This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach (157 page)

Both boy servants working at tayee’s house as well as Gurandei’s servant Murli began to disappear between one and four o’clock. When questioned, the servants would say simply, ‘The secretary memsahib gives Parsu the afternoon off. Servants get time off everywhere. We also want an afternoon break.’ The neighbourhood servants would get together in afternoons and play cards or gamble with cowry shells for chips.

Tayee was annoyed with Tara and began to denigrate her, ‘Why’d she worry about her servant? Her household hardly needs any attention. She throws her old bua some crumbs from her table and uses her like a slave. Peons from office work at her home. She’s happy when something bad happens to others.’

Gurandei said harshly, ‘If she says she didn’t encourage Murli to ask for time off, I’ll call him here and let’s see her deny that before him. Then I’ll deal with him.’

Tara was reluctant to defend herself or settle the matter in a meeting with the servants. That would have meant her arguing and quarrelling with the servants before her neighbours.

Gurandei stood on the first-floor landing and began to speak in a voice that other neighbours could hear, ‘If she wants to act snooty because of her car and her government job, she can do it in her own house. We don’t live on handouts from her so she can’t intimidate us. Why didn’t she get married until now? Wants no husband or children to worry over, but is jealous of other’s children and family. That’s why she has so much money but is still cursed by God to remain unmarried.’

Most of Tara’s neighbours stopped talking with her for inciting their servants to ask for a break in the afternoon.

Tara was beginning to regret her decision not to move to a new residence. In 1953 she could have been allocated a newly built, four-room government
accommodation on Ferozeshah Road. To show their neighbourly concern at that time, the families living in her gali had asked Tara not to leave. Tara had been in two minds whether she’d be able to manage a bigger flat and the ensuing lifestyle. The rent would have been deducted in proportion to her salary. She would have needed to employ another servant. In the end it would have cost her an extra 100 rupees every month. Mr Siddhu, a deputy secretary in the ministry of finance, had implored her to please let him have that flat and she had continued to stay where she was. She was now sorry she hadn’t moved at that time. She would have lived among cultured, well-behaved people, removed from the messy situation she now faced. She had also considered living in the Working Women’s Hostel like Miss Haldar, but had given up the idea because it would have meant chucking Purandei out.

Tara felt there was no one who could give her succour. Sometimes Saroj came and told her what Tara’s neighbours were talking about her, and then pour out all her troubles and problems of her family. That kind of talk was no consolation to Tara. It rather depressed her and made her feel she was on her own.

There were only a handful of people whom Tara could visit or who would come over to her flat. She now found Chaddha’s endless political discussions and his constant criticism of government at Mercy’s home dreary and repetitive. Tara was not prepared to accept that the government so far had not done anything or that everything could be accomplished in one day. Sheelo was more concerned than Mercy about getting Tara married. Convinced that Tara had not been able to forget Asad, she would begin to talk about him with a solemn face in a confidential tone. Tara had told her not to talk about Asad, but Sheelo couldn’t help commiserate and say to Tara, ‘So what if he’s married to someone else?’

Going to visit Kanchan meant having to put up with the always grumpy Mrs Agarwal. Mrs Agarwal was sure that Tara had connived to get Narottam married beneath his station. If she went to see Dr Shyama, she would offer to take Tara to the club or some bridge party or would begin her litany of complaints against Mrs De.

When Tara got bored with the rest of her friends and fed up with being alone with Purandei at home, she would go to visit Prabha Saxena in the evening.

Prabha Saxena was now a deputy secretary in the ministry of education. She was known in the secretariat for her administrative ability and air of
quiet authority, and her quickness of mind and objectivity. Tara, because of her closeness to Prabha, had come to learn her inner thoughts and details of her personal life over time. Just as Rawat had been Tara’s mentor, Prabha too had taken care of Tara and stood by her. Rawat, not one to mince words, had noticed Prabha’s fondness for Tara and had joked one day in the club by parodying a Sanskrit shloka, ‘Tara’s comeliness arouses masculine feelings in Miss Saxena.’

