Jasoda

  Madhurima Devi had been under the impression that like the tango, it took two to be married, but within a matter of months, she had discovered that while she was married to her husband, the only contact the Oil Baron had with her now was when he came over to her private chambers at any hour of the day or night, pushed her on to the bed, unbuttoned her blouse as he himself stripped, unstrung her petticoat and forced himself upon her. It got to be so much of a chore that her heart went out to him and she wanted to make him sit down, pat his back and reassure him that it was okay to stay away from her if he didn’t feel like coming over. After all, she had not slept with anyone before and the thought that this was nothing less than an unjust imposition upon her visitor made her uneasy.

  She had even hinted at it once. ‘We really don’t have to do this as some form of duty. I assure you I won’t hold it against you.’

  ‘So you can get someone else to satisfy you? Is that what you did when you lived with your father? Just get this straight. Give me an heir.’

  She was in luck. Within a year and a half of being married, she was pregnant. The Oil Baron’s humour improved considerably and he often asked if he could do anything to make her comfortable. One day she actually ventured to tell him that she spent all her waking and sleeping hours dreaming of mango ice-cream. That was it. Every day he began to bring home the family super-pack of Alphonso ice-cream for her. A few teaspoons were enough for her but he insisted on her having much more. ‘It’s not for you, it’s for the baby. I want it to be in great shape.’

  It was a clockwork baby. Exactly nine months had passed when she delivered a little baby girl. The pink from the Alphonso showed clearly on the little one’s cheeks. She was perpetually hungry. Fortunately, the girl’s mother had plenty of milk.

  No one knew what went wrong. By the fourth day the little girl was no more.

  To say that Madhurima Devi took the death of the child badly would be a bit of an understatement. She kept asking herself where she had gone wrong. There was one thing about which she was certain. Absolutely certain. She had murdered her baby. There was no other explanation.

  It was a feisty, incredibly assertive and impatient baby. When she was hungry, she didn’t bring just the Alakhnanda Palace down, she woke up every denizen of Kantagiri. Madhurima Devi had known she must find a name for her child as quickly as possible. What the hell had she been doing all those nine months? From day one of her pregnancy she had known it was going to be a girl. She wasn’t good at maths but she had had at least two hundred and seventy days to choose her name. Think about it. As things stood she was anamika, the nameless one, when she was the whole universe for her mother.

  Now she was dead and she was still nameless.

  The Oil Baron couldn’t afford to waste time. Madhurima Devi was not mentally or physically prepared for her husband to come over to her on the fifth day itself. She was horrified to see him undress but he had no time for such niceties.

  ‘This is work,’ he told her and got down to it.

  ‘Hello, may I disturb you for a minute?’

  Himmat looked up from his notepad. ‘Yes, please do. I mean go ahead, please do disturb me. Sorry, I meant you’re not disturbing me.’

  ‘My name is Alexandra Rohmer. I run the kindergarten school across the garden.’

  ‘Yes, I have seen you with the children.’

  ‘I have a confession to make.’

  ‘I can’t help you there.’ Himmat smiled. ‘I am not a Catholic priest.’

  ‘I was the one who put the police on to you. You have been coming here and watching the children playing and I began to worry that maybe you intended to kidnap one of them or do them harm. I’m not sure what exactly I was thinking of, whether you were a drug addict or one of the jehadis that the news channels are always talking about. All I knew was that it was my duty to protect the children. I don’t know how to apologize to you. I suspect the police gave you a rough time. I’m really sorry.’

  ‘Did they tell you I seemed to be above suspicion so far but it would be best to keep an eye on me?’

  ‘How did you know they told me just that?’

  ‘I guess it’s standard practice on their part to play it safe. Just in case…’ He was smiling now.

