Mahashweta (3 page)

Anand drove in silence and the girls, too, did not talk. When they reached the hostel, all of them alighted, and Anupama said, ‘Thank you, doctor.’

‘You’re welcome, Anupama. Your play was excellent.’

‘All thanks to people like you who bought tickets and encouraged us to host the show.’

Anand smiled and started the car. He was leaving behind him the most beautiful girl in the world. . .and his heart.

All the girls turned towards their respective rooms, too tired to talk. Sumithra and Anupama, who shared a room, continued to walk together.

They had been friends and room-mates for the last six years. They were like sisters, and could sense what was going on in each other’s mind. Although they were poles apart in nature, they liked each other a lot, and their lives had become intertwined. Whenever she bought a new sari, Sumi would insist that Anupama try it on first.

While changing into their nightclothes, Sumi asked suddenly, ‘Anu, where did you discover Dr Anand?’

‘Sumi, don’t be silly! It seems he is Desai Uncle’s assistant. Quite a rich man, too. . .Somehow I managed to sell him two thousand-rupee tickets.’

‘When did you see him first?’

‘A fortnight back. When I was in Desai Uncle’s house. I was rehearsing for the play, and saw him from the first floor. He had come in his Mercedes. I’d hoped he would buy the thousand-rupee ticket. But I left as soon as you called and told me to return to the hostel, so I could not meet him that day. Later, I went to the hospital to sell tickets and met him there.’

‘Anu, you are a super saleswoman! By the way, you were fabulous as Mahashweta today. When you were sobbing for Pundarika, I felt like coming onto the stage and wiping away your tears.’

Anupama laughed.

‘Tell me more about Anand.’

Anupama was about to lie down on the bed, but at that she sat up and said dramatically, ‘Miss Sumithra Devi, I do not know anything about this Anand, who is the alter ego of Pundarika, and with whom it seems you have fallen in love. If you command me, I will dig up all the details and get back to you at the earliest. I will also convey your feelings to him. Now, it is past midnight and I would like to sleep. Please, may I?’

Sumithra was annoyed. ‘Anu, you play so many roles in college dramas that acting has become second nature to you. You can hide your true feelings from everybody but me. Today you did not act. I know that you have lost your heart to Anand—he is
your
Pundarika. That is why you played the role of Mahashweta so realistically. Anand’s eyes never strayed from you. I know you will not be able to sleep tonight,’ she concluded triumphantly.

Anupama remained silent. She turned her face towards the wall and, through force of habit, started reciting her lines: ‘Like Rohini to Chandra, like Lakshmi to Narayana, am I to him. Just as the creeper depends on a tree, emotionally I depend on him. I cannot live without him, and for his sake, I am ready to renounce everything. Let society say anything it wishes. I do not care. . .’

‘Princess Mahashweta, this is not your palace. This is the girls’ hostel. And, fortunately, your Pundarika is not in the forest. He resides just a stone’s throw away. Please go to sleep. . .and goodnight!’ Sumithra laughed.

T
hough Anupama would not admit it, Sumithra was right. Anupama had felt herself drawn to Anand ever since she saw him from the first floor of Dr Desai’s house. Vasumathi had spoken of Anand occasionally, and he had captured her heart the moment she set eyes on him. As Mahashweta, when she had talked of love at first sight, she had been speaking from her own heart. However, she was a practical girl, well aware of her situation. Given the difference in their backgrounds, she knew that it would be unrealistic on her part to dream of a life with Anand. She was the eldest daughter of a poor village schoolteacher, and destined to struggle all her life. She was aware that Anand was favoured by Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth. Though she herself had the blessings of Saraswathi, the goddess of learning, Anupama’s life had never been an easy one. She also had no clue as to what Anand felt about her, and did not wish to end up with a broken heart. Reaching out for a star in the sky would only lead to disappointment.

This was the first time she had kept a secret from Sumi. Anupama had always shared her thoughts and feelings with her. But, somehow, she was reluctant to breathe a word about her feelings for Anand.

Anupama woke up early the next morning to prepare her notes. Sumithra, who was still lying in bed, mumbled lazily, ‘Anu, the play was just yesterday. But you’re up so early as usual. You always work so hard. Don’t you need a break?’

