A Fine Family: A Novel (18 page)

‘Tell me, Karan,’ said Tara. ‘You knew these people. Why did Nehru, Patel and others agree to Mountbatten’s plan for partition? Is it true that they felt they were getting old and wanted a taste of power before they died? God knows they deserved it after struggling for thirty years. But couldn’t they have held out for a united India?’

‘The only alternatives were to accept a divided but independent India or to hold out for a united India and follow Gandhi into the political wilderness. Tara, I think they also had a conviction that once Pakistan was conceded the reason for communal violence would vanish. Patel used to say that once the cancerous growth was surgically removed, health would be restored to the body politic.’

‘He should have realized that such an operation leaves the body weak and susceptible to the slightest infection.’

They walked a little further and found themselves back on Cart Road. Before them stood the imposing half-timbered house of the Mehtas, in whose upper-floor windows they glimpsed a brilliant reflection of the western sky.

‘You have heard of the Mehtas, haven’t you, Karan?’ she asked. ‘They had woollen mills in Amritsar, but they lived in Lahore. Bauji was always talking about them.’

Karan nodded.

‘It’s too bad, isn’t it,’ said Tara, ‘that both father and son died. It must be lonely for the grand-daughter, in this big house, alone with her mother. She is growing up to be a real beauty. I saw them both on the Mall last week. The mother was wearing a beautiful Madras temple sari. They are among the most fashionable people in Simla, I hear.’

‘As a matter of fact. . .’ Karan started to say when he was interrupted by Arjun, who had caught a butterfly and was shouting for attention. Seva Ram asked him to let it go. After some cajoling, Arjun reluctantly complied, and the butterfly flew away.

‘You were saying?’ Tara asked Karan.

‘Oh nothing,’ said Karan.

While they were talking, Karan noticed that Seva Ram had been silent.

‘You are quiet,’ said Karan, turning to Seva Ram.

‘I prefer to listen,’ Seva Ram replied.

With a serene face, Seva Ram seemed to listen from far away, and not with his ears but with his eyes. He seemed to participate in the conversation, but without being involved.

On the way back, in the fading light, Karan carelessly stepped on a
bicchu
plant, and was stung in the leg. His leg swelled up and he was in pain. Arjun and Seva Ram promptly collected the spinachlike leaves of a plant that was always found growing next to the
bicchu
and served as its antidote. Tara gently rubbed the leaves on Karan’s swollen leg. Karan found the leaves cooling, and the swelling slowly subsided.

It gave Tara a pleasurable sensation to touch Karan’s body. His proximity and his smell again took her back. It was his very own, unmistakable smell, which she remembered from Lyallpur. Touching him awakened her half-buried desire for him. He watched her as she rubbed his ankle and his calf, but she looked away in the direction of Seva Ram and Arjun who were picking the antidote. She steeled herself to regard this experience as only another trial to reconfirm that she could be friends with Karan, without the pain that was always associated with seeing him in the past. She could live with the pleasant feelings which he aroused in her, because she no longer felt the need to possess him.

Arjun’s earliest memory of Simla was of waking up suddenly on a frosty overcast morning. It was just after dawn and he was only half awake. It had been raining. Along with the wet there was a rawness in the air, and he could hear the wind blow. He got out of bed in his pajamas, and he ran to his mother’s bed. She stretched out her arm and he nestled by her side. With her warm hands she felt his body and pressed him closer to her.

‘Did you have a bad dream, my son?’ Tara asked.

He did not answer; he was content to feel her warmth.

‘Go to sleep, child.’

In his mother’s warm, large bed, with her soft arms around him, Arjun felt protected. He smiled, and he cuddled against her, and in a moment he was blissfully asleep.

Soon after their arrival in Simla, Arjun was put into a Jesuit missionary school. He cried on the first day when his mother left him in the headmaster’s office. The headmaster took him to the first grade, where Arjun stood shyly behind the door. He was shorter than most of the boys, and his hair was cut square and parted in the middle like a peasant’s. He was ill at ease in a new shirt which pinched him under the arms. His khaki-coloured shorts braced up tight around his thighs, and on his feet he wore a new pair of sturdy Bata shoes, which Tara had bought the day before on the Mall.