  She was surprised that the man did not bear her any animus. They began to meet once in a while and then, a few months later, at least once a day if he was in town. He travelled a fair bit around the world for conferences. As the days went by she noticed that his students were devoted to him and his colleagues seemed to consult him not just about their work or appointments to maths departments all over the world but about their personal lives too. After about eighteen months she moved in with him and a few months later, they became man and wife.

  Himmat was a quiet man, not given to talking much. It was obvious he had had a rough childhood. If Alexa probed him he would be forthcoming except when the subject of his father cropped up. All he would say was that he had disappeared after they had migrated to Mumbai. He had a younger brother called Pawan he was very fond of who, true to his name, was like the wind. There was no telling when he would show up and just as suddenly take off without saying so much as a goodbye. And another called Kishen who was a little slow in the head. And then there was his sister, Janhavi who, without his having to say a word, was clearly his absolute favourite.

  Alexa went to India with Himmat. They met his two gurus in Mumbai and visited Jasoda, Kishen and Janhavi in Sharana. Janhavi was just a wee bit nervous about meeting the new woman. After all, she had stolen her favourite brother and from now on she would always have to share Himmat Bhaiyya 50:50. And that too if the new entrant was not super-possessive and laid claim to 99.99 per cent of Himmat. But Alexa seemed okay; frankly, more than okay. She had no airs and she was zero-demanding and always game for any adventure, like going to Prathama Devi’s temple and asking for a boon, though she would not let on what she had wished for. Kishen was shy and when Alexa caught him watching her, he immediately turned his eyes away in confusion. Her mother-in-law was ambivalent towards her but that was to be expected. From whatever Alexa had read about India, it was a mother’s prerogative to choose a bride for her sons. Himmat was not only the eldest but the one she had relied on the most. He had disappeared for years and now he was back with a wife and that too a white woman.

  Alexa’s mother-in-law was also generous to a fault. She had already bought Aleksha (she couldn’t get the ‘xa’ right) a dozen saris despite her daughter-in-law’s protestations that she would hardly get an opportunity to wear them. There were also other gifts. Surprisingly her taste in jewellery was not ostentatious but exquisite in a sober and low-key manner. Jasoda insisted that Janhavi teach Himmat’s wife how to drape a sari and make sure that she got the hang of how to wear one on her own. She didn’t stop at that though. While Alexa was in Sharana, she was expected to change into a sari before dinner.

  Every now and then, Janhavi would catch her mother running her hard fingers over Alexa’s forearm or holding her hand in hers without even being aware of what she was doing.

  ‘Maa, that white paint on Alexa’s skin will come off if you keep feeling and rubbing it so much.’

  Jasoda would instantly withdraw her hand in embarrassment.

  Himmat wanted Alexa to get a taste of the Tamarind Mantra and of course he wanted to check out the new menu since the Mantra had moved up a notch to a four-star status. He didn’t give any notice and made sure that his mother did not get a chance to prime the cook about her family’s visit and order the menu in advance. He had to hand it to his illiterate mother. She knew a thing or two about food and hospitality. As to the décor, he remembered Janhavi clicking away crazily every time Cawas Sir took him and his sister to a fancy new restaurant. A random memory from those times came back to Himmat. He recalled how the Parsi lawyer was not merely a gourmet but also had a weekend foodie column called ‘To Die For’ with the second word zapped with a red slash and replaced with ‘Live’ and followed by a l
ine in a smaller point size: Can you think of a better reason? Well, the menu at the Mantra had reproduced Batliwala Sir’s title and subhead exactly, including the red slash. There was no doubt about it – that sister of his had an eye for the look of things and would one day make a highly successful interior designer and businesswoman if she so wished.

  ‘I was thinking of buying your mother a mini-wagon,’ Alexa told Himmat one night when they were about to go to bed. ‘She has to constantly commute between her three restaurants and besides, she insists on doing her shopping for grain and vegetables every morning in two rickshaws.’

  ‘What an excellent idea. How come I never think of something so practical and useful? We will go and buy one tomorrow.’