Tara was probably the only person Prabha could open her heart to. At times, to lighten her own mood, Prabha would tell Tara about her past affairs. Tara thought her stories were another version of Dr Shyama’s tales. She knew Prabha didn’t get married for the sake of her career in the civil service, but lately she had become increasingly disillusioned with her success and the recognition. Now when Prabha was close to retirement, worries about the future were constantly on her mind. She would take a deep breath and say, ‘Girl, don’t you make the same mistake as I did. Look at my life. I’ll leave whatever possessions and money I have to some nephew or niece, but that won’t make them my flesh and blood. I’ve done all I could do in this life and from now on its downhill for me. When I think back over the past years I feel as if I wasted my chances to fulfil my womanhood. Nothing in the world matters more than having the sense of satisfaction that comes from caring for a child you gave birth to. No one asserted his right over me or called me his own, I never had a tiff with anyone or cried for anyone, never cooked for anyone and waited for anyone to come home.’

Tara felt an unease listening to Prabha’s musings. It brought a frightening picture of her past life to her mind, she was standing alone surrounded by a ghostly silence in a desolate place, and she wanted to scream, ‘One has to live the life one is fated to live. It can’t be helped if one has a lonely life. Am I also not alone! It’s natural for us to have desires and wishes, but what’s the point of feeling sorry for oneself if they remain unfulfilled.’ Tara felt something clutch at her heart whenever she had such thoughts.

The weather was continually unpleasant in September. Either it rained, making it difficult to go out because of the mud in the streets or the air was so still that it felt hot and closed and very inconvenient. It was hard to spend all day reading, especially reading without any purpose. Whom could Tara pay a visit to? She didn’t want to listen once again to same discussion on the same subjects, but if she stayed home alone, all her worries and problems
would niggle at her mind. One way of taking her mind off her troubles was to go for a long drive, or to busy herself in doing trivial, everyday things. At times she’d put on make-up and dress up in fine clothes. Looking pretty gave her a good feeling. Then she’d go and spend some time among people in a bazaar. She’d buy an expensive sari or something similar to reassure herself, ‘I feel contented. I can do anything I want. What more can I want from life?’ Spending money made her feel good about herself.

Dressing well also had its problems. She would invite stares from people, or remarks would be called out at her. When the Punjabi owner of the furniture store would see her dressed nicely, he would pass a double entendre to the shop owner next door, ‘Would you like some Black and White?’

The second shop owner would say, ‘Bhai, who can afford that kind of high class stuff. I just look and get my fix.’

Tara understood what they meant. She often wore clothes that were black and white, and her car was also black and white. In Connaught Place, she would hear behind her back, ‘Hey, that same
maal
is here.’ Tara would feel like laughing rather than get angry at such Romeos, but would grit her teeth to hide her smile. It was better not to give anybody ideas.

That evening she was again alone at home. She got dressed in an expensive white georgette sari. She had thought of going into a movie theatre without checking out what was playing. Then she had a better idea. She would go to Karol Bagh and get Sheelo’s children, and Jaya from Faiz Bazaar, and treat them to ice cream. She loved to play with children and buy toys for them. As she combed her hair and tied them carefully into a bun, she mulled over whether to go first to Karol Bagh or to Faiz Bazaar. She was adding a hundred rupee note to the cash in her purse when she heard someone knock at the door to her flat.

‘Who could come at this time?’ Tara thought irritably as she called out to Parsu to check. Despite feeling lonely, she did not want any one visitor to spoil her planned evening of fun.

‘Doctor
shaab
,’ Parsu came back and reported.

It was Nath. Tara’s irritation was washed away. She went quickly to the living room. Nath was switching on the ceiling fan.

Tara was surprised to see Nath wearing a light grey woollen shirt and grey wool trousers in the muggy heat. He was drenched with perspiration.

‘Is Doctor sahib feeling well,’ she thought anxiously. She had never seen him wear anything but white trousers and a white bush-shirt in the summer.

‘You are going out?’ Nath asked.

‘No, no. Please sit. I thought I’d go out because I was bored. Might have gone towards your bungalow. Why are you wearing these woollens?’

