The Fifth Man (11 page)

Seema shut the door after Aritra had left. The hall was packed with expensive objects. A chandelier in the centre, casting its light on the revolving bookcase with the encyclopaedia, and on the statue or plants set against each of the walls. Low sofas scattered around the room. Three-legged tables with surfaces resembling brass trays from Moradabad. At first glance the house would be mistaken for the home of an art enthusiast. But the owner was not a connoisseur at all. The owner’s wife didn’t understand art either. The interior decorator who had done up the flat had fulfilled her own unmet desires. With time hanging heavy on her hands, Seema had also been taking a course in interior decoration. But while she was busy with her course, it provided Bikram a golden opportunity to stray. So Seema had given up her course midway to settle herself back at home.

She found herself crying. Tears streamed from her eyes, her heart ached. But she hadn’t realized it. She had discovered some things in the bedroom that had brought fresh confirmation of her husband’s infidelity. Mohan would disclose nothing even at the pain of death. What he had revealed was inadvertent.

Going into the bathroom, Seema washed her face with imported soap at the pink basin. Covering her face with foam, she opened her eyes slightly to look at herself in the mirror. In the glow of the pink tiles and the soft light, the foam-covered face in the mirror looked like it was part of a dream. Rinsing the foam would reveal an incredible, enchanting, exquisite woman with a commanding personality, a signal from whose eyes made worlds break up and join again. Everyone knew of them, Seema too. Cleopatra, Noor Jehan, even Mata Hari. Seema thought of them every time she used soap. Slowly, reluctantly, she rinsed her face, observing the emergence of a disappointed girl.

Her brother was sitting on the tree, throwing guavas down and saying, ‘Catch, Seema.’ A little later she said, ‘I want to climb the tree too.’

Her brother said, ‘Hmmph! You! Stay where you are.’ Seema had become exhausted seeing her brother, just two years older, always perched higher than her. A constant sense of inferiority in her head. As though her brother was always on a pedestal, the giver, and she, eternally lower, the recipient. When she tried to force her way on to the tree, she was bitten by ants, her legs swelling. Her brother said, ‘Will you dare climb my tree again? Ever again? Never forget your limits.’ Seema’s father would visit on the weekend. Or leave on a train. Higher than the ground. Much higher than Seema. Arriving from a distance, going away into the distance. Out of reach.

She was safe as long as her father or brother was near her. There was nothing to be afraid of. No one could harm her. With Bikram next to her, too, Seema was a mere atom. She would have to accept whatever he did, without protesting. Or else she could be flung far, far out of her security net. A great fear. How strange Bikram was. He used to be a music teacher in a small town, singing in his generous voice at local soirees and being invited by neighbours. He started by supplying sand from Magra to builders. Neither the lorry nor the sand was his own. He would talk his way into getting contracts, without any assets of his own. Then, summoning courage, the Bombay Mail with Seema alongside. Incredible determination, boldness, abilities. Seema graduated from Bombay University, did a course in nutrition in Pune, a beautician’s course too, but she could not match Bikram’s prowess. She did get the prince she had dreamt of in her childhood, but an eternal question mark remained over the last episode of the fairy-tale where they were supposed to have lived happily ever after. This made Seema hysterical at times, forcing her to tear out her hair, such pain, such discomfort, spreading across her body and her mind. Bikram didn’t even keep their son at home. First he had the boy admitted to a boarding school in Ooty, and now, in distant Dehradun.

Locking the door of the flat, Seemachal treaded darkness in daylight to walk like a spirit, her eyes guided only by the lights in Ari-da’s house. How happy Neelam-di was. How nice Ari-da was. So much affection, caring, compassion. Ari-da had always loved her. From the time they used to live in Pune, next to one another. Ari-da had not become as successful as he was now, nor had Bikram. Ari-da had cared for her like his own sister ever since then. Today all of them were chatting together. Bikram’s neglect was palpable. Amidst this humiliation, Ari-da had accompanied her with the suitcase, sat with her in the flat. Did he understand Seema’s sadness? Even if he did, he didn’t say it. He only wanted to wipe it away with fondness and feeling. Seema felt all the tears in her breast welling up for Ari-da. Only there, only in Ari-da’s kind heart would there be room for all her humiliation, neglect, and the agony of unbearable daily jealousy.

‘No tickets, no problems, we’ll drive,’ bellowed Bikram. ‘But I don’t understand why you’ve planned to travel at night.’

