This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach (99 page)

Gandhiji said to the women, ‘According to the tenets of Islam, a woman does not cover her face before her father, son, brother or close relatives. If you regard me as your father and brother, why do you veil your face before me?’

The hundred women as one raised their veils and uncovered their faces.

Gandhiji assured them he would end his fast as soon as he was convinced that the poison of communal hatred had disappeared, and all women were safe in the city. They should keep their faith in Allah the All-merciful, and pray that he might succeed in his purpose.

All possible measures had been taken to ensure communal harmony. The people, the government, and the local administration were doing their best to convince Gandhiji that no effort had been spared to end the violence.

In view of the gravity of the situation, Mr Agarwal had spent all afternoon visiting prominent citizens to get them to sign the Peace Petition. In the evening, a meeting was organized by Delhi’s chief commissioner and the deputy commissioner at the request of Dr Rajendra Prasad, the minister for food and president of the Constituent Assembly. Mr Agarwal was among the one hundred and thirty representatives from all religious communities who attended this meeting of the Communal Harmony Committee. The Committee unanimously decided that it would agree to any conditions dictated by Gandhiji for ending his fast. A team of doctors examining Gandhiji issued a statement in late afternoon that described his condition as critical. The hearts of the citizens of Delhi rose in their throats. By the evening, two hundred thousand citizens of Delhi had signed the Peace Petition.

On 18 January, Mr Agarwal left at eight in the morning to attend a meeting of the Communal Harmony Committee at Government House. Everyone was at tenterhooks as to what might happen next. The Indian government’s decision to hand over the arrears to Pakistan had agitated Narottam at first. But now he too had become withdrawn and pensive, in view of the threat to Gandhiji’s life. He found it difficult to concentrate on anything. He wanted to speak with Tara to lighten his heart, but madam, to ease her own tension, had kept Tara engaged in one task or another.

Mr Agarwal returned at a quarter past one. From the window of his
room, Narottam saw the car enter the driveway, and raced downstairs. Madam also rushed out to meet her husband.

‘Gandhiji broke his fast. He sipped some orange juice,’ Mr Agarwal said to Narottam. He looked at his wife, ‘Fix me some lunch quickly. I’ve been away from my work for three days. Also, I’ve some important business with Mr Rawat. Nottan dear, please telephone and find out if Rawat Sahib has gone home for lunch.’

Dayavantiji telephoned at 3.30 to ask Mrs Agarwal to come to her house immediately. Madam had been co-opted as a member of the Women’s Peace Committee.

Tara was returning with Lalli and Puttan from a walk to India Gate, and as they entered the veranda, the telephone rang. She went to the drawing room to answer it, with Lalli holding on to her finger. Lalli saw a clock, its mechanism visible under a glass dome, on a shelf full of curios next to the telephone table and wanted to play with it.

Tara knew from her experience that if Lalli had asked her mother for something like that, she would have at first threatened to have the child locked in a room that was infested with rats, then would have asked Shivni to take the child away from the drawing room. It was also possible that madam, after calling her daughter a pest and cursing that she may die, would have handed her the clock to shut her up. Had the clock been broken, madam would have hidden it somewhere away from sahib’s eyes.

Lalli had learnt that if she behaved petulantly, and threw a tantrum she could get away with anything.

Tara had seen that while she attempted to instil some discipline in the children, others were constantly spoiling and cosseting them. She just could not let Lalli have the clock just to indulge her, and if it broke in the process it would have amounted to dereliction of responsibility entrusted to her. Tara had already asked Shivni to serve the food in the dinning room, but Lalli continued to scream and roll on the ground in a fit of obstinacy. The child wanted to play with the clock, not eat dinner.

Just then madam arrived. She had heard Lalli’s screams at the gate. She said tiresomely, ‘We spend on that woman one hundred and fifty rupees per month, and I come back to the house to find it in a mess. If she can’t handle the children, what good is she for us! What happened to Lalli? Has she been hurt?’

Shivni was also in the veranda, she replied, ‘Nothing like that, huzoor. She wanted to play with that clock from the drawing room.’

‘Why didn’t someone give it to her for a while?’

‘Sahib had telephoned. He…’ Tara tried to convey the message.

‘Sahib’s message can wait. Here I return dog tired, and find the house sounding like a fish market. I never get a moment’s peace. Is your duty to look after the children or to worry about the phone?’

‘Bahinji, she’ll calm down in a moment. That clock…’

‘What did sahib say?’

