintenance due to the declining fortunes of the Lal Singhs, they started leaving for fresher pastures. The exodus had started during Premen’s grandfather’s time.

But two families continued to live on the property. They were Nripen Lal’s distant cousins, Gopal and Hariram. Keeping all this in mind, Kripadevi made an iron-clad will. The families of Gopal, Hariram and their descendants could stay in their respective houses but they did not own the rights; hence they could not sell the property. In case, their family tree dried up, the houses would revert to the source. So, Niren’s immediate descendants were the sole owners of the entire wealth .

When Naina came to live in the house, the property had greatly shrunk into size. The main income was from the downstairs house rent. A part of the campus, which was rented out to the lumber traders had been occupied by them .They did not pay rent nor did they vacate. A litigation was going on with the owner. It was difficult to make ends meet but it was imperative that the Lal Singh household should still show to the outside world their aristocracy and grandeur. In this state of Antaral’s dwindling fortune, Naina’s entry was treated with some alarm, if not animosity.

Chapter 2

Prabha sat with the cottage cheese in a kneading trough and mashed it with her fingers. Her forehead was rugous with exasperation. Naina sat on one of the steps leading to the kitchen and watched her.

Prabha after kneading the dough thoroughly, flattened it and divided it into equal balls. Govardhan (Gopal’s descendant) and Hemlata’s married daughter Tara was going away the next day to her home. So Prabha was giving some items to her, prepared from her own stable. Prabha generally sacrificed her afternoon nap for making savouries and sweetmeats. But that day Hemlata had invited Prabha and her family to the farewell lunch for Tara. So Prabha had the mid-morning free to herself.

She looked around and said, Oh no, I didn’t bring the sugar. She got up again and as she came near the steps, she bumped into Naina.

Prabha said with a slight irritation, Move aside child. Don’t be in the way. If you know where to sit , nobody will tell you to get up.

Naina at once stood up and holding the door frame in one hand, looked down.

Prabha again sat with the cheese and the jar of sugar. She coated each ball in caster sugar and kept them aside. She glanced at Naina and said mordantly, Child, did I tell you to remain standing? Sit in a proper place.Then in a dejected voice she continued, Just like her mother. No horse sense at all.

Naina’s hooked figure bent more in apology. A bare khatiya (cot) was kept along one side of the wall in the colonnaded corridor. Deven was relaxing on it with a newspaper. He was tired after feeding the pigeons on the terrace. He frowned at his mother and said kindly to Naina, Go upstairs.

Naina obeyed immediately. She climbed up the dark staircase and came across the first floor gallery. She ambled through the stairs, touched the railing, and looked down to search for her perdue happiness.

Naina couldn’t understand Prabha’s severity. She spoke to herself, Why is grandma being so strict with me? She is always speaking with me as if I have done something wrong. Not so long ago, when mother was alive and soon after mother had died, grandmother loved and pampered me. I didn’t even wake up in the mornings, until she lifted me on her lap from the bed . And she gave me lots and lots of presents…

When Naina and her mother, would go back to their own home after the vacations, Prabha would give her daughter plentiful goodies; pickles (mango, lime and chilli),chutneys (ginger, dates and tamarind),jelly (guava and apple) candies (sesame and peanut), sweetmeats, fruits etc. She would arrange those bottles and jars, in an upright position, inside a cane jhurri (basket) so that they didn’t topple over. Then she covered the jhurri tightly with an old, cotton sari. This custom was being followed through generations. In fact, Dr.Dindayal, the Lal Singh family doctor used to joke, "The porters and the Station Master of Mahimgarh railway station can at once distinguish a Lal Singh member from the hordes of passengers on the platform because of his trademark jhurri."

Prabha would also make a small parcel just for Naina. Inside a cute basket would be two mangoes, a small bottle of jelly, one small box of Naina’s beloved sweetmeat—chamcham etc. Naina didn’t like to drink milk so Prabha would tell Naina’s mother, Gitanjali, "Don’t force her. Give her rasgullahs (sweetmeat) in lieu of milk. They are made of cottage cheese and have the same protein as milk." That Prabha had changed so much! Nowadays she was only pressing Naina to eat bitter gourd or spinach; or to study hard and to learn this or that! Just like her mother. The words rang in Naina’s ears. She repeated them and whispered to herself , That’s why nobody likes me; just as nobody liked my mother.