  ‘No, we are not going to buy it. I am going to buy it. She’s been very generous with me and I want her to know how much I appreciate it.’

  ‘I don’t want to be a spoilsport but she won’t take it if it’s from you.’

  ‘What’s the problem? Does she think I am an untouchable?’

  ‘Nothing of the sort. Once Janhavi gets married, my mother will not even have a glass of water at her home.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘All I can tell you is that that’s the custom here. Mother’s changed beyond recognition over the years. The drought and Mumbai did that. But some things take time.’

  ‘Does that mean she won’t visit us in the States?’

  ‘It’s a bit complicated. She might just visit us because she may think it’s her eldest son’s place.’

  ‘I don’t care if she thinks you bought the car. I am paying for it.’

  ‘Will you buy one for me too?’

  ‘Only if you stop being so cheeky.’

  The gift of the car had taken Jasoda completely by surprise. She kept telling Himmat that she couldn’t take it but Janhavi told Alexa that her mother was delighted with the gift. She wouldn’t have bought it for herself because she was still paying for the third Tamarind Mantra and would consider it as sheer indulgence.

  ‘Will she get a driver to take her around?’

  ‘I could be wrong but she likes to be in control.’

  Jasoda was adamant that there would be no more visits to the Tamarind Mantras or any other restaurant while her son and daughter-in-law were in town.

  ‘Why not?’ Himmat asked her. ‘I like the food very much. As a matter of fact, Alexa had hinted that she would like to go there and eat one last time before we left.’

  ‘Sorry, that won’t be possible. What would people say if they learnt that Alexa’s mother-in-law had sent her own son and his wife to a restaurant to eat? No, no way.’

  The final word had been said and that was the end of the subject.

  By the time the visitors left Sharana, it was clear that some kind of truce had been reached between mother- and daughter-in-law. Alexa was well aware that her own awkwardness along with a tendency to say ‘No, thank you’ instead of a ‘Thank you, oh, you really shouldn’t have’ made matters worse by coming across as insensitive to the generosity of the giver. She realized this sharply when she invited her mother-in-law to come for a holiday to Palo Alto.

  Jasoda had smiled and said, ‘I will try, but first I must learn your language.’

  It was clear who was the better diplomat. Now that it was time to say goodbye, Jasoda pulled Alexa into her bedroom and said, ‘I’m getting old. Give me a grandson, bahu. He’ll fill the void in my life as nothing else can.’ She wouldn’t let go of Alexa. ‘Promise me.’

  Alexa wondered how to tell the older lady that her son was the most generous and loving person she had met in her life but in all these years of marriage, she had never been able to persuade him to stay inside her as he came instead of withdrawing a split second before he spilled his seed.

  ‘Why, Himmat, why?’ she had asked him.

  He had been silent for a long moment. When he finally answered, it was as if there was a bottomless hopelessness in him.

  ‘Sometimes it’s best if the family tree does not bear fruit, for when you bring children upon this earth, you put the curse of the father upon them. And then not even God can save them. Besides, too many people on our planet and not enough to eat for even half of them.’

  Janhavi waited impatiently for Himmat Bhaiyya’s emails but right now they were little more than a distraction she could well do without. All talk of some nebulous future which would occur a year later had no interest for her. She had deliberately shrunk her horizons to the next test, the next essay that she must write along with her application to another university abroad. It would be wonderful if she got admission to Stanford but she wasn’t about to bank on it. She had to secure a seat in a university which would give her a hefty scholarship. If her eldest brother could do it, so could she.

  Jasoda was dead set against Janhavi going to college because even the whiff of a scandal would mean that the girl would be considered a whore and remain a spinster forever. Not just that, she would bring shame upon the whole family. But she had finally caved in when Himmat was visiting from the States. ‘Oh I’m not denying that there’s always a chance that Janhavi will develop a crush or fall desperately in love with some yokel or a very smart young man. But she’s got a solid head on her shoulders and you know as well as I that while she wants to do a hundred things like mountain climbing, table tennis, any kind of sports; she’s dead serious about her studies. And there’s one other thing.’ Himmat laughed. ‘She doesn’t know how to lie. Remember her telling us that she had had three mighty meals every day when you mentioned that I had starved myself for a week because of her? That’s your best guarantee instead of making her swear in front of Prathama Devi.’