‘Sahib is bringing along Mr Rawat, Mr and Mrs Surya, and a few others. He asked me to tell you that they’ll be home by eight and they will use the upstairs drawing room.’

Madam’s tone changed. ‘That’s another bother! If that was the matter you should have telephoned me at Dayavantiji’s. It’s going to be eight. Shivni, see if the driver has left. Call him here.’

Madam complained irritably until the driver came, ‘Why don’t these spongers do all that at their own homes. They come to us for their debauchery. I have to dish out hundred and a quarter rupees each time to entertain them. These freeloaders get three-three, four-four thousand per month as salaries, but make others pay for their liquor.’ Whenever madam was angry plebeian cadences crept into her accent and language.

She said to the driver, ‘Arrey Nundlall, you know that place, from where Latif got all that stuff. Arrey, the same, all that stuff…fish, kebabs, chicken!’ She held out two ten-rupee notes, ‘Ask Jugal for some containers to carry it back. Careful that you don’t take anything from grandma’s kitchen.’ The driver said, ‘Huzoor, I don’t touch those things. Latif used to get all that. Send someone with me, I’ll show them where to buy.’

Madam sent Jugal away with the driver. She looked to Tara, ‘None of them has any sense. If they break a glass or drop a bottle, I’ll have to answer with my life. Each glass is worth five rupees. Latif knew how to handle everything.’

Madam picked a key from a bunch, and pleaded, ‘Tara, please set the tables in the upstairs drawing room. Shivni, you go with her. Shivni has done this before. Take out the proper glasses for drinking. The table covers are in the same cupboard. Just make sure they’re all clean. Polish the glasses again. They must be arriving. Should have given me some more notice. He flies into a temper if everything is not ready. I’ll just wash my face and
change this damned khadi sari. It’s been chafing my skin. Just look how I’m covered with dust.’

‘Bahinji, let me first see to the children’s dinner, then I’ll manage everything,’ Tara said. Lalli was still crying and struggling in Shivni’s arms.

‘Give her a good slap on her face. Go and dump the brat in her grandma’s room. She’ll find some other servant to give her dinner.’ Madam ordered Shivni, ‘Tara’s busy now. You also go upstairs with her.’

Tara took the key and went to the upstairs drawing room. A cabinet was full of an assortment of multicoloured bottles in different shapes and sizes, with horses and dogs and cats on the labels. Realizing it was liquor, she looked at them in revulsion. She had been told since she was a child that there was nothing as evil as this. Her gali neighbours frowned at the mere mention of it. Her brother was broad-minded, he made concessions to eating meat but he too drew the line at drinking liquor. Dewanchand or Birumal sometimes sneaked a drink, but if the neighbours found out, they all spat at them contemptuously. On special occasions, such as Holi or Baisakhi festivals, it would be smuggled into the house of Tara’s uncle Ramjwaya. Sheelo never failed to inform her cousin of such scandalous goings on. Tara thought to herself, about what she had been reduced to doing. Is this what they meant by tutoring the children, being their governess? She was being treated just like a housemaid!

Shivni had lent a hand to Latif in the past in discharging this delicate and responsible duty. She explained enthusiastically to Tara, ‘Side tables are for ashtrays, and glasses are placed here on both sides of the sofa, and on the right side of the chairs. The long-stemmed glasses here on the serving table. Those with handles are for beer, but they are used only in hot weather. Miss sahib, place a few tiny ones also. If any memsahibs are present, they first take the coloured stuff, later everything. Madam does not like any, but she takes one too and sits there sipping it. The coloured stuff is called bhine, the ones with dogs and horses is bhiskey. I peep through the window sometimes. Let me get a few soda bottles from the cold storage, and then you tell me if anything else is needed.’

Tara had not finished arranging the room when she heard footsteps and voices coming up the stairs. A woman’s voice said something, and Mr Agarwal laughed heartily.

Tara wanted to slip out of the room before the guests entered. Had she gone into the front veranda or to the one that led to Narottam’s room,
she would have had to return again through the drawing room. The back entrance to Narottam’s room was always kept locked.

‘Please!’ Tara heard and turned around. Mr Agarwal had raised the curtain over the door to let a woman enter. Tara lowered her eyes and stood quietly next to a wall.

‘Oh, you Tara!’ Dr Shyama held Tara’s arm and made her sit next to her on a sofa. She looked at Tara all over. Three other men and a woman came into the room.

‘I’m so delighted to see you again. Hai, how lovely you look. You are happy here?’ Shyama asked.

