A Fine Family: A Novel (6 page)

Since Bauji was in no mood to spoil his lunch over a subject they had discussed for the past twenty years, he merely smiled and concentrated on the aubergine. As the silence was uncomfortable, the others also smiled. But he felt contrite; he sympathized with poor Bhabo’s problem. It had become customary for a successful lawyer to feed and house his out-of-town clients. The lawyer more than made up for his trouble through his fees. It had probably started because there were no inns or hotels in Lyallpur. Even if there had been, rural clients were unwilling to stay at impersonal places. But this situation was getting out of hand because a client didn’t come alone; he sometimes brought half the village along, and they often stayed for weeks. The villagers were quite happy to enjoy the sights of the city free of cost, and were more than willing to offer false testimony in return. Bauji wanted to end this practice at his house, but he did not know how to do it. He was willing to lose the business, but he didn’t want his actions to reflect a lack of hospitality in the eyes of the world. Big Uncle, who sometimes returned late at night, would tell everyone the next morning how many beds he had found outside each lawyer’s house in the neighbourhood. It had become a status symbol and the number of charpais reflected a lawyer’s prosperity and standing.

Bauji’s eyes fell on his fat and bald nephew, Megh Nath, who was sitting diagonally across to his left, and who happened to belch at that moment. Bauji scowled. But the thick-skinned Megh Nath did not take notice and continued eating. Belching was traditionally a mark of appreciation of the food, and no one thought anything of it, except the younger children who glanced at each other and tittered. When they saw Bauji’s disapproving look, their smiles quickly faded. Bauji intensely disliked his greedy nephew.

‘I hear you are becoming a rich man, Megh Nath,’ said Bauji. There was a rumour that his nephew had recently multiplied his land holdings by driving out peasant proprietors, and replacing them with tenants. The rumour had gained credence because he had invested his ill-gotten gains in a grain shop in the Lyallpur wholesale market.

‘It is God’s will, heh. . . heh. . . heh. I merely fulfil my dharma. I give all I earn back to God.’ Megh Nath was also famous for his donations to temples.

‘Was it God’s wish that you should bribe the Sessions Judge last week?’ asked Bauji.

‘What bribe?’ asked Megh Nath looking sweetly innocent.

‘I was told that the Sessions Judge received a hundred oranges last Thursday.’

‘Oh, it was merely a small goodwill gesture from my orchards in Rampur,’ said Megh Nath unctuously.

‘Ah. . . I see. It was merely coincidental that your case was to be heard the next day.’

Megh Nath smiled sanctimoniously.

‘But your orchard does not grow oranges, Megh Nath. Those oranges were bought in the wholesale market.’

‘Heh. . . heh. . . heh. How can a judge tell where an orange comes from? It is all God’s creation.’

‘This judge apparently can tell the difference. And it seems he does not approve of bribes either. So you do have a problem, nephew,’ said Bauji, smiling sardonically at his nephew. He was trying hard to control his temper. He saw a hint of worry on his crooked nephew’s imperturbable brow, and he was pleased.

‘By the way, what is your case all about?’

‘Oh the usual tenancy troubles, Bauji. As a matter of fact I wanted to take your advice.’ Megh Nath was relieved that the subject had changed from oranges. Everyone knew that he only visited Bauji’s house when he was looking for free legal advice.

‘Does it by any chance concern a certain widow named Bibi Pritam Kaur, dear nephew?’

For the first time Megh Nath’s face changed colour. After a short pause, he asked, ‘How did you know, Bauji?’

‘She happens to be my client, nephew.’ Bauji smiled.

‘Disgraceful!’ interrupted Bhabo. ‘Bauji, how can you side-against your own flesh and blood? And against such a god-fearing, religious man like Megh Nath, who does puja daily, who visits all the temples, who bathes in the Ganges every year. It’s not right.’

‘It so happens that our pious nephew has fabricated evidence and collected false witnesses for the purpose of depriving this widow of her sole means of livelihood.’

‘I still think it is wrong to go against your own in public, whatever the case,’ said Bhabo. ‘Now enough of these matters. Enjoy your food, and let the others do the same.’ From Bauji her eyes turned to Megh Nath. ‘You are not eating properly, nephew. What can I pass you? We seem to be forgetting how to treat a guest in this house. And tell us about your last pilgrimage.’