It’s true, (she remembered) ,nobody liked Gitanjali. Naina’s father Vikram scolded Gitanjali on a regular basis. He always had an irritated look when he spoke to her. In fact, everybody in Vikram’s family seemed to scold mother, Naina thought. Her grandparents, her uncles, their wives…Even the maid was disrespectful towards Gitanjali, because she too had understood that Gitanjali was a nonentity, an expendable item. To them a raca Gitanjali was no good in spite of being educated. So they had no compunction to put her to the rack.

It’s not their fault, to be fair to them. Gitanjali always had that diffident, underling look which typified either destitute widows, or women whose unemployed or poorly-employed husbands did not contribute enough to the joint-family kitty.

Naina remembered an incident. Her father was going on a deputation for three months to Lucknow. Since the place was near to his native place Etawah, he asked Gitanjali to stay there with Naina. Naina was in prep class at that time .Gitajali was hesitant to go because Naina would miss school.

But Vikram insisted with all sorts of frightening stories about how she would be insecure without the man of the house, there would be a shortage of funds because his pay might be irregular. And who knows, if the company suddenly told them to vacate the quarters!.

Gitanjali didn’t like staying there because she and Naina were unwanted. It was one thing to be ill-treated by Vikram in her own home where there were no spectators.

So she reasoned meekly, Lots of people go on tours but their families stay here. They don’t have any problems!

Vikram, stung at Gitanjali’s logic, gave his winning shot, It just shows your upbringing! Don’t you think you have a duty to your in-laws? You don’t know how to adjust with anyone. You don’t know how to mix with people. The day will come when you won’t be able to adjust with your own daughter. What’s your problem? How many days have you stayed with them that they will ill-treat you? Moreover, I’ll come every weekend.

Gitanjali’s face shrunk with enormous hurt. She said incoherently and hurriedly before her voice would be drowned in tears, Naina falls sick over there ,because we have to sleep on the floor.

But Vikram had already decided that she would have to do as he told her, because he got a perverse pleasure in knowing her desires and doing just the opposite.

The archetypal Gitanjali succumbed to Vikram’s bad mouthing .She reasoned with Naina, We’ll stay for only three months.In reality she was reasoning with herself.

Naina would say, But mummy, my ma’am will get angry if I’m absent from school.

Gitanjali said, Don’t worry. I’ll teach you.

But still she could not cope with the acritude of Vikram’s family.

So a classic day would start in this way:-

It was an ordinary Monday when the maid had not come and Vikram’s mother, Malti had shammed Abraham. So Gitanjali swept, swabbed and washed the utensils.

But Malti was not satisfied. She would begin thus : So-and so’s daughter-in-law is so beautiful. Not like mine…

Gitanjali continued sweeping the floor and Naina would help her mother in finding out the dust or in drying the washed utensils.

Malti continued her monologue, And the bride is so friendly and jolly. She is so smart and efficient. Not like others. Gitanjali continued with her work, while soothing herself, ‘Mother is not taking my name, so she doesn’t mean me. She is speaking universally.’

As the diatribe became more mordant, Gitanjali further reasoned with herself, ‘This bashing by in-laws happens in every woman’s life. So it’s better to be silent. Sometimes my mother also scolds me for no reason.’

Malti’s hackles rose at Gitanjali’s silence. So she adopted an inter-active method. She said, What’s your brother doing nowadays?She asked this question every other day.

Gitanjali said, Nothing.

How is your family managing?

Gitanjali said, Somehow.

Malti said, "Zamindars were dacoits. They accumulated money through robbery."

Gitanjali had finished sweeping. She now brought the pail of water to do the swabbing. She said, No, that’s not true.

Malti was waiting for this opportunity. She jounced at Gitanjali and bent down to face her, What else can you say? Your father and brother are spending their time idly, eating on ill-begotten wealth.

Gitanjali said feebly, Why are you belittling my family? My brother comes once in a year during Diwali with gifts for you. Okay, I’ll tell him not to come.

At once all hell broke loose. Malti fought with no inhibitions. Her husband, Sachin came in from the market. Gitanjali said to him through her tears, See, how mother is abusing me.

But Sachin said cruelly, Abusing you? Don’t tell lies. I saw with my own eyes. You were answering her back. No manners. This shows your lineage. How will you learn good breeding from a debt-ridden family, who survives on borrowed money?