  Himmat was right. The girl, woman now, had enough and more friends than you could count. It was obvious some of the boys were crazy about her. Sharana was an old-fashioned town much given to gossip and an insatiable appetite for scandal. Boys and girls didn’t mix, go on picnics or argue and fight about politics, films, books, science or what have you. They did now. She brought all her friends, boys and girls, home. Jasoda knew every one of them by name and she was their ‘ontie’. Every few months Janhavi threw a party. They played both Bollywood and Western pop music of every variety and danced to it till eleven in the night when Jasoda set up a buffet dinner. Never mind how much food she laid on the table, they managed to finish it all.

  Janhavi got at least one proposal a week. Her answer was always the same. ‘Put in an application. You will get an answer six years later.’

  ‘But you said that last year too,’ the boys would complain.

  ‘I know. But what can I say? Too many applicants.’

  There was always some young man who accidentally dropped a handwritten note on Janhavi’s lap or passed a lewd comment in the hope that it would underline his macho daring and make him unforgettable. The one she found to be a 24/7 pest was Manoj Kumar, the son of the corporator from the Sharana constituency. He had a Harley Davidson which made a racket, she thought, even when it was stationary. But God help you if you were within a radius of a hundred miles while he was riding it. His way of impressing her was to raise the engine and let the bloody thing fart till she was willing to stab and murder both the rider and the bike. He circled around her any time he saw her standing alone but fortunately didn’t propose a date at the midnight hour or a rendezvous in the public garden. He sent her flowers and a dozen boxes of mithai which had so much clarified butter, you put on weight just by looking at it.

  In the last year of college, actually in the last four months, Janhavi got to know Sanjoy Baruah, an Assamese student whom her friends preferred to call the Chinaman. His father was the head warden of the Purabi Game Sanctuary three hundred and seventy kilometres from Sharana. Sanjoy was a little too earnest and aloof. The word was that all he was waiting for was to pass his finals and head for the London School of Economics where he intended to do his PhD. Soon the original story had been spiced up and it was now believed that Sanjoy would not rest till he bec
ame the head of the World Bank or, at the very least, economic advisor to the Government of India. Janhavi had little interest in the man till her friends challenged her to a dare: bring him down a notch or two and make him realize that unfortunately he was nothing more than human. Things didn’t quite work out the way they were supposed to. Sanjoy was not snooty, just horribly shy. Janhavi endeavoured to draw him out but ended up being drawn to him.

  Dear Quid Pro Quo,

  It’s exactly twelve years since I left India and now in less than six months you will have graduated. Both Alexa and I can’t wait to welcome you to our home and show my little sister off to my friends and colleagues. The Stanford Environmental Studies Program is one of the most sought after in the country but your scores in JEE and other tests are better than excellent and I doubt if anyone would deny you admission. On the contrary, I’ll bet they’ll give you a full scholarship.

  How is Pawan? Has he showed up at home recently? You can’t imagine how often I have tried to get him over for at least a visit. I have no doubt that he would be a hit here and despite the fact that he has no degrees to his name, he’s bound to be a huge success. Even in Mumbai, when we lived on the pavement, I rarely sat shooting the breeze with him but there was a bond between us that has not diminished one bit even though we haven’t been together for so long.

  And how is Kishen? I believe there’s a new polyclinic in Sharana and one of the doctors there has been working on him and our brother has improved enormously.

  Tell Maa that Alexa wants to invite Kishen and her to the States for a visit after you come over. When would she like to come?

  Dear Janhavi, you make us so proud.

  Love,