Mahashweta (15 page)

‘Anupama, do you consider yourself unfortunate?’

‘No, Satya. Of the thousands of flowers that blossom on a tree only a few will bear fruit. And out of those few fruits, insects and squirrels will eat some. The tree does not keep anything for itself. Does that mean that the life of the tree is wasted? I have great friends and good students, and I am economically independent. I neither worry about the past, nor brood over the future. I accept life as it comes and I don’t have any regrets.’

T
he morning breeze was pleasant but there was a nip in the air. Anand wrapped a scarf around his neck, afraid that the weather would give him a cold, and then a cough.

In
life,
every
decision
has
a
side-effect,
too,
he mused,
and
we
should
always
calculate
the
pros
and
cons
of
a
particular
course
of
action
before
taking
a
decision.
But
somehow.
 
.
 
.
Anand sighed. His mind stubbornly continued to recall the things he wished to forget, made a conscious effort to forget. He tried to rationalize his decisions, but his mind was in constant turmoil.

Normally, he took his morning walk in his garden, which was spread over an acre of land. There were so many fruit trees and flower-beds that the combined fragrance would waft in the breeze and make the entire house smell sweet. When Girija came from Bangalore with her baby daughter for a visit, the gardener plucked the flowers from various plants and strung them for her to wear in her hair. Radhakka was no longer interested in all those things; she had grown old, and arthritis had crippled her body.

And what of Anupama? Anand’s thoughts stopped as he reached the parijata tree. The ground below it was covered with its beautiful and delicate flowers. Radhakka always said, ‘This is the flower brought by Lord Krishna to please his queen, Rukmini.’ As far as Anand was concerned, the parijata always reminded him of Anupama.

When he had left for England, his heart had been in India. Anand was very ambitious by nature. In an attempt to discourage him from going, Anupama had said, ‘We just got married. Why do you have to go to England now? We already have everything we could possibly need. Besides, Mother is growing old; we should stay near her.’ Anand had told her, ‘Anu, you don’t understand life. If you go to England and get a degree, then the people here respect you. And, after all, it is just for three years.’ His mother’s wishes and his wife’s entreaties had not dissuaded him in the least.

In England, Anand had met Nalini Pathak. She was a doctor from Bombay, who believed that, with her fair skin, green eyes, and auburn hair, she was very beautiful. Anand, however, thought she was not a patch on Anupama. Nalini was hurt when he made no attempts to be friendly with her. She had approached him one evening and said, ‘Anand, don’t you have any time at all to talk to your colleagues?’

‘No, I hardly get any free time.’

‘This is the best period of our lives. We are young and we don’t have any responsibilities; we should enjoy ourselves now.’

‘That is true, Nalini. But this is also the time for us to study and build our careers.’ Anand cut her short and went away.

He was eagerly waiting for Anupama to arrive. Then, Nalini would understand the meaning of real beauty. He would feel happy for days after speaking to Anupama or receiving a letter from her. He could have brought her with him, but his mother had put her foot down. ‘Anand, I have accepted the girl you have chosen, and she should accept my condition. She can go only after the Lakshmi puja is completed successfully. Don’t hurt me by saying no.’

Anand could not refuse his mother’s plea. She had not only consented to the alliance without a fuss but had also borne the expenditure of the entire wedding. Had it not been for her, he would never have been able to marry his dream girl. It was a question of two months. He would bide his time and somehow get through the separation. Anand had no way of anticipating the tornado that would sweep through his life.

It had begun with the fateful letter he received from Radhakka. Though it contained only a few lines, it broke his heart.

Your
wife
Anupama
has
a
white
patch
on
her
foot,
which
she
had
concealed
from
everyone.
It
seems
she
has
been
taking
treatment
secretly
from
before
the
marriage.
Girija
had
also
suspected
it.
Now
she
has
gone
to
her
father’s
place.
I
have
spoken
to
the
doctor
and
he
says
it
might
take
a
long
time
to
cure
her.
She
must
complete
the
treatment
before
coming
back.
The
presence
of
a
woman
with
a
white
patch
is
not
acceptable
during
auspicious
occasions
such
as
Lakshmi
puja;
I
will
not
risk
the
purity
of
the
household.
That
is
my
faith
and
belief.

Anand was aghast. He read the letter several times, unable to imagine Anupama disfigured with white patches. Anupama’s letter reached him the next day. He opened it reluctantly—it contained her version of the story.