The torrent of abuse would continue. Gitanjali would do her work amidst tears. If it got even worse?

Or another day, perhaps Gitanjali had read a good book or had gone out for a walk with Naina. She had probably met people who were kind to her. So the brownish pall which hitherto covered her otherwise white complexion cleared up. Her shoulders squared and her heart even hummed a few lines of a song .

Then she reached home and a minor thing happened. Most likely, her in-laws could not digest her happiness because happiness, like truth can not be concealed. So Malti said without any preamble to her husband, " Somebody was telling me the other day that the Lal Singh family had accumulated wealth through dacoity (armed robbery)."

Sachin was lying on the bed with a book. Now he got up and sat on the window sill. He said, Landlords made money in that way.

Gitanjali suddenly showed a rare spirit, Who said that ?

There there! This shows your pedigree. All thieves and robbers.

Educated girls are very bad.Malti was more expressive. She touched her forehead and said, God save all families from educated girls.

Such was the picture every morning .Naina remembered, even if the cook and maid had come, Malti would flit in and out of the kitchen with hurtful refrain towards Gitanjali which came out from her mouth, like a suddenly unclogged, dirty drain; that Gitanjali was ugly, that she was not good at anything, that her brother was an imbecile, that her father was a no-gooder, that her mother was interfering, that they did not give her anything during marriage. Then after some time, Gitanjali would voice a protest in a shaky voice and the explosion would erupt at the slightest hindrance of the one-sided tirade. Once Naina remembered, Sachin was particularly harsh towards Gitanjali. He was painting a door and he flounced with the brush, as if he would hit Gitanjali. Gitanjali probably feared this, because she went to her room with Naina and shut herself up.

In their colony quarters, Vikram always blamed Gitanjali for being a maladdress; of being careless, of misplacing important papers. If she went to the bank, she had an unbearable dread that she might have lost some important paper or some receipt. So even after checking that everything was in order, she would also inspect the floor and search for imaginary papers. Very often at the bank, kind-hearted people had asked her, "Didi, have you lost something?"

Then Gitanjali would regain her senses.

Naina recalled one particular incident. Vikram had casually mentioned that a gecko had fallen into the water filter in his office cabin, because his orderly might have left the lid (of the filter) open. The next morning, Naina saw her mother opening the lid of their water filter at home repeatedly, and peering inside.

Naina asked, Mummy, what are you searching for?

Gitanjali said, I’m checking whether a gecko has fallen inside it.

Naina, who was in class one then, asked innocently, Mummy, can a gecko open the lid and fall inside?

Gitanjali looked at her with vacuous eyes for some time. Then she stretched herself up and said, Of course not. I’m just being foolish.

As days passed, Gitanjali complained of frequent body ache and chest pain. She herself did not take them seriously. Naina would often feel sad, seeing her mother lying on the bed. But Gitanjali would pacify her , When we go to Mahimgarh during the summer holidays, I’ll get myself examined by my family doctor. He is such a good doctor that once a patient is cured by his medicines, that disease would vanish forever.

Naina was convinced because she had suffered from frequent nose bleed in summer. Dr.Dindayal treated her and she didn’t have that disease again.

On that fateful day, Gitanjali did her housework sloppily. She lay on the bed all afternoon. Naina sat next to her and did her homework. In the evening, when Vikram came back from work, Gitanjali prepared tea. Next, she wrote a letter to her mother, about how much she missed her; that she was waiting eagerly for Naina’s vacations, so that she could go to Mahimgarh. Then she rested her head on the table and said that she was feeling unwell and within a short time, she collapsed. She was taken to the colony hospital but she did not survive. She had a massive heart attack. She died with her mind in a tatterdemalion. She couldn’t outspan her peace from the twin wagons of verbal abuse and humiliation.

It was not as if Naina became monophobic after her father’s remarriage or felt deserted after her step-brother, Rahul was born. It was Vikram who turned insensitive towards her. Gitanjali’s death changed the people nearest to her. Vikram not only gave a free hand to his new wife, Lina but also shed his uncaring image and became the champion of Lina. His folks too changed when they understood that Lina was not unprotected like Gitanjali.

Naina was in class 3. Her final results were out and she had done moderately well; at least she had been promoted to the next class. She thought that Vikram would be pleased with her. But he came back from office and called out, Rahul, Rahul. Where are you? Papa has come. Come to papa.