As his nephew launched on a pious and long-winded account of his latest religious pilgrimage, Bauji realized that neither his sarcasm nor the exposure of his evil ways was likely to have any effect on his two-faced relative. Megh Nath had a powerful following among the conservative members of the family, and especially those who still lived in the village. In their eyes, Megh Nath was like a god who could do no wrong. They talked incessantly about him: how he woke up before dawn, bathed with cold water both in the summer and the winter, and sat down to puja for two hours; how he was a strict vegetarian, and ate only one meal a day; how he spent months on pilgrimages; how he was constantly donating money to temples. He was held up to be a model and admired by many, including Bhabo.

For this reason Bauji knew that he had a delicate problem on his hands. The conservative side of the family would certainly condemn him, if he publicly defended the widow in court against his own nephew. They would regard it as a betrayal. Yet Bauji was determined not to let this insincere man get away. He would have to be careful with his family. And the opinion and the esteem of his family mattered to Bauji. As he was a successful man, Bauji too could count on the support of many family members whom he had fed and looked after all these years. As a man of the world he had also learned to manipulate opinion in his favour. Bauji knew that he had a formidable adversary, and he never underestimated an opponent.

Bauji felt disgusted with a religion that could not only condone but praise evil men like Megh Nath, who brought incalculable suffering to poor vulnerable widows. What kind of religion was it, he questioned, that not only accepted the wicked gains of such men, but held them up as models of social behaviour? It was people like Megh Nath and their supporters, who gave a bad name to all Indians in the eyes of the English. It was no wonder that English magistrates distrusted the testimony of all Indian witnesses. When every second witness was willing to give false testimony without any moral compunction, the English were not wrong in believing that Indians were liars. Honesty was probably a less important virtue to a Hindu than loyalty and piety, he concluded.

After lun+ch Bauji returned to his study for a nap. He lay down on the white diwan and his mind wandered again to Tara. Despite Megh Nath, the meal had revived his spirits and he felt generous and kindly towards the world. He had by now forgiven Tara her display with Karan in the morning. He felt it was a passing fancy which Karan aroused in all women, who would always fall for him like ripe mangoes. Yes, he liked his daughter. She had zest. He enjoyed her company more than any of his children. She was the only one he could talk to, and he would be sad to lose her.

He recalled the hot June day two years ago, when Tara had returned home from Lahore and had calmly announced that she was going to work. While sipping a glass of cold fresh lime, she had matter-of-factly recounted how she had got the job of a school teacher in Lyallpur.

After Tara had finished school, he had agreed to let her go to Lahore to attend college. After completing her BA, she had trained to be a teacher; then one day she had quietly gone to the Department of Education in Lahore and applied for a job. They had offered her one in a distant village. Tara had known that it would be a battle to persuade her family to be permitted to work. Women teachers were still a novelty: the few that were there tended to come from lower caste converts to Christianity ‘who needed the money’. Thus to work outside her home town was out of the question. With great difficulty she had persuaded the Department to let her have a post in Lyallpur instead. The Department at first was reluctant to agree, since she had a mediocre academic record, but she seemed to have a strong will which counted in her favour. Thus she had arrived in Lyallpur with a job and had immediately created a sensation.

‘Tara is going to work, Tara is going to work,’ the whole town had whispered. Even Bauji, who was more progressive than the others, had found this hard to stomach. He had regarded the education of his daughters as a respectable and leisurely way for them to kill time before they got married. That education also increased their prospects in the marriage market was not lost on him.

In any case, Tara’s demand was the subject of heated discussion in the family for weeks. Chachi disapproved. Big Uncle sided with Tara and put up a spirited defence on her behalf, but his vote did not count for much. Bhabo, as expected, had put up the biggest fight. She had vehemently protested, ‘Can’t we feed her? My friends keep asking. Why does she have to work?’

‘You obviously have the wrong kind of friends,’ he had replied.

‘Not just my friends. Your side of the family keeps needling me too,’ moaned Bhabo.

‘They are all living in the Dark Ages, woman. They are trapped in the old ideas of the village. We are now living in a modern town and it is 1942,’ he had retorted.

Chachi had supported Bhabo, but Karan had come out strongly in favour of Tara, and he counted for a great deal with Bauji. Bhabo had finally given in, and his favourite daughter had gone to work. A few months later, Tara wanted her own room, and to her surprise she got it easily. Tara furnished her room with much care. She always kept flowers in a vase, and often invited her friends there for tea. He used to enjoy the sight of her pretty friends around the house.