The children began going over the lesson. Arjun was all ears, as he sat at his desk at the back, not daring even to cross his legs. When the bell rang at three o’ clock, the master had to remind him that he could go home.

The daily two-mile walk to school along Cart Road framed his new life. In the mornings he was a rushed and nervous boy as he hurried along to school, his hair still wet, combed down and parted. In the afternoons in contrast, he would dawdle back home. He would linger among the pine trees, eat wild berries that grew along the road, drink water from the spring and arrive home kicking a pine cone. At home Tara, who had missed him all day, would make up by feeding him home-made biscuits and milk. She would cut out pictures from magazines for him, tell him stories from the Hindu epics and regale him with playful but melancholy chatter.

There was nothing striking about Arjun’s school life. He played during recess, worked in study periods, paid attention in class, studied hard when he had to, enjoyed sports, and managed to stay comfortably in the middle of his class. He learned to speak English early. Like other young Indians who acquired English at a young age, his idiom was natural and virile, freed of the imitative taste of London fogs and Oxford chapels. In contrast to the mimicry of the pre-Independence generations, his was a confident speech which emerged under the bright sunshine of the subcontinent.

Despite the politicians’ exhortations to the middle class to give up its unholy attraction for the colonial language, and learn Hindi instead, Tara shrewdly knew that English would remain the basis for entry into the professions for years to come. She had also heard that the very same politicians secretly sent their own children to English-speaking schools while they hypocritically vilified it in Parliament. On the rare occasions when Nehru chose to speak English on the radio, in his gentle and aristocratic Cambridge accent, she would get tears in her eyes. She felt that Nehru too must be secretly ambivalent about English; she forgave him his public posture, which she felt he had to adopt as a politician. In any case, for her part she was determined that Arjun should speak, read, and write English well. In her loneliness she gathered her ambitions and centered them upon his young head. She had visions of greatness for her son, seeing him a grown man, handsome and intelligent, representing his country as an ambassador or a man of power and status.

Karan taught Arjun to fly a kite. He remembered the first time when he got it up in the air. Karan was holding up the kite and Arjun held the string on a spindle. He nodded, and Karan let it go; Arjun saw it swim into the air; he felt the tug that it gave to his little hand; he was thrilled as he released more string; the kite had caught the breeze. He felt a sense of power as he watched it soar towards the clouds as if he were bending the winds of heaven to his will. His triumph was cut short, however, as the kite soon snagged in a pine tree.

As Arjun’s school was on his way, Karan would sometimes unexpectedly meet Arjun after school on Saturdays, and they would walk home together. They would talk about the trees, the Upanishads, and sports. Arjun enjoyed listening to stories from the Hindu epics. One day, Karan and Arjun enacted the following dialogue from the Chandogya Upanishad, and it thrilled Seva Ram.

‘Bring me fruit from the tree, Arjun.’

‘Here it is, Sir.’

‘Divide it.’

‘It is divided, Sir.’

‘What do you see in it?’

‘Nothing at all, Sir.’

‘Thus, Arjun, from the essence in the seed which you cannot see comes this great tree. This very essence is the spirit of the universe. That is reality. That is Atman. That is you, Arjun.’

‘Tell me more, Sir.’

‘Tat tvum asi,
thou art that.’

‘Tat tvam asi,’
repeated Arjun.

Karan created a stir on Arjun’s eighth birthday. He arrived early in the afternoon as the preparations were underway. Tara was busy in the kitchen and the servant had gone off to the bazaar to fetch sweets from the Bengali shop.

At four o’clock, rickshaws started to arrive, bringing Arjun’s young friends, who were accompanied by their mothers or their ayahs. As they trooped in, carrying their colourfully wrapped presents, Karan suddenly realized that he had forgotten to bring anything. He quietly slipped out to Mario’s, the Goan bookseller on the Mall.