‘How can I explain it,’ Nath said, taking a chair. ‘Bhoop Singh has created quite a problem for me. I don’t know whether he used to take my clothes to a laundry or had them laundered by a dhobi. He didn’t leave behind any laundry receipt. Yesterday and the day before I found shirts and trousers in an almirah. I thought he may have put some clothes in storage. I checked this morning and found none. I ordered four cotton trousers at a shop in the morning on my way to the office. The man promised to have them ready by four o’clock, but they were not ready even at seven. I’ll have to go back at eight. I bought two ready-made bush-shirts. Bhoop Singh didn’t come to the office. I don’t know where he is.’

‘Where could he go?’ Tara asked with concern.

‘You don’t know?’ Nath asked. ‘Didn’t you read the newspaper? Don’t you know about the Class IV government employees’ movement?’ ‘Yes, I read about it in the newspaper, but Bhoop Singh was living at your bungalow of his own free will,’ Tara said with surprise. ‘He could’ve told you in advance if he didn’t want to live there any more. You should’ve telephoned me that you had no servant.’

The Central Secretariat Peon Union had passed a resolution: Peons are government employees. They will not work at any official’s residence. It’s not a part of their job to clean house, wash motor car, take official’s children to school or for walk, bring lunch from the official’s home to the office, fetch them tea, cigarettes or paan, or pour them a glass of water from the surahi. Such work is demeaning to them. Their job is to do officially assigned work: dust the office, fill up the surahi in the sahib’s office, and carry the files or messages from one place to another. Making peons do domestic servants’ work is to debase them and is against regulations. The Union can cite the pertinent articles and rules in the official manual in support of their demand.

The officials were affronted by the attitude of peons. They agreed on peons not cleaning the car, but deemed that the refusal to get lunch from home or tea from the canteen or to pour a glass of water as impertinent behaviour. Tara had the same opinion. She had never asked her peon to work at her home, but now and then sent him to bring her tea or asked him to
draw a glass of water from the surahi placed on a low three-legged stool in her office. For such chores her peon would get the customary baksheesh of two rupees at Diwali, Dussehra and Holi festivals. Last year Durga Pande had put his palms together and pleaded with her for a loan of thirty rupees to buy medicine for his wife. That loan was still unpaid.

On the day Tara had read the news, she had rung the bell at three o’clock to call Durga Pande to her office to make clear her stand on this issue. Without looking at him she had ordered, ‘Ask the canteen waiter to bring tea.’ She had not asked him as usual to get her tea.

Tara had rung again after ten minutes to remind the peon, ‘Go to the canteen and remind the waiter to bring tea.’

Durga Pande had pleaded with his palms together, ‘Huzoor mataji, please don’t blame me. Huzoor, I have never objected even to cleaning the shoes of officer sahibs. Huzoor, why put on airs if I have to do a job. Recently some people who can read English have been recruited and they have begun to quote all kinds of rules and regulations. Mataji, will it taint my caste if I got your tea? It’s always been my job. But if I do that now, these young hotheads will spit on me, they’ll insult me.’

Tara’s anger subsided. She thought, what made a person act so meekly? What was wrong if a person resisted attempts to make him act so? She remembered what Sita used to say about the senior dispatcher in her office. She had heard similar complaints from a couple of girls who worked in other offices. It does not take long for a person to give in to the circumstances.

Nath explained that Bhoop Singh had argued with his union representatives that staying at Nath’s bungalow was his own decision and that he was capable of deciding for himself what was good or bad for him. He didn’t want anyone to intervene on his behalf. Besides he’d soon stop working because he was going to retire in seven months’ time. He said he’d rather give up his job than stop serving a kind and generous boss like Nath.

Two days previously Nath had found a crowd milling around the entrance to his bungalow on reaching home at 6.30 in the afternoon. About thirty peons had gathered outside the gate and Bhoop Singh had been standing defiantly in the veranda.

Nath had asked nervously, ‘What’s the matter?’

Bhoop Sigh’s defiance had irked the union representatives. After the
secretariat had closed, Basant Lal, a militant union official, had gone with union members to Nath’s bungalow.

A young peon had come forward boldly and explained, ‘Sir, we won’t do anything that will disturb the peace. We’ll stay outside the bungalow. If some peon goes against our union’s decision and continues to work at the home of his boss, we’ll try to convince him to stop doing that. It’s a prestige issue for our class.’