Rahul came crying with a plaster on his cut finger. It was a tiny scratch.

Naina thrust the report card into her father’s hand but he pushed her aside and said, Later.

Vikram asked his wife, How did Rahul cut his finger? Where were you?

Lina shouted back, When do I have the time? Can’t your intelligent daughter look after him ? Always burying her nose in books ! Most selfish girl I have ever seen!

Vikram at once took sides, as he said gravely,Naina, you don’t look after your brother at all. You don’t help your mother with the housework…

Naina said, Papa, my report card…

Vikram shouted, Aren’t you listening to what I’m saying?

Lina mimicked, See my report card! Selfish girl!

Naina started crying.Vikram at once shook her and said, Shut up. Get out of my sight.

Lina said, Send her to Mahimgarh. She is a nuisance.

Soon it became the pattern. Naina was dumped to Mahimgarh for every small or big holidays and when the vacations were over, Vikram didn’t show the urgency to bring her back. Prabha would pass anxious comments , When will your father come to take you Naina? You are missing school.

Finally, after waiting for a week or ten days, Deven would deposit Naina at her father’s house.

Chapter 3

Naina came back from school.

Prabha had laid out a sumptuous meal for Naina consisting of rice, vegetables, dal, rotis.Naina nibbled with the food and ate half a roti and a spoonful of rice, a little bit of dal and a tiny helping of vegetables.

The inhabitants of Antaral did not have the money to shop nor to dress extravagantly. Only the food was good because Prabha could not compromise on its quality .Even in dire economic state, pure ghee was used liberally; and ingredients such as rice and wheat were of the best quality. Prabha’s logic was simple. There should be one bountiful avenue kept open for Prosperity to enter the Lal Singh household. Premen agreed reluctantly. Only he made one thing clear, that there should not be any wastage.

So Prabha said , Naina, if you have finished eating, get up and wash your hands. You have simply learnt how to waste. Only I know, how I’m making ends meet.

Prabha continued, "As a young bride, I did not buy saris in ones and twos but in bulk. The cloth merchants came to the haveli with the choicest of saris. If my mother-in-law liked a particular sari she bought six of them. She used to say that our provisions came from Pakistan in trains. One compartment would be for mangoes, another would be filled with wheat, rice or lentils. Now I have to dole out rice and sugar in bowls. Never mind. It’s the law of nature, ‘Adapt or perish’. I wish others in this family would follow this law."

Deven’s wife Utpala mumbled, Mother, it’s already four. Everyday, Naina eats rice at this odd hour. Then she sleeps the whole evening. If she doesn’t go out to play, she’ll fall sick and…

Prabha bellowed, Don’t teach me. Naina must put on weight. She is thin as a rope, like her mother.

Prabha’s face warped as she mentioned Gitanjali. She continued, All her education turned to nothing. She had a nose of wax. She couldn’t manage a pack of negative people. Foolish girl.

Prabha addressed to no one in particular, People don’t have to worry about Naina. I’m still alive. Keep the breath to cool your porridge.

Nobody replied. Prabha continued acerbically, What’s the use of education if you can’t handle puny people? Only scoundrels are cruel towards meek women. It’s simple arithmetic.

Silence prevailed. Deven, who had just come down after his afternoon nap for tea, sat on the khatia and turned the pages of the newspaper noisily.

Utpala changed tack and mentioned, Mother, sugar and tea are finished.

Prabha reacted, "How many times have I told you to alert me, at least two days in advance? Don’t you know that Goddess Lakshmi doesn’t like empty tins? I’ve also warned you repeatedly that don’t say something is finished. You should say, it’s increasing. In that way, I’ll know I’ve to buy that thing."

Utpala said, Okay Mother.

Now you’re saying okay but again you’ll commit the same mistake, Prabha completed a bit gently.

She was cutting vegetables for the evening meal. Brinjals, spinach, potatoes were immersed in a large, brass bowl filled with water. She chopped them with deft hands but was argus-eyed of her surroundings.

Utpala was emptying rice grains from a sack into a large tin. Prabha stopped chopping for a minute and asked sharply, Utpala, where is the measuring bowl?There was a small brass bowl with which the daily quota of rice (for cooking) was measured.