As they were finishing tea, Karan appeared with a large package, which he quietly put aside in one corner. His attempt to be unobtrusive failed, because everyone wanted to see his present, and it was opened with much ceremony. Out came three massive books: Plutarch’s
Lives,
Homer’s
Iliad,
and Tulsidas’
Ramayana.
Everyone burst out laughing. One mother snickered, ‘Imagine, to bring such books to a little boy!’ Another lady advised him to have children of his own to learn what kind of presents were suitable. Karan turned red. Tara consoled him by saying that Mario would gladly exchange the books. However, Karan resisted any such idea. He insisted that John Stuart Mill had these books at the age of eight. Seeing his discomfort, Arjun protested that he liked the books and did not want to change them.

A few years later at Mario’s, Karan saw Arjun absorbed in some photographs of Simla. Mario displayed them in his shop window because they were attractive to tourists, and like picture postcards, they sold well, and profitably. Karan asked Arjun which picture he liked best, and Arjun pointed to one which showed the Simla cathedral from an unusual angle, with the Himalayas in the background. They went to the back, and looked through Mario’s collection of old prints, until Karan found a nineteenth century engraving which approximated the angle of the photograph. When Arjun protested that it did not look as nice as the photograph, Karan replied in a voice full of affection, ‘Arjun, my boy, you will tire of the photograph in a week, but this print will give you pleasure for a long time.’

Although Arjun came under the unusual influence of Karan, he wasn’t allowed to get close to him. Karan remained a remote and shadowy figure. There was a mystery about what he actually did with himself for he was away for months at a time. But when they did meet Karan educated Arjun in the world of the senses. As Bauji through his example had taught Karan and Tara to enjoy the world, so Karan imparted the joy of sense-experience to Bau-ji’s grandson. Arjun learned about flowers, trees and birds. He learned to recognize them from their smells and colours and their sounds. As Karan was much better read than Bauji, he educated the boy equally in the world of reason. He transmitted to Arjun his own sceptical outlook, rich with questioning. Arjun learned to have confidence in his own reason rather than in the opinion of others. He learned to distinguish between the excellent and the mediocre, the good from the bad, the just from the unjust. This sometimes led him into arguments with his mother, who was quite willing to accept society’s conception of right or wrong.

Tara used to talk to Arjun about what was happening in the country, but Karan always changed the subject when it came to politics. Tara was filled with all the hopes of post-Independence India and infected by the dreams of Nehru. She told Arjun about the virtues of centralized planning, democratic socialism, and a large public sector—all the catchwords of the day. But he sensed that she had lingering doubts about the wisdom of this course. She used to sometimes wish that someone could tell her if they were doing the right thing in Delhi. Or were Nehru and others being led astray by the ‘Russian miracle’ and the Fabian ideas (under which they had grown up in the twenties and thirties)? Reflecting Bauji’s old liberal prejudices, she used to express her fears that Nehru might land them into a huge and inefficient bureaucratic jungle. It was hard to refute socialism because it was intellectually so attractive and made such a good election slogan, she would say. Seva Ram refused to be drawn into these discussions. He was too aloof and too austere. Even though he was physically present, he kept to himself. Arjun could not think of a single instance when his father raised his voice, let alone scolded or thrashed him. Nor could he remember when his father had ever laughed or played with him. There were long silences when the two were together—silences in which Seva Ram was comfortable and Arjun uncomfortable. Seva Ram would disappear twice a day into his room to meditate. At such times he was not even physically available to his son. Nor did Seva Ram try to initiate his son into his faith and his belief s, thinking that Arjun was too young to begin meditation. Arjun admired his father and was continually reassured by his sweet smile, but he also found him boring. When he wanted to talk he turned instead to his mother.