Anand had always had a weakness for beauty. It inspired him to always choose the best of everything. The financial status of his family had only served to encourage his predilection. His friends had often joked, ‘Hey Anand, considering you take so long to choose your clothes, how will you find someone to marry? You will probably be old by the time you get married. We may not have the opportunity to see your bride at all.’

But Anand had married before any of his friends, and his bride had been the most beautiful girl in the neighbourhood. His friends had even been a bit jealous of his good fortune. ‘Congratulations, Anand. She fulfils all your criteria,’ they had said. Anand had felt then that he was the luckiest man on earth. Anupama was not just his wife, she was the index of his pride.

When Anand had first found out that she had leukoderma, he was filled with revulsion. As a doctor he knew that it was not always curable. If it did not respond to treatment, it would spread to her face, to her red lips, her beautiful fingers. . .everywhere. He did not wish to imagine how she would look. There was nothing he could do, and the more he thought about her, the uglier she became in his imagination. What would his friends say? ‘Oh! Look at poor Anand. He takes so much time to choose a simple shirt, and if the shirt starts to fade, he discards it. What will he do with his wife?’ Some would say, ‘Serves him right for being such a perfectionist.’

Anand had never experienced failure in his life till then. Life had always been a bed of roses for him. Some people thought it was luck, but his mother belived that it was the result of her prayers. Facing disappointment for the first time in his life, he found that he was unable to cope with it. Unlike his mother, Anand knew for sure that there had been no white patch on Anupama’s foot before their marriage.
I
wish
Anupama
had
had
this
condition
before
we
got
married.
Things
would
have
been
so
different
then.

He met Nalini Pathak on his way back from college a few days later. She said, ‘Oh Anand, have you already started preparing for the exams?’

Anand did not reply. He was lost in thought about life’s exams, which were far more difficult.
Once
you
fail,
it
is
the
end.
This
is
the
only
life
we
have—who
knows
for
sure
if
one
is
reborn?
We
can
enjoy
or
destroy
our
life.
Everything
is
in
our
own
hands,
mused Anand. He had to make a decision. Anupama had begged him to let her join him in England to escape malicious talk back home. But if she joined him here, there would be others who would talk.

Nalini Pathak would say, ‘Anand, I am so sorry about Anupama. I think she should go to a good dermatologist.’ Every imagined word was hurtful.

Anupama’s letter had come some weeks ago, but Anand had not replied to it. Anand began to rationalize.
Anupama
is
being
treated
by
the
best
doctor.
I
shall
wait
and
see
what
happens.
There
is
no
way
I
can
call
avva
and
ask
her
to
take
Anupama
back.
She
is
old-fashioned,
and
once
she
makes
up
her
mind,
she
won’t
change.
And
in
such
a
situation
it
is
better
that
Anupama
is
with
her
parents
rather
than
avva.
I’m
sure
Anupama
will
overcome
any
hurdles
she
faces.
Did
she
not
sell
a
thousand-rupee
ticket
to
a
stranger
like
me?
And
did
she
not
have
the
courage
to
stand
in
front
of
thousands
of
people
and
enact
scenes
of
sorrow,
of
passion
without
feeling
awkward?
It’s
best
if
she
handles
the
present
situation
on
her
own.
I
shall
write
to
her
after
some
time,
once
everyone
has
calmed
down.
She
will
also
feel
better
about
it.

In the meantime, he received a letter from her father, begging for his daughter’s happiness. Anand thought about his unborn children. Though it had not been proved that the disease was hereditary, he couldn’t take the risk. If his children were also affected, then his state would be the same as Shamanna’s. Anand shivered at the thought of that humiliation. Even in the cold English winter, he started sweating. The only way to get out of the mess was to divert his attention.

Anand immersed himself in work, taking on extra duties in the hospital. He forgot that there was a helpless young girl waiting for his decision, somewhere in a village thousands of miles away.

Anand continued to receive letters from his mother. While they dwelt on her own health and conveyed news of the family, there was never any mention of Anupama. He began to write to his mother less frequently, but would call her up once in a while. India had become synonymous with bad memories for him. Anupama’s letters arrived—full of tears, difficulties, and information about the progress of the disease. After a while they stopped coming.

Then Girija’s marriage was fixed. Anand flew down days before the wedding like a guest. His mother made it a point to introduce him informally to many people, and he soon became aware of her intentions.

His mother broached the topic once Girija had left for her in-laws’ place. ‘Anand, I am worried about you. Now that Girija has married well, I want you to settle down, too.’