Utpala pulled out her tongue and regretted, Oh no, it’s at the bottom of the tin.

Prabha asked, You forgot again, didn’t you? Where is your mind when you work?

Utpala said ,Sorry mother. It won’t happen again.

Sorry won’t do child. You’ll forget the next time also. I know you very well. Every time I can’t give you new measuring bowls. You have to take responsibility for your action. Now take out all the rice from the tin and get back the bowl. Then you won’t forget anymore, Prabha ordered firmly.

Utpala’s face changed to an angry red as she looked at the nearly empty sack and the almost full tin. But Prabha remained intractable. With a heavy sigh, Utpala started emptying the tin.

Deven asked, "When will I get my tea?’

Prabha said to Utpala, First make tea. It’ll take you only five minutes on the stove. You should use your commonsense and sort out your work according to importance and time. Even Gitanjali was like that. She didn’t know how to classify people and behave accordingly.

She resumed cutting the vegetables and said, We are uneducated but we have more commonsense than educated girls.

She looked for support at the other kitchen where Hemlata was boiling milk in a large iron kadai . Hemlata’s kitchen door opened to one part of the inner courtyard of Antaral. She was stirring the milk constantly with an iron ladle. Naina knew the reason. Gitanjali had told her that the milk tasted good with the constant stirring.

Hemlata did not answer.

Prabha shouted at the maid, Jumna, move your hands and feet dearie; you have hordes of jobs left undone.

Prabha said to Naina, And your mother was so intelligent. She could learn anything in a jiffy, whether it was cooking or stitching . She was such a brilliant student!

The others continued with their work .

She stood first in class most of the time. She knew so many languages!

Silence prevailed.

Prabha persisted , But what’s the use? She couldn’t open her mouth at the right time. She couldn’t tell evil people to shut up and back off.

Hemlata now said, She wanted to study further, but you didn’t allow her. You got her married.

Prabha snapped, For good reason. Her marriage was fixed. What’s wrong with that? She had completed her MSc. She could have taken up any job after her marriage. But no, she had to wallow in self-pity because some wicked people had been cruel to her. And that also only in words! Did they hit her? Did they burn her? Did they starve her? No. Prabha couldn’t comprehend the fact that verbal abuse could shake the very keystone of a sensitive soul, who had been disenvironed from her usual setting. Gitanjali’s helplessness still rankled in her consciousness. Prabha had her own solution to this problem, Either you bear the barbs silently and ignore them or you speak your mind.

She said , Jumna, take the vegetables and wash them again in running water.

Prabha kept on, while sipping tea, That’s why I don’t like educated girls. They think just because they can read two pages, they need not learn anything else; about people management, a little bit of domestic chicane, self-exertion…After all, what is education? It’s like learning a trade like carpentry or pottery. But does a carpenter stop living prudently and bury his nose in wood all the time?

She turned to her granddaughter and said, I thought your mother was a very mature girl. She had never given me one moment’s worry ever. But after her marriage she changed completely. She became nervous, irritable, scared...And she worked so hard! In her home she did the cooking ,cleaning all by herself. Then she also looked after you. But did anybody appreciate her? No! Nobody was happy with her and she was so unhappy herself!

Naina had finished eating. She stood up to wash her hands. But her knees started shaking and her stomach fluttered. She held the door frame firmly and stared at Prabha with dim eyes.

Prabha continued, And look at your stepmother! How well she is managing everybody! Nobody has the guts to tell her anything. Your grandparents are so fond of her.Vikram is also giving her so much attention. If he had given even one-fourth of that attention to your mother…Most of the time she stayed here. If she was sick or you were sick, both of you would be dumped here…

Utpala, while kneading dough, said, "Can everybody be fighter cocks like Naina’a stepmother?

Prabha said gravely, Don’t talk when elders are talking dear. I know my daughter better than you. Focus on your work or you’ll make the dough very sticky. When will you learn some manners?

Utpala was silent. She had mustered enough courage to say even that.

But Deven flung the newspaper and shouted, "Utpala is right! It’s your fault. You didn’t allow didi to talk to anybody! You encouraged her to be studious, to be an introvert…"

Prabha commented, There he goes! Tied to his wife’s apron strings!

Hemlata said from her kitchen, Deven, Utpala, stop! Don’t waste your breath. Nobody can stand up against your mother.