‘Sumi, if I don’t work hard I will lose my scholarship and that will be the end of my career.’

Sumithra sat up hugging a pillow and said, ‘Anu, you are completing your post-graduation this year. Why are you worried now?’

‘Sumi, that is the very reason I’m worried. You know that from the first year of college till now, I have survived on scholarships. If I don’t secure a good rank, I won’t be able to do my PhD and I’d have to find a job.’

Sumithra was silent.

It was true that Shamanna could not afford to pay for his daughter’s education. His wife Sabakka, Anupama’s stepmother, had told her husband categorically, ‘Let us not educate her further. It might become difficult to find a husband for her. Besides, she will not support us. She has to marry and go to somebody else’s house one day.’

Anupama had been devastated. But, fortunately, she had won a scholarship and escaped from her stepmother’s clutches. Sabakka and her daughters, Vasudha and Nanda, did not like Anupama. The main reason was that Anupama was very good-looking and her stepsisters were plain. Sheer jealousy prompted them to taunt Anupama by saying that just because she could write a few lines she was too proud of herself.

Shamanna was a timid man. He was completely subservient to his second wife’s will, and was not in a position to help his eldest daughter as it was ultimately Sabakka who made all the major decisions at home. But fate had been kind to Anupama. An endowment by a generous donor for educating a girl child from the village, stipulating that if she performed well she would get a stipend every year as long as she wished to study, had come to her rescue. Anupama, who was in the final year of her MA, was still eligible for this scholarship.

In four months, Sumithra and Anupama would go their separate ways. Sumithra would go back home and get married. Though her family was very well off and could afford to pay enough dowry, sadly her dark complexion would still pose a problem.

Sumithra would often tease Anupama, ‘Anu, when I stand next to you, I could ward off the evil eye from you.’ To which Anupama would say, ‘Sumi, don’t talk such rubbish!’

Over the next few days, Anupama exercised enormous self-control and banished ‘Pundarika’ from her mind, concentrating on her studies instead.

Anupama was never far from Anand’s thoughts. He did not know anything about her save that she was a gifted actress and a lovely girl. Anand had occasionally daydreamed about the woman he would marry one day, and he was certain of one thing—she would be beautiful. The shadowy figure that had been hovering on the edges of his dreams now stood unveiled. Anupama.

His mother was a domineering woman. She was always nagging Anand to get married. But he had not given it a serious thought so far. Anand wanted a beautiful bride; his mother wanted one who could match their status in the community. Finding a girl who satisfied these conditions was proving to be rather difficult.

But now, Anand could see his bride clearly. It was Anupama, with her fair complexion, beautiful long hair and dimpled cheeks. But he did not know what she felt about him, or to which community she belonged, or even whether she was already engaged to somebody.

Deep in thought, he came to the terrace outside his room. The lovely parijata blooms reminded him of Anupama. He tried to recall the first time he had heard about her. It had been in Dr Desai’s house. Surely Vasumathi’s brother, Shrinath, would know about her. Feeling elated, he went to call Shrinath.

‘Shrinath, I want to talk to you about something.’

‘Oh! No problem. . .you can come to akka’s house.’

‘Not there. Let us meet somewhere else.’

Shrinath agreed to wait for Anand at the Kamat Hotel. Anand had never been in such a situation before, and he began to grow more and more nervous—waiting for the university results had been less nerve-racking.

Shrinath looked at him shrewdly and said, ‘What, doctor, you look like a patient today!

‘Oh, it is nothing. Why didn’t you come to see the play?’

‘I watched some of the rehearsals when Anupama and her friends came to akka’s house.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Yes. After all, her father is my brother-in-law’s friend.’

‘Where is she from?’

‘Oh, so that’s the reason you have invited me here for tea,’ Shrinath said shrewdly. ‘If I had known this earlier, I wouldn’t have settled for anything less than a dinner!’

‘Yes, I do want to learn more about Anupama,’ confessed Anand.

‘Why? Do you want to marry her?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you have the courage to disobey your mother and marry her?’

Once again despair clouded his mind. Did she belong to some other community, or was she already engaged? A beautiful girl like Anupama might have been ‘spoken for’ a long time back.

Shrinath read his mind. ‘Anand, she belongs to our community, but she is from an extremely poor background.’