With that recollection, he calmly slid off to sleep.

The British government reacted quickly. A few hours after Gandhi called for the English to ‘Quit India’, all the members of the Congress Working Committee were arrested in Bombay. They were bundled into a special train at five a. m. the next day for the journey to prison. The arrest of the Congress leaders set off a political reaction in towns and cities across the sub-continent. And Lyallpur was one such town. As the news arrived of Gandhi’s arrest, the students of the Government College burned the Income Tax office, much to the delight of the tax payers, including Bauji. From their terrace, Bauji’s family could see the smoke coming out of the Lal Kothi, the railway accounts office. For a brief period they saw flames in the clock tower, but the fire brigade came quickly and put it out. The family stood on the roof counting the columns of smoke. There was much excitement throughout the day. Big Uncle returned home on his bicycle in the afternoon and reported that the mill workers were on strike, lamp posts had been uprooted in Kacheri Bazaar, and there were hundreds of police in the other bazaars. He had seen Karan leading a procession towards the Company Bagh; this news upset everyone, especially Tara.

Rumours flew about the house, many of them untrue: for example, that the railway bridge, which was the crucial link to the city, had been blown up. In the evening Big Uncle went out again, and he was arrested for breaking curfew. But fortunately he was released immediately through Bauji’s intercession. The entire family were enthused by the demonstrations of patriotic fervour; Bauji was shocked by the destruction of property. He warned of harsh British repression, which came the very next day. Police fired on unarmed crowds, there were mass arrests, and lathi charges broke up demonstrations. Official reports in Lyallpur said that eleven people died, forty were severely wounded. According to the people the count was at least three times bigger. Four Sikh students were killed while trying to raise the national flag over their college building. Karan miraculously escaped arrest, but the family dhobi was shot with his son, as they were passing the railway crossing on a bullock cart. The police sentry asked them to halt, but the washerman did not understand and he got scared; both he and his son ran and they were gunned down; the bullocks also died. At this news the entire family was thrown into a depression.

There were long discussions at home in which Bauji often found himself isolated. He argued that the government reaction was to be expected since this rebellion was a grave threat to the Raj. It was wrong timing on Gandhi’s part to embarrass the British when the Japanese were poised to strike against eastern India. He knew that civil disobedience could play havoc with the defence of India and loathed the thought of a Japanese conquest. He felt deeply the misery of those who had come under Nazi, Fascist or Japanese domination.

‘For pity’s sake, Dewan Chand,’ said Chachi one evening, ‘the Quit India Movement is the outcome of British stubbornness. We were all frustrated and we needed this symbolic act of defiance.’

‘Hardly symbolic, Chachi?’ said Bauji.

‘Gandhi made it clear from the beginning that the Quit India Movement would be non-violent,’ said Karan.

‘How could it be, Karan?’ said Bauji.

‘It is the fault of English,’ said Tara. ‘It is they who put Gandhi in jail and there was no one to control the crowds afterwards.’

The disturbances lasted for several weeks. At the end about a thousand people lost their lives throughout the country; over sixty thousand were arrested. However, calm was restored quickly in Lyallpur. Bauji had been deeply distressed by the violence but he was secretly pleased that at least the DC’s party had been cancelled because of the trouble. He wouldn’t have to tiresomely defend himself before Chachi, Karan and the others. Bhabo was also happy. Because of the curfew there was peace in the house from unwelcome callers and Bauji’s clients.

After it was all over, Bauji matter-of-factly asked Big Uncle one day, ‘Tell me son, why did you have to go out in the middle of the curfew? Remember that evening when you were arrested?’

‘I went to the bazaar to get a haircut,’ replied Big Uncle.

‘Haircut?’ Bauji could not believe his ears.

‘I needed a haircut.’

Bauji tried to control his temper. ‘In the middle of a curfew, he needed a haircut.’

Big Uncle nodded. Tara giggled.

‘What is wrong with our family barber? He comes every day. Why do
you
have to go to the bazaar?’ asked Bauji.

‘He cuts hair too closely, and he doesn’t know how to make a puff. It’s the fashion these days,’ said Big Uncle.