At about this time Bauji and Bhabo came to Simla. Tara had been inviting them for many years and thus it was a big event in Seva Ram’s home when they finally came in the summer of ‘55. Seva Ram offered them their own bedroom, but they would not hear of it and settled down in the smaller adjoining room for a month’s stay. The weather was perfect and Bauji’s reaction to Simla was very similar to Tara’s. Bhabo was delighted to be reunited with her grandson and she poured on him all the maternal love which had been gathering inside her through the years. Tara found in Bauji the friend that she had been seeking. With the passing of time, Bauji appeared in her eyes less the mighty patriarch of the Lyallpur house, and more an ordinary person she could get close to and confide in. The events of the partition and the eight years that had passed had reduced the gulf that separated the young girl from the middle aged father and they were no longer conscious of the disparity of age or the father-daughter relationship between them. Karan decided to absent himself from Tara’s house during these days because he knew that Bauji was angry with him. Neither could Tara talk to Bauji about her feelings for Karan.

‘I am happy, Bauji,’ she said vivaciously as they sat alone in the garden in the morning sun. ‘He has been a good husband. He’s very sweet. He is kind to us. D’you know he’s never said a harsh thing to Arjun or to me all these years we’ve been married.’

‘How is his work?’ asked Bauji.

‘It’s alright, I suppose. He works hard I know but he never talks much about it. But then he never talks much about anything. I am usually the one who does the chattering when we are together. Sometimes I feel I am talking to a wall. He is always so remote.’

‘Yes, I remember he was always aloof.’

‘But I do wish he were more ambitious. In a worldly sort of way, I mean. If he had tried we could have got a bigger house, and that too in a more fashionable part of town. For example in Benmore. Some of his equals at the office have already moved twice, and here we are stuck in Chota Simla. And they don’t even work as hard as he does! I think it’s unfair.’

‘But how would he have got a bigger house? I thought it was allotted by the government.’

‘Yes, of course. But the government is a person, isn’t it? All he needs to do is become friendly with Mr Ahuja of the Housing Department. We should visit them in the evenings and send them sweets at Diwali.’

‘You mean, he is unwilling to lick boots,’ Bauji laughed.

‘No, don’t put it that way, Bauji. This is how things are done. He won’t get anywhere like this. He refuses to call on his boss in the evenings. I have told him so many times, “let’s go and see them.” His wife likes having the wives of junior officers drop in on them and flatter her. But no. He thinks it’s not right. And I can’t go alone.’

Bauji was amused. The more his daughter talked about her husband the more he liked him. Of course he himself was very different and would have probably behaved like Tara in the circumstances, but now sitting under the blue sky he felt an admiration for his unusual son-in-law.

‘People are differently constituted, Tara. He’s just made that way.’

‘I sometimes think it’s plain Selfish of him. If he doesn’t want these things for himself, what about Arjun and me? I would certainly like to live in a more fashionable part of town. It would be closer to Arjun’s school too. All he thinks about is his meditation and of his guru. He hardly spends time with Arjun.’

Bauji made a gesture of impatience.

‘I think he is one of those men, who are possessed by an urge so strong to do something that they can’t help themselves, they have got to do it. His spiritual urge is of that nature. I can bet he would sacrifice anything to satisfy that urge.’

‘Even the people who love him, his family, I’m sure,’ said Tara with a rueful laugh.

‘Perhaps. It’s a long, arduous road he’s travelling, but it may be that at the end of it he’ll find what he is seeking.’

‘What’s that?’

‘God.’

‘God!’ she cried. It was an exclamation of incredulous surprise. Although she vaguely knew of his intense search and his relationship with the guru, she wasn’t prepared for this bold answer in the middle of a sunny day. Seva Ram was very private about his meditation and she had never dared to ask him about it. Tara immediately grew serious and Bauji sensed in her whole attitude something like fear.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘I can’t be sure. And you should certainly know better, having lived with him all these years. But I think he is filled with a sense of the transiency of life, and he believes his inner search is a compensation for the sorrow in the world.’