Jumna, wiping her wet hands on her kameez, came out from the kitchen, expecting a full-blown quarrel.

Deven shouted "All the time you are blaming didi ! Did she have a moment’s happiness after marriage? Vikram Kumar married within two months after her death! Why? Because he wanted to provide a mother to his daughter! Great! And then he cast Naina away at the first opportunity!"

Prabha said caustically, Nobody cast away Naina! You yourself assumed the role of a messiah and brought her here!

Deven said, What could I do? I may not be well-educated like your ex-son-in-law but I’ve enough sense to see that Naina was unwanted there.

Naina’s marble face began to activate. Her wide, saucer-like, inane eyes quivered with emotion. Her body started to shake. But nobody noticed her.

Deven continued triumphantly, I was right! Did anybody come to take back Naina? Her father has washed his hands off her.

Hemlata joined in against Prabha. She said, Naina is better off over here. You did not teach your daughter to be worldly-wise. You only encouraged her to be studious. Often, Tara had asked Gitanjali to join in their girlish chitchat but you dissuaded her, because she was not well-educated as your daughter! Gitanjali did not have any friends and you had engrafted in her mind that books were a person’s best companions. No wonder she became a misfit when she couldn’t get her set of people.

Prabha agreed, It’s true. There was nobody there who could be her friend.

If that was the case, why did you get her married to that family? Didn’t you know their station?

It’s not possible to know what people are doing in their own homes, behind closed door.

Don’t say that! We had heard rumours that the mother-in-law was a dragon…

That was just a few weeks before Gitanjali’s marriage. Everything was settled.

That’s not true. You even kept this fact from Gitanjali and her father. You went ahead because you said, Gitanjali was an educated girl. She could handle every situation. It’s like throwing your daughter to the wolves, saying that her education would protect her…

Utpala nodded her head vigorously.

Prabha thundered back, She could have stayed here. She got a job. She could have taken up the job and brought up her daughter peacefully. If a situation does not support you, leave that situation, when there is no scope of changing it.

Ahaha…What a thing to say! She will leave her own home and household and stay in her mother’s place! What about society? Relatives, neighbours ,acquaintances would ask her if she stayed back even for a month, ‘When will you go? Is there a problem?’

It’s better to endure all that than stay in a house where she was not respected…

Deven said angrily, That Vikram Kumar had brainwashed her, that her people, especially you, were trying to build a wedge between him and her.

Okay, she was brainwashed once. But she should have seen the truth when he didn’t protect her, didn’t care for her .If she allowed herself to be brainwashed everytime whose fault was it?

The quarrelsome voices had crossed the inner colonnades and had seeped into the outer courtyard. Premen sat patiently for some time. As the lumberers and tenants cast curious glances, he walked inside with furious steps and roared, Quiet! People are crowding around our house! Is this a fish market or what ?

The broil stopped at once. There was an absolute silence for a moment. He continued, I’m telling all of you for the last time. Nainananda is my responsibility. What extra work do you do for her, except giving her some food? Okay, from today don’t cook for her. Give her food from my share. When I die, send her to an orphanage.

He walked out as soon as he had come, only after hurling his brass tea mug on the floor.

It rolled a good distance, ricochetting, brattling and clanging all the way, till it bumped against a pillar and stopped.

The noise impacted effectively. There was a feather-drop silence for a moment. Then Hemlata broke that stillness almost in a whisper and said, Naina, do you want to have hot guava jelly? I made it specially for you.

Naina gasped .She tried to cry but no sound came out. Her eyes became like round, fixed balls and she fell on the ground aheap.

Deven and Utpala ran towards her and picked her up. Jumna came hurriedly with a bowl of water and sprinkled over Naina. Naina gradually regained her senses. She began to sob.

Hemlata said to her with a glass bowl, Here, taste the jelly. Do you want to eat it with a biscuit?

Naina hesitated and then taking the bowl in her left hand ,stretched out her right hand for the biscuit.

As Prabha watched Naina, licking the jelly with undivided attention, she cried softly resting her back against the wall.

Deven said in a tender but still annoyed voice, "What’s the use of weeping? Why do you harp on the same topic .Didi was gentle, quiet and lost in her own world of books. Was that a crime?"

Prabha said through her tears, My talented, nice girl! Everybody appreciated her .But the place where a girl craved for appreciation the most, there she was condemned. We couldn’t even get to see her in the end. Vikram informed us when everything was over.