‘Ji, I’m very happy. It’s all because of you.’ Shayma’s questions discomfited Tara, particularly in the presence of Mr Agarwal and others.

‘Miss Tara, the governess of our children.’ Mr Agarwal introduced her to the others. He asked Tara, ‘Is Mrs not back yet?’

‘Ji. She’s back. She should be here any minute. I’ll go and tell her.’ Tara said rising from the sofa.

‘She’ll come herself. Don’t hurry her.’ Shyama grabbed her arm again. ‘Very brave young lady. She’s from Lahore. What can I say to you all about her; her personality speaks for her.’

Tara blushed with embarrassment. Shyama introduced her to the others, ‘Meet Mrs Surya.’

‘Very pleased to meet you,’ Mrs Surya held out her hand and Tara shook it. ‘Mr Rawat, secretary, ministry of home.’

‘Pleased to see you, sir.’ Unable to meet Rawat’s stare, she lowered her eyes.

‘Mr Dey, deputy secretary, public works.’

‘Glad to meet you, sir.’

‘Mr Surya, secretary, ministry of health.’

‘Very glad to have met you, sir,’ Tara joined her hands and said namaste to all of them.

‘Hullo!’ Mrs Agarwal came in, in a new chiffon sari, her face freshly made up, as if she was appearing on stage. ‘Excuse me,’ she said in English, and switched to Hindi, ‘I didn’t know you all had come. I just went to speak with mother in her room.’

‘Your absence was not noticed,’ said Rawat. ‘Your representative was here.’

Tara got up again, ‘I’ll take my leave of you. Hope to see you all again some time.’

‘Wah, why are you leaving? Please sit with us,’ Rawat said.

‘Yes, please give us the pleasure of your company,’ both Dey and Surya added their voice to Rawat’s.

‘Excuse me, but I have to look after the children,’ Tara said politely.

‘She’s our children’s governess,’ Mrs Agarwal interjected.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Rawat hunched his shoulders and spread out his hands as if intimidated, ‘I have faced governors many times. Never had a reason to fear them. Miss Tara won’t be offended if we behave ourselves. Am I right, Miss Tara?’

‘Well said, sir.’

‘Very fine, sir.’

‘Very nice,’ said Dey, Surya and Shyama together.

Tara smiled in acknowledgement. Rawat must be a highly placed official or an important person, she thought.

‘She hasn’t had time to change her clothes,’ Mrs Agarwal tried to come to her help.

Sahib looked sharply at his wife to shut her up, and said, ‘Please join us, Miss Tara. There’s no shortage of help downstairs.’

Rawat again said, looking at her, ‘It’s a different matter if Miss Tara is not happy with her dress. It might be casual, but it suits her very well. The art of good dressing is that it all appears effortless.’

Dey and Surya again heartily approved, ‘Sure! You’re perfectly right, sir.’

Tara sat down shyly next to Shyama.

‘Listen,’ Rawat said leaning forward, ‘You all are educated, Urdu-Farsi knowing pen-pushers. Mrs Surya, you know Sanskrit, you have an MA in Sanskrit.’

‘Our Tara is also an MA,’ Mrs Agarwal said proudly.

‘In Sanskrit?’ Rawat looked at Tara.

‘Ji, no. My subject was economics…’

Before she could correct Mrs Agarwal, Rawat interrupted her to ask Mrs Surya, ‘Yes, Mrs Surya, do you remember what Dushyant said when he first saw Shakuntala:
iyamadhik manogya valkalenapi tanvi
.’

‘How nice. You have a wonderful memory,’ Mrs Surya expressed her amazement.

‘I’ll translate it, with Miss Tara’s permission.’

‘Ji, of course. With pleasure.’

‘Well, it means that slim and graceful women, wearing clothes of bark, has entered my heart. So, do clothes really matter?’

‘Wah, wah! That’s great!’ The room filled with laughter at Rawat’s remark.

Dey said admiringly, ‘You have such a heavy administrative responsibility on your shoulders, but you still find time to read classics.’

Tara blushed and bowed her head. Shyama whispered consolingly into her ear in English, ‘This is all innocent fun, don’t be embarrassed.’

‘Well, ladies first,’ said Mr Agarwal. ‘What would you like to have?’ he asked Mrs Surya.

‘Nothing special, perhaps a sherry.’

Mr Agarwal took out a bottle from the cabinet, filled a sherry glass and put it on the table next to Mrs Surya. He looked at madam, ‘Where’s soda water?’