‘That’s when it’s cool. We’ll have to bear the intense heat at Ajanta and Ellora in any case. If we also have to travel all that way in the heat, any head except an idiot’s will ache,’ answered Aritra.

Neelam had been sitting quietly for a long time. Esha was in the kitchen. The aroma of chicken in the pot. Seema and Aritra were absorbed in their argument with Bikram. Ari wanted Bikram to try getting tickets, or else hire a Land Rover. Bikram insisted on following the bus in his own car. Neelam felt as though she was visiting someone else’s house. Someone she knew only slightly. The stiffness had not been dispelled. She was unable to match her enthusiasm to theirs. She was surrounded by an arc of extreme loneliness. There would soon be a time when no one would be able to enter this magic circle, and she would not be able to escape it either. She felt choked.

Pupu parked her scooter and came up then. She had been to a friend’s place early in the morning. ‘You’re here, Bikram Kaku?’ she said. ‘You’re very late. Kakima! Why didn’t you come earlier? Have you met Mashi?’

Bikram reached out and grabbed her. A big smile on his face. Seema said, ‘Have you grown taller again?’

‘I look taller every time you see me. If I keep growing at this rate you won’t need a flag staff anymore. You can fix the flag to my ear on Republic Day. What were you discussing, all of you?’

Aritra said, ‘We’re going to Aurangabad tomorrow night, Pup. You and your mother are staying back. You’ll be all right, won’t you? Such a bad time for your exams.’

‘Why isn’t Ma going?’ asked Pupu. ‘Is it because of me?’

‘Naturally,’ said Aritra.

‘Absolutely no need. I can stay at the hostel with Prita for a few days. Why should Ma be stuck here? I wish I could go too. Such a fantastic group to travel with.’

‘Your mother won’t agree to leaving you behind, take it from me,’ said Aritra.

Neelam said in a subdued voice, ‘It won’t be easy staying in the hostel and taking your exams, Pupu.’

‘It’s most convenient in the hostel, Ma. I’m going to miss Ajanta anyway, but if you miss it too . . . and Esha Mashi doesn’t visit us every day.’

‘But we haven’t got a ticket for your mother.’

‘Hardly matters,’ said Bikram. ‘What’s the use of a big car that remains empty?’

Pupu said, ‘You and Kakima are going too, aren’t you, Bikram Kaku? I’m sure you’ll be singing on the way. What has Dr Roy decided, Baba? Is he going with you?’

‘He is.’

‘How I wish my exam could be deferred.’

‘Would you have enjoyed travelling with old people like us?’ asked Aritra.

‘Who’s old? You people? A most interesting lot. Esha Mashi, Dr Roy, oooh! Bikram singing, Seema singing, think of me when you sing, Seema.’

Something had got into Neelam’s eyes. They were watering. ‘Splash water in your eyes, Neelam-di,’ said Seema. ‘Don’t rub them.’ Neelam left the room. Aritra was not at all keen on Neelam’s going.

Mahanam, Seema and Bikram left around noon after lunch at Neelam’s house. The bus would leave at night. Neelam would travel on Mahanam’s ticket. Bikram had suggested that Seema, Esha and Neelam should all go in his car. There was plenty of space, it didn’t matter if one of the tickets was wasted. No problem. Arita said, ‘Yes, three women with you, you will show off and drive the car off a cliff.’ Bikram and the rest would wait one night for them. The next day they would go to Ellora together.

Neelam discovered that after the long uphill and downhill journey, they had finally arrived at the plains stretching to the horizon. The sun was rising over Aurangabad. Fallow land as well as farms lay on both sides of the road. Aritra on one side of her and Esha on the other were both sunk in deep sleep. Neelam had kept herself awake all night. Softly she called, ‘Wake up, Esha. We’ve reached Aurangabad, Ari.’ Neelam felt as though Pupu had been standing by her side all night, holding a flaming torch. What a nightmarish journey!

They had planned to bathe at the rest house and then leave for Ellora. On the way they would pass the Daulatabad fort. The Maharashtra Tourism bus would leave around eight-thirty. When they got off the bus they found Bikram, Seema and Mahanam ready and waiting. Bikram said, ‘We’ll all go in the car behind the bus. I’ve worked it out with the guide.’

‘That’s best,’ said Neelam. ‘It’s difficult to get into and out of a high bus all the time.’