All were silent but their minds were enclouded with images of Gitanjali’s last days. What a waste of a could-be glorious soul !

Premen thought in the dark, cavernous confines of his sitting room, that how did he get into this alliance with Vikram? He blamed himself. He remembered that out of the blue moon, one of Premen’s erstwhile employee, Kesri Singh brought the proposal. He was from the same place as Vikram’s family,and he said he knew them very well. At that time there was no cause to complain. Vikram was well-educated. He was working in a reputed company in Maharashtra. It’s true that Vikram’s family didn’t have the Lal Singh family’s lineage but this was the new independent India, just three decades old. Traditional, precontemporaneous families belonged to the neophobic past. The present belonged to educated professionals like Vikram. What has lineage given Premen, except this white elephant of a house and huge house taxes? He had to sell a land to finance Gitanjali’s grand wedding and to clear the backlog of taxes. No, boys like Vikram were the future of India’s progress, slow but steady; not like the aristocratic families, sudden increase and rapid decline.

Above all, Gitanjali’s horoscope matched with Vikram’s. Kesri Singh couldn’t be blamed either. He had said that they (Vikram’s family) were good neighbours. And Vikram? Could anybody delve deep into his mind and find out what made him happy? Even his wife could not fathom his complexes ! It’s true Premen and Prabha did not like Vikam’s avaricious family; the way they talked, behaved, dressed… But Prabha said, We can’t get a tailor-made family. We must focus on the groom.Vikram, with his immodest streak, did not create a good impression on Premen. He even smoked a cigarette before Premen. But Prabha laughed off Premen’s reservations and his fault-finding habits.

What she could not articulate was Gitanjali had completed her M.Sc. and she was about to start her M.Phil. She was already 23 years old which was quite aged for a girl in the marriage market.

So Prabha reasoned, If Gitanjali is destined to be happy, she would be happy.Premen at last agreed. He remembered his aunt, Jhanvi(his father’s sister). She was very beautiful, so beautiful in fact, that when she would go to temples or sit on the steps of the Ganga ghats, wealthy, high-born ladies with marriageable sons would ask her, Where do you live? Which family do you belong? As proposals poured in for Jhanvi, her father rejected them left and right because he wanted only the best for his daughter. Ultimately, Jhanvi got married to the best, to a Dewan of a princely state .He belonged to a wealthy family in Jaipur. But a few years after the marriage, there were political upheavals and he left his job as a Dewan. Jhanvi stayed in Antaral. The Dewan was duped of the lion’s share of his ancestral property by his brothers. Jhanvi died of a chronic heart disease, leaving behind a son who was cared by the Lal Singh family, till that time, when he was ready to manage his own, threadbare property in Jaipur.

Premen rubbed his chest as he said despairingly, My poor, poor daughter.His anguish resonated in every space of that echoing room.

Prabha pondered at her own inefficiency. She had shielded Gitanjali from the truth, from the real world. Gitanjali was born intelligent. With no tuition teachers or any other help, she stood first or second in class and in her final board exam she topped her school. She wanted to study medicine but Premen was not sure if he could finance her studies. Prabha thought it would be difficult to find a groom suitable to Gitanjali’s stature. So Gitanjali studied BSc, then MSc and enrolled for her MPhil.

At that time, the position of the haveli was bad, ridden with debts; Deven had left studies; the lumber trader had grabbed their land…Prabha safeguarded Gitanjali from all that, so that Gitanjali’s education would flourish without any distractions. Gitanjali’s success was the only thing that brought cheer to the Lal Singhs. The early Lal Singhs were educationists and Nripen Lal Singh, the then education minister even formulated the education policy of Mahimgarh. Some of his tenets were incorporated by the present state government too. Gitanjali’s academic brilliance harked back to that golden era of the Lal Singhs.

Prabha always told one sentence to her children, The only thing that matters is, you have to behave properly. Then nobody can do you any harm.

Gitanjali took this statement very literally. What her mother meant was to be proper in every way,to imbibe all the right qualities (courage, self-assertiveness etc.) and apply them in proper circumstances. She meant it in the broader sense; in short, the art of living life, of finding happiness in the midst of turmoil. But as Gitanjali was being bulldozed by all and sundry, she seduced the teaching to suit her unprotected state. To her ‘behaving properly’ meant to be passive; to be nice to her tormentors while suffering internal hell inside.