There was an uneasy pause. Bauji tried to hold himself but he did not succeed. ‘Bhabo!’ he roared, ‘This is not my son. He must have got exchanged in the hospital.’

A week later, while the family was having lunch, a telegram came from the ashram saying that Tara’s marriage proposal had been accepted. There was immediate excitement, and everyone started to talk of Tara’s forthcoming marriage. Bauji felt relieved but Bhabo was not.

‘We shall finally have spirituality in this house,’ Bauji said jovially. ‘Now I shall get someone to tell me about this meditation business.’

‘You don’t need a son-in-law for that. Go and get initiated by the guru,’ said Bhaboji.

The conversation was suddenly interrupted by a chorus of school boys at the gate. They were reading aloud the inscription on the newly installed letterbox outside: ‘Varma Billa, Dewan Chand Barma, BA, LL B, Advocate, Punjab High Court, Lahore, Punjab.’ Everyone smiled, except Bauji, who was visibly angry at his name being abused by every street urchin who wanted to test his command of the English language.

The letterbox had been Big Uncle’s brainchild. Thinking it the fashionable thing to do, Big Uncle had got a letterbox made by the carpenter and inscribed by a sign painter. Unfortunately the sign painter had written ‘Billa’ instead of ‘Villa’, and ‘Barma’ instead of ‘Varma’. Big Uncle had not bothered to have the mistake corrected, and hung it up on the main gate. Thus Bauji’s home had joined the small fashionable group of Lyallpur houses that had a letterbox with an English name. There were many admiring ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ from the younger set, in whose eyes Big Uncle was a big hero. Everyone was encouraged to write letters to each other to ‘try out’ the letterbox. A number of ‘trial letters’ were written in fact. But the mailman had to be repeatedly instructed to put the letters in the mail box, rather then delivering them personally. He was not too happy about the box, since he stood to lose a glass of buttermilk which he received when he delivered the mail personally.

No one, however, anticipated the nuisance that this harmless idea of Big Uncle’s would create, as every school boy who passed by felt compelled to practice his newly learned skill loud enough to warm the heart of any fourth class school master. Bauji contained his anger, and calmly told Big Uncle that if he did not remove the letterbox in the next hour, he would receive a sharply diminished monthly allowance. He again reminded his son that he was more than convinced that the nurse must have accidentally switched him at the hospital when he was born.

Bauji eventually won over Bhabo’s agreement to the marriage. He consoled her, ‘You should be happy Bhabo, Tara won’t have to work any more.’ He knew this would make an impression, because Tara’s working continued to be a liability in the eyes of Bhabo’s social set. Bhabo’s friends never failed to chide her about it.

A couple of days later Bauji sent a confirmation in the traditional form to the bridegroom’s family. It consisted of trays of fruit and dry fruit—almonds, cashew nuts, raisins, dates, sweet lime, apples, bananas and pomegranate.

To everyone’s surprise Bauji received a letter from Seva Ram informing him that he would be stopping in Lyallpur for a day on an inspection tour of the canal. He wrote that he would be accompanied by his English boss and an overseer, and he would stay at the Canal Rest House of the Irrigation Department. The news created a sensation in the house not only because it was somewhat irregular for a future son-in-law to visit like this, but also because everyone wanted to meet Seva Ram and see what he was like. Chachi insisted that she be invited ‘to meet the boy’. There was also the possibility that Seva Ram might bring the English boss, and they wondered how they were to treat him. Big Uncle said that they should leave the Englishman to him and he had already planned the English clothes he would wear for the occasion and what he would talk about. Karan thought it unpatriotic to play host to an Englishman in the midst of the Quit India Movement. Bauji put these speculations to rest, saying that it was highly unlikely that an Englishman would visit the Indian section of town during these troubled times. He promptly replied to Seva Ram inviting him to stay at Kacheri Bazaar and bring his colleagues to tea.

In all the excitement no one bothered about Tara. She was nervous and afraid at the prospect of seeing her future husband. Bhabo made it clear to her that it would be inappropriate for her to meet him, let alone talk to him. She would have to be content with seeing him from the upstairs terrace. Bhabo was already upset by the strange way the marriage was being arranged and she did not want a scandal if it got known that her daughter had been seen with the boy before marriage. She could not understand why the boy’s parents were not in the picture.