Bauji could tell that Tara had not thought about any of this. He could also see that she didn’t like the turn the conversation had taken. It made her feel shy and awkward. It was understandable that she did not want to think of her husband in this way.

‘One should take the world as it comes,’ she said decisively. ‘If we are here, it is to make the most of it. When he wants to, Bauji, he can be a warm, lovable person. I have seen him like that, and that is good enough for me.’

Bauji shrewdly turned the conversation at this point. He told her about his own and Bhabo’s life in Hoshiarpur, where he had settled and made a life after the partition. They had been writing to each other constantly and so there was little new that Tara learned. She told him that she had recently received a letter from Anees, and she noticed an immediate quickening of his interest. He could not stop asking her questions about her friend in Pakistan.

Looking into his eyes, Tara felt that her father had lost none of his youthful vitality. He was nearing sixty but she could sense the same sensual spark that she had felt in him when he had first met Anees. She watched him as he sat erectly, savouring the Himalayan morning. She followed his eyes as he looked beyond to the panorama of ridges and peaks in the distance. There was confidence and optimism in his look. Yet this was the same man who had been totally broken by the partition eight years ago. It amazed her how he had firmly lifted himself up out of that abyss. For her too, the partition had been traumatic, but she had been young and her life had been ahead of her, and Seva Ram’s job with the government had eased the transition. In her father’s case everything was lost. He had crossed the border with nothing except the clothes on his back. It was a high heart which could bear adversity and not run away from it—for in bearing it shone the beauty of the soul.

She remembered that the challenge of housing and feeding his family had pulled him out of his depression at the end of ’47, even before Gandhi’s death. He had restarted his law practice right in the refugee camp. He had begun by documenting the property and other assets which the refugees had left behind in Pakistan. For the next three years he had fought for their claims with the newly created Refugee Rehabilitation Department of the government. Eventually he had succeeded in recovering between ten and twenty per cent of the lost assets. In those cases, where he thought the government had not been fair, he had filed a suit in court and thereby succeeded in getting the proper share for his refugee clients. In his own case, his share included a quaint old-fashioned Muslim house in Hoshiarpur, a small town across the border in the East Punjab plains. It was remarkably similar in design to the house in Lyallpur, and he lived there now with Bhabo. They had planted jasmine and gardenia bushes in the smaller courtyard and hung identical blinds in the narrower veranda, and there was a powerful illusion of 7 Kacheri Bazaar. By the time India adopted her new Constitution in January 1950, Bauji, and many of his refugee clients, had moved out of the camp, and were well settled.

Bauji’s success in settling refugee claims had made a name for him and had also made him well-off again. He had a car with a chauffeur and several servants to look after the house. In the early ‘50s, urged by friends, he stood for elections to the town’s Municipal Committee. And he still continued to play a leadership role in the town government, although he had allowed his legal practice to slowly diminish. Bhabo continued to visit temples and feed holy men daily at noon. A visible change in their life was the breakdown of the joint family. In the tents of the refugee camp, the various members of 7 Kacheri Bazaar decided that they no longer wanted to be a burden to Bauji and they chose to go their separate ways. Although he had always found his son infuriating, Big Uncle’s departure for Delhi was poignant and it had left a real void in Bauji’s life. Nevertheless, Bauji and Bhabo had slowly got used to living alone. Having always lived in a house full of dozens of children, relatives, friends, and friends of friends, the solitude was the most difficult to cope with especially for Bhabo.

Bauji felt that the story of his life after partition was not unlike that of most refugees who had trekked penniless across the border. He told Tara that it was a testimony to the human spirit. After having fallen in the abyss, the refugees had pulled themselves out from the depths, made a new life of their own and risen up again. In many ways they had shown more initiative than the people who were not refugees, that is the people who were already living in the towns and villages to which the refugees went. That is because they had to work harder to pull themselves up than their more fortunate brothers who had been of the right religion on the right side of the line which Radcliffe had drawn. And for this the refugees were naturally resented. Bauji had heard from his son that the refugees had practically rebuilt the bazaars of Delhi in five years. Anees wrote the same thing to Tara. She said that the Muslim refugees who had come from India had made a remarkable life for themselves in Pakistan. Bauji said in a philosophical vein that a man really doesn’t know his own strength until he has met with adversity.