Prabha thought, that if Gitanjali had not died of a weak heart, she would have been a mental case. Dr.Dindayal had also hinted the same when he said to Premen, Your daughter is under a lot of stress. Talk to her. If necessary, talk to your son-in-law. It’s clear that she is very unhappy. Find out the cause. Or, it’ll be too late.Gitanjali would often cry at night; or wake up with nightmares; she would scold Naina for non-issues. She became a nibbler even in her parents’ home. She blamed everybody for being an obscurant, for obfuscating her. Once, when she hit Naina while teaching her, Prabha told her firmly, If you hit Naina, then you do it in your own home. Not over here.

She continued under her breath, That’s why your in-laws scold you and Vikram supports them. It’s not their fault after all.

Gitanjali broke into hysterics and unlike her character told her mother that this was her father’s house, not Prabha’s. Then after weeping for a long time, she cried a little more, while saying sorry to Prabha. Gitanjali would always look on the ground and pick up scraps to see whether they were of use. She would ,quite contrary to her character, laugh and joke sometimes; dress untidily; didn’t eat properly and when she felt hungry, ate mouthful of betel nuts. Her hair crawled with lice, as if they represented her mental scorpions. Her cerebral turbulence erupted as nettle-rash on her skin. Yes, she was fast losing control with her friable self-esteem.

Hemlata thought, how Gitanjali who always behaved to the turn of a hair, had changed after marriage. Gitanjali didn’t know how she should live in the world because she was run down so cruelly for being herself. Often,Tara would tell Hemlata that Gitanjali would talk like primitive, village women on taboo topics. She would ask for Tara’s guidance on how to please Vikram. Hemlata understood that Gitanjali was trying to become like the women she despised because she was a failure as herself. She had become weak so she resorted to weak solutions. She would spend the money which she sometimes earned through tuitions or scraping through house-keeping, for buying presents for her tormentors to lubricate them, so that they would leave her in peace. She had to take some action and since she did not have the power of self-expression, she resorted to lubrication. Besides developing a crooked stance, she became so dark. Her complexion was like an aluminium wok for deep frying puris and the like. In the beginning, Gitanjali was white and shining like the new wok. But after being fried in the hot oil of criticism, she developed a thick, black crust of negativity, like the inner surface of the wok. A thorough scrubbing with a hard-bristled scrub of adherence to truth would have cleaned it. But like the lazy housewife or the truant maid, she made a token rubbing with minimum positive soap . So the black deposits continued, until they became so thick, that like the dirty wok, she became superfluous and had to be discarded.

Deven remembered that towards the end, his relationship with Gitanjali had become strained. She would constantly nag him to take up some gainful occupation. She would bicker with him and scold him. Then she stopped talking to him.

Utpala thought about Gitanjali’s words during her last visit .Gitanjali told her, You must be very angry with me ,because I behave badly with Deven. Aren’t you?

Utpala was really a bit peeved because Gitanjali had told Deven to work as a coolie so that he would at least shed the ‘unemployed’ tag. Deven had told her to mind her own business. Gitanjali in a fit of rage (for she had developed sudden mood swings) had said, It’s better not to have a brother like you.

Utpala said to Gitanjali, It’s between brother and sister. Why should I be angry?

Gitanjali said, I also feel very bad. When I leave here, I weep for the abuse I have hurled on Deven.

Utpala didn’t ask the obvious question. Gitanjali continued, "All the time my in-laws, my brothers–in-law, sisters-in-law ask me, ‘What’s your brother doing?’ They know very well but still they ask. Even Vikram’s second cousins, aunts, uncles ask, as if it’s a timepass to them. They pass such mocking comments, ‘Lal-batti (sign of penury) is burning in the Lal Singh household’. So I feel if Deven is employed even in a menial job, I would listen to one barb less."

Utpala remained silent but her mind said , Why don’t you tell them to get lost? It’s none of their business! I will tell the same to my folks who dare to insult my husband. In fact, I tell them that Deven has a share in the lumber trade and he has other businesses. Who is going to come and check our accounts? I’m living in a state of luxury compared to my pre-marital stage. Thank you. But I know you. You won’t lie. But if truth cannot protect you, it’s alright to wear the shield of lie against evil people.

Gitanjali continued, "They will tell