On the day Seva Ram was expected, Big Uncle brought advance information to Kacheri Bazaar that the Irrigation Department party had been seen going towards the canal headworks. Big Uncle made it his business to know what was happening in town. He had been loafing around the Clock Tower on his bicycle and one of the shopkeepers had casually mentioned that the Englishman’s car was noticed speeding in the direction of the canal. Thus everyone was ready when the Irrigation party arrived. Tea had been elaborately laid out and Bauji, Chachi, Bhabo were dressed and waiting. Even though it was the hot season, Bhabo and Chachi had worn silk. Big Uncle had stationed himself at the gate and he let the visitors in.

A six-foot Englishman entered, followed by a very short Seva Ram and the Overseer. All three men wore sola topees which they took off as soon as they came in.

‘Well, well! Come in, come in,’ said Chachi.

‘Welcome!’ said Bauji, getting up and going towards them. ‘Do sit down.’

As they sat down they were offered tea. But they were hot and thirsty and preferred cold drinks instead. Seva Ram in his easy going way tried to put everyone at ease. He asked Bauji about Lyallpur. He made small talk with Big Uncle. But everyone (except Seva Ram) was clearly uneasy. The Englishman was not stiff but he was unused to such a social situation. He thought everyone was staring at him. Bauji’s family wanted to please him but this only added to his discomfort.

‘Did you have a strenuous day?’ asked Chachi.

‘Not at all,’ replied Seva Ram with an engaging smile. ‘As a matter of fact it was one of our easier days.’ He looked warmly at the Englishman and then at the Overseer, as he tried to include them in the conversation.

‘Don’t trust a word he says. He works like a horse,’ said the Englishman.

Seva Ram again smiled and Bauji noticed that it was a smile of great sweetness. It was not a flashing or brilliant smile, but a smile he remembered from the ashram which lit his face with an inner light. Seva Ram seemed about to speak but he did not say anything for a long time and the others soon began to find the silence awkward. He looked vacantly in the air, his face grave and intent. They kept waiting, curious to know what it was all about. When he began to speak it was as though he were continuing the conversation without being aware of the long silence.

‘Guruji sends his regards to you. He was touched that you came all the way to the ashram.’

‘Yes, I too was moved by the atmosphere of the ashram and his message. You will of course stay here with us, won’t you?’

‘No, I think I shall stay at the Canal Rest House. It’s quite comfortable and I am here on work after all.’ Seva Ram turned his head and looked at his two colleagues without embarrassment, but with an expression in his eyes that was at once scrutinizing and amused.

By now Big Uncle was busy telling jokes to the Englishman, who roared with laughter. The atmosphere thawed. Seva Ram, realizing that Bhabo did not speak English, addressed her in Punjabi. He also brought the Overseer into the conversation. Bhabo asked the Overseer about his family, and she looked up occasionally to see if Tara was watching from above. Seva Ram did not expect to meet Tara. He was also too shy to ask for her. Everyone seemed to slowly relax.

Chachi was struck by the fact that Seva Ram treated his superior and his junior in exactly the same way. He was not excessively deferential to his boss nor haughty or off-hand with his subordinate. He looked them both in the eye in the same sincere way and tried to make them feel equally comfortable. Later, when the visitors had gone Chachi mentioned this to the family. Bauji and the others agreed with her that this was a most remarkable quality. Most Indians, they felt, were very conscious of position and power and did not behave normally either with people above or below them. Seva Ram was indeed exceptional.

Bauji turned to Seva Ram and asked him about a dilemma that he had been grappling with ever since his meeting with the guru.

‘If it turns out that what the guru says is true—that there is a life of the spirit,’ said Bauji, ‘then not to participate in it is clearly wrong. But if it turns out not to be true, then I certainly wouldn’t want to live in this world like a passenger. You see, an old man like me doesn’t have much time left in the world. Whatever little bit I have, I want to savour it. I like being involved. I like this world with all its imperfections. I don’t want to give it up.’

‘Bauji,’ replied Seva Ram with a smile, ‘it is a matter of choice. If there is a world of spirit and you do not participate in it, you will have truly lost something. If, on the other hand, there is none, and you remain ignorant of it, then you haven’t lost anything. The third possibility is that if you work hard, meditate and try to attain the Infinite and there turns out to be none, then too you haven’t lost anything except your effort. Finally, if there is a spiritual world and you attain it through meditation, then you have obviously won.