There was a more practical reason why Bauji had come to Simla. It concerned the division of his property and it resulted in a big fight between Tara and him. Seva Ram and Bhabo were caught in the cross-fire and were embarrassed to be witness to strong language exchanged between father and daughter. ‘Bauji, how could you? You’re a bigot,’ said Tara. ‘And you are greedy for money, my daughter!’ replied Bauji.

One of the first acts of Nehru when he became head of the government was to ask for a reform of the Hindu family law in order to bring about greater equality between men and women in marriage and inheritance. Nehru was an idealist and this fit in well with the spirit of those early years when Nehru and others saw themselves building a new nation based on principles of democracy, liberty and equality. The spark as usual had been Gandhi, who before he died, had tried to bring about an awareness among the masses for the need to improve the position of women. He would constantly tell the people, ‘treat your daughters and sons as equals for otherwise you are less than human.’

Nehru had a strong ally in his Law Minister, B.R. Ambedkar, who was just as keen to abolish dowry, allow women to divorce and remarry, and divide the family property equally between sons and daughters. They introduced a bill in the Constituent Assembly to achieve these reforms. But they had not counted on tough opposition from the tradition-bound members of the Assembly and many leaders of their own party. Rajendra Prasad, the President, warned Nehru that the legislation would arouse bitter feelings and would affect the chances of his party in the next election. Patel, the Deputy Prime Minister, felt that these ideas were foreign and they would ‘cause disruption in every family’. Because of opposition from his own party, Nehru was checkmated and he reluctantly backed off and Ambedkar resigned in frustration.

A few years later, Nehru again revived the legislation. Patel and Prasad were gone by then. Nehru now staked his political career on it saying, ‘My government will live and fall on this.’ And in 1955 by the sheer weight of his personality Nehru pushed through the celebrated reform which came to be called the Hindu Code Bill.

The whole nation participated in the drama. Newspapers covered the long debates extensively. Tara avidly read the press accounts every day in the
Tribune
and echoing the reformists she proclaimed ‘My God, this is the most revolutionary change in Hindu society since Manu.’ She immediately wrote to her sisters to demand an equal share of their inheritance from Bauji. This act of hers really hurt Bauji, who was more conservative in his sentiments and who was opposed to the Bill. According to Tara, she was upholding a principle and money was not the issue. Bauji, in any case, had lost his property in the partition she argued. That he had rebuilt a modest future after ‘47 was not lost on her, however.

‘Why did you write to your sisters?’ demanded Bauji.

‘It was to make them aware of their rights under the new law,’ Tara sheepishly said.

‘Did you think I was not going to honour their rights?’

‘No, no. Well yes, I thought you would leave everything to my brother.’

‘And so you made me out into some kind of villain.’

‘No, I didn’t mean to do that.’

‘You created disunity in the family.’

‘No.’

‘What else did you achieve? What are you trying to do Tara? The family is already broken with everyone gone their separate ways. It’s lonely enough for Bhabo and me as it is. Why are you making it worse? My own daughter going against me, it is too, too sad.’

‘I am not going against you, Bauji. It is a principle I am upholding.’

‘This is what one gets from one’s children at the end. What is the principle anyway?’

‘Well, of equality.’

‘Didn’t you get your share with your dowry?’

‘No, dowry is different. Besides dowry is illegal now.’

‘How can these people think they can abolish dowry by legislation? Idealistic fools! No daughter in this country will be married without dowry. Just because there is a law, do you think people will do away with centuries of custom?’

‘Surely you don’t support dowry. It is like selling your daughter.’

‘That is not the point. If you wanted my money you should have come to me directly. I don’t like this underhand way of writing to your sisters and creating disunity.’