It was a tight squeeze. Mahanam had occupied a lion’s share of the space on the front seat, barely leaving room for Bikram’s elbows. Aritra’s leanness was trying to compensate for it. Whatever space Seema and Esha had left on the back seat had been utilized by Neelam. ‘It’s quite comfortable,’ said Neelam happily. Aritra said, ‘Make sure your comfort doesn’t mean discomfort for others,’ said Aritra. ‘Not to worry, Bhabi,’ said Bikram. ‘Why don’t you lean back, Esha-di, I’ll shift forward.’ Mahanam said, ‘You should exercise, Neelam, if only out of consideration for others.’ Neelam said, ‘I can’t bear all this criticism anymore.’ Esha was silent. She and Piku had a pact—whenever either of them travelled anywhere, they always wrote to the other one with every last detail. Esha hadn’t written to Piku yet. She was wondering whether to write tonight.

The interiors of the car smelt of middle-age desire. It was redolent in the air. Had a young girl like Pupu been here, the tender scent of her personality would have permeated everything. Everyone—at least, most of them—could indistinctly sense a powerful sexual whirlwind willing itself within them. Aritra felt a strong desire for Esha. Seema wanted her husband, whom she had never had in the fullest sense. Bikram wanted Esha if possible, or else Neelam, or else any other woman except Seema, whom he was habituated to. Neelam wanted Mahanam. Mahanam did not want anyone in particular, but a desire for desire was taking shape silently, swamping his very existence. Sensing its presence within a mist of consciousness, he was stricken by the possibility of a bond in the near future and yet, the longing in his body and mind were a natural outcome of the demands of his soul. Understanding this wish and its possible form of fulfilment was building a quiet expectation. Esha wanted Ajanta, complete with all its nuanced shades of historical, mythical, artistic and human form and colour. This wanting was so deep that she was oblivious to the scent of sex in the atmosphere. Neelam was seated on one side of her, Seema on the other. No one seemed to perceive her silent, almost concealed presence between them. She too was not aware of anyone else. She always turned deeply self-absorbed when she was confronted with an extreme situation. She didn’t want to talk, her tongue seemed to go to sleep, her throat was sunk in a dream. Her limbs grew heavy. It needed great effort to be able to move again.

The walls of Daulatabad fort began a long way away from the citadel. Nothing behind them was visible. Only the dilapidated wall kept flowing endlessly. The bus had stopped. Armed with sunglasses, umbrellas, flasks and camera, the tourists had got off. After Bikram had parked, Esha stood by herself at a distance. She did not want to enter. The others were walking on ahead. Why waste time on a historical object like this fort, whose testimony you had already taken, which would offer you nothing by way of capital for living? How do you know it won’t? Instinct. You could be wrong. Intuition doesn’t make a mistake all of a sudden. Bringing this little debate with herself to a close, Esha remained outside the fort. There was a shop beneath a makeshift roof, with a few scattered wooden benches. For the first time on this journey, Esha asked for a glass of Maharashtra’s famous sugarcane juice, not so much out of thirst as out of the need to pass the time. People stared if you sat idly. She would have to ask for another glass if necessary.

Esha had been prepared to sit by herself for a long time. However, she saw a few members of her group returning. Not together, but each at their own pace.

Bikram was the first to arrive. Settling his bulk on a plank of wood, he began to sing a ghazal. Bikram had been introduced to Esha, but they had not become acquainted. What little he had seen had stoked his curiosity enormously. Containing it was a precondition of civility, but Bikram cared nothing for it. The slightest encouragement from Esha would have led him to express his naked inquisitiveness, but Esha was not encouraging him. She wasn’t ignoring or rebuffing him either, realized Bikram, so he wasn’t angry. The fact was that, like the alligator that knows nothing of fragrant flowers or the Great Bear, Bikram knew nothing of Esha. And yet, because externally they belonged to the same human species, he considered knowing her part of his natural rights.

Bikram was followed by Aritra. He could be seen returning before Bikram was even halfway through his song. His brows were creased. Sounding annoyed, he said, ‘Just dust everywhere. Rubbish. Not every stone is hungry enough to talk.’

‘You’re underestimating the fort, Dada,’ said Bikram. ‘There are several defence mechanisms in there. At some places footsteps echo in secret chambers at the top, elsewhere two open blades descend to decapitate intruders. The guide even demonstrates some of these in thrilling ways. In the darkness he takes away matches and torches from everyone, then announces dramatically that he’s about to show them something spectacular. When the crowd surges forward, he says, don’t move, anyone. Then he lights a single matchstick and a pit is revealed, so deep that its bottom cannot be seen.’