Anand was relieved. He knew that his mother was very keen on money, but as long as the girl belonged to the right community, she would come round. Shrinath, however, was more worldly-wise. He tried to point out that Radhakka might not be happy with a match that was not of the same status, but Anand said joyfully, ‘Avva will agree. My happiness is more important to her than money.’ His filial love had made him blind to his mother’ weaknesses.

Shrinath kept quiet.

When Anand told Radhakka that he had chosen the girl he wished to marry, she listened in silence. Radhakka was a woman of few words. She never let her emotions get the better of her. No one could ever make out what was going through her mind. Though Radhakka was in her early fifties now, traces of her beauty still remained. After all, she had not known much suffering in her life. Radhakka had sharp, piercing eyes that never held any sign of gentleness or friendliness. On the contrary, her striking looks made people nervous. They sometimes said that if she had been born in the last century, she would definitely have been a queen.

Her late husband, Gopala Rao, had been a very successful contractor, but he had always been scared of his wife. They had two children, Anand and Girija.

Anand was born five years into her marriage—the result of many pilgrimages and prayers for a male child. He was the apple of her eye, a fountain of joy in her barren life. She would smile when he smiled; and when he wept, gloom would descend on her. Even though they had several servants at home, it was she who fed and looked after him. Anand grew up in a sheltered environment. He was good at studies and extremely obedient to his mother. He always felt she was the person responsible for all his progress. Anand inherited his mother’s looks and his father’s intelligence.

His sister Girija was born five years after him. She had been brought up like a princess. Good-looking and extremely arrogant, Girija behaved harshly with everybody, and nobody had the courage to remonstrate with her. Radhakka would always find excuses for her conduct, ‘Oh, she is only a child, after all,’ she would say. Girija was not good at studies, but no one bothered about it.

Their house was named Lakshmi Nivas. It was aptly named in every way—it was a big mansion in a large plot of land. Every Deepavali, Radhakka would organize a big puja for the goddess Lakshmi, and the entire town would be invited for the celebration.

Radhakka was extremely orthodox and narrow-minded. When her husband died, the thought that she was a widow made her feel very uncomfortable although she had no financial worries. With the death of her husband, she felt she could no longer celebrate the puja of the goddess, given the attitudes and conventions prevailing in the small town where she lived. She believed that only Anand’s wife could now perform the Lakshmi puja, and she was waiting for him to get married. Although he had won a scholarship to go to England for higher studies, Radhakka would not let him go until after his marriage.

The village schoolmaster, Shama Rao,—Shamanna, as he was called—was teaching mathematics in the verandah of his home to a group of students who were all from well-off families. In keeping with the usual custom in the village, no money was paid to the teacher, but the children brought him coconuts, vegetables or other produce from their fields.

Shamanna’s mind was not on what he was teaching. He was impatiently waiting to hear the sound of the village postman’s cycle bell. Since the small village was located some distance from the district headquarters, the postman came once a week. He not only delivered the letters, but, if necessary, also read them out and wrote the replies as dictated to him. He would stay at the village master’s house and leave the following morning for the next village.

Vasudha, Shamanna and Sabakka’s daughter, was helping her mother in the kitchen. Though Sabakka was busy chopping vegetables, she came out every five minutes to see if the postman had come.

The postman, Papanna, brought a pile of letters when he arrived. There were two letters for Shamanna. He opened one and began reading. The children noticed that he was occupied and started whispering among themselves, the whispers quickly turning into a quarrel. The noise distracted Shamanna. He was already upset by the contents of the letter, and this unruly behaviour angered him further.

‘Children, go home now. For your homework, write out the multiplication tables from twenty-one to thirty, three times each, and show it to me tomorrow.’

The children behaved as if the doors of a cage had been opened, and they disappeared within moments.

The letter Shamanna was reading was from the father of a boy who had come with a marriage proposal. Anupama, though the eldest, had told her father very clearly that she did not want to marry just yet as she wished to pursue her studies, or start working. She had also requested her father to go ahead with Nanda’s marriage. As Nanda was not interested in studying and was ready to get married, he had tried to arrange her marriage, and she had been ‘seen’ by a prospective bridegroom and his family.