‘Really?’ said Esha. ‘I’m scared just to think of it. Is it safe in there? The other three are still inside.’

‘They’ll be fine,’ said Bikram. ‘Chowdhury-da here could have fallen though, he’s both restless and reckless.’ Holding his palm up in assurance, he said, ‘No Esha-ji, no one can fall in, the pit is fenced off.’

‘You’ve seen it before, then?’

‘Of course. That’s why I didn’t go inside. Have you any idea how many steps one has to climb? People used to go up on horseback—once is enough.’

‘Have you been too, Ari?’

‘No,’ said Ari grimly.

‘Why didn’t you, then? It seems interesting.’

‘Why didn’t you, for that matter?’

Bikram practically rolled with laughter. ‘See, Esha-ji, since you didn’t go, Chowdhury-da didn’t either.’

Esha only said, ‘I’m preserving my energy for Ellora and Ajanta.’

Neelam was seen returning a little later, her face red with exertion. Flopping down in the shade of the tree, she said, ‘Uff! This isn’t for me.’

Seema did not return because she was sure that Neelam and Esha would guard each other. She followed Mahanam up the steps as he went forward with unruffled but indomitable curiosity. He had to find out where it was leading him. And so, when they reached Ellora, he followed the official guide slowly past the Buddhist caves, the Jain caves, and the multistoried viharas and arrived at the courtyard of the Kailash temple, where he observed his companions looking closely at what Ellora had to offer, while the official party of tourists lagged behind, for the guide was delivering detailed lectures at the entrances to several of the caves. Since the group included two young Japanese men, the guide had to resort to broken Japanese from time to time. Mahanam brought his notebook out. Bikram and Aritra were taking photographs.

Esha said, ‘I’m going to take just a few pictures, Mahanam-da. Please guide me.’

Mahanam said, ‘Just follow me. I’m not going to take too many either.’

Neelam was finding it difficult to climb on to the high terrace. Slinging his camera round his neck, Bikram ran up to her, picking her up in his arms and depositing her on the terrace. Holding his hand out to Esha, he said, ‘I can use my other arm to pick you up too.’ Seema was skipping up the steps lightly. ‘How many times can Sita cross the Lakshman rekha and submit herself to Ravana?’ she said. Aritra shouted in Mahanam’s direction, ‘Don’t go so far ahead, Mahanam-da. The guide is out of sight, who will show us around if you’re not here?’

Mahanam had indeed walked on ahead. He had understood Bikram’s motives. The way Bikram had held Neelam in his arms to hoist her on the terrace had appeared distasteful to him. He stopped to let Aritra catch up. Appearing at the edge of the terrace, he said loudly, ‘Look up, all of you. You’ll see that the temple has been carved out of the hill. The hill is made of soft basalt. The architects had done their homework before starting on the temple. These temples or caves were not built upwards from the foundations, as is usually the case. The artists carved their way down the hillside. You can see the marks left by the chisels and hammers if you look upwards.’

Proceeding along the corridor on the left, he addressed Seema. ‘Don’t miss the relief sculptures depicting Shiva and Parvati playing dice. Parvati is rising to her feet with the support of her arm, which rests on the ground. A rustic pose. The artist has demonstrated how well he knows it. Here’s the scene of their marriage. Look at Parvati’s expression, Neelam, here too she takes the form of a bashful woman. Look at the Tripurantak Shiva, Bikram. Have you noticed, Ari, how different the imagination here is from the familiar Chola period figure of the Nataraj dancing symbolically within a ring of fire, or from the folk art figure of a pot-bellied Ashutosh? This Shiva is not four-armed. And much younger, too. These different versions of Shiva are probably the missing links in the history of the blending of Aryan and non-Aryan cultures. Like Mahishashurmardini, even in the time of war he has a reassuring smile on his face.’

‘Shiva was actually a young man at the time,’ said Bikram. ‘Don’t you see his slim waist? This was when Parvati or Durga fell in love with him. Later he became paunchy with age, and though she didn’t divorce him, Parvati lost interest. That was it, Shiva turned into a mendicant. The beggar god. I roamed the village roads seeking alms.’

Seema said, ‘Why are you bringing age into it? Many so-called young men also grow bellies. Especially considering how much the gods drank.’

‘That’s true,’ said Mahanam. ‘When the churning of the ocean created sura, or nectar, it was because they rejected it that asuras were named “asuras”, while the gods were named “suras” because they accepted it. But there is debate over whether this nectar was liqueur, liquor, or wine. It is usually considered a symbol.’