A Fine Family: A Novel (7 page)

‘I believe you have no choice,’ concluded Seva Ram, ‘but to try. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.’

Seva Ram had spoken all this lightly, almost gaily, as if to suggest to the others that this was small talk, of little consequence. Chachi became conscious of the melodiousness of his voice as he spoke.

Bauji thought that his argument was very persuasive. But later on reflection he couldn’t bring himself to agree. He felt strongly that he had everything to lose by making the spiritual effort. He loved this life too dearly to risk losing it—even to a more perfect world. If opting for the spiritual world meant giving up this one, or living in it like a passenger, then he might as well choose the imperfect one.

After the visitors had gone, Tara came rushing down with her sisters.

‘But he is so short,’ moaned Tara.

‘In front of the Englishman he looked like a pygmy,’ said Big Uncle with a laugh.

‘He eats so little, no wonder,’ said Bhabo. ‘He hardly touched anything.’

‘What do you think of him, Chachi?’

‘Of course, he’ sattractive. There’s something modest and friendly and gentle in him that is very appealing. He’s got a lot of self-possession for so young a man. He isn’t quite like any of the other boys I’ve met.’

‘Well, you can marry him then. I don’t like him,’ said Tara and she ran upstairs with tears in her eyes.

Bhabo’s day started early. She woke up at dawn, bathed and churned butter from milk. As she churned, she sang devotional songs by the Rajput princess, Mira. These poems passionately recounted Mira’s love affair with her god and lover, Krishna. After she finished churning butter, she got dressed in a white cotton sari and went off to the temple.

Like most Hindus, Bhabo believed that God was present in all temples. So she alternated between the gurdwara of the Sikhs, which was situated in Kacheri Bazaar, diagonally opposite their house, the Shiva temple of the orthodox Hindus, and the prayer hall of the reformist Arya Samaj. Big Uncle once asked Bhabo not to go to all the temples but to choose one and visit it regularly. She innocently replied that she wanted to make sure that at least one god would listen to her.

Bhabo’s choice of temple on a particular day often depended on whom she expected to meet, for her social life frequently started at the temple. She would often meet a friend and go off with her. Her social life consisted of consoling her friends when there was a death in the family or congratulating them on engagements, marriages and births. Since she did not discriminate between the rich and the poor or the powerful and the humble, she was welcome everywhere. Virtually every day there was either a birth, a death, an engagement or a marriage in her wide circle of friends, and so she always had somewhere to go. In the case of a death, the mourning lasted for thirteen days, and loyal friends were expected to visit daily. Thus her problem was to choose where to go.

Today, however, her mind was troubled. She was uneasy about her daughter’s forthcoming marriage. She was concerned that the boy’s side had not come to see Tara. Nor had her family barber gone to find out about the boy’s family background. Everything was most irregular, and she wanted to avoid her friends and their uncomfortable questions relating to the marriage. She decided to go to the Sikh gurdwara near the house, thinking that she would be least likely to meet her friends there. But she miscalculated. All her friends, in their starched white cotton saris, were there this morning, almost as if they had read her mind.

‘Bhabo, your daughter is going to be married and you don’t even know the family? Is your family barber asleep?’ Her friends voiced her worries.

Bhabo told them about the guru, Bauji’s journey to the ashram, and Seva Ram’s visit to Lyallpur.

Bhabo patiently explained that the guru meant a great deal to the boy, even more than his own family.

‘If it was
my
daughter, I would have personally gone to see the family.’

‘I don’t understand where your Bauji finds these boys. As for us, my dear, we have always gone in for landowning families when it comes to finding matches for our daughters,’ said another with a superior air.

‘What can you expect, sister: who will marry a girl who has been working? We warned you two years ago when your daughter started going out.’

‘Your family may be professionals, Bhabo, but you shouldn’t throw away our good traditions.’

Bhabo returned home thoroughly humiliated. The family discovered her distress when she did not come down from her room at noon. For years Bhabo had faithfully adhered to a routine: between noon and one she would serve buttermilk and thick wheat rotis to anyone who came by the house. Consequently, a stream of poor people regularly came to receive her charity.

Some were holy men, others performed some service in the house, a few were just beggars, and there were others who did not want to pass up the free food. Since Bhabo had never missed this ritual, and had always made it a point to return home by noon, everyone was concerned when the poor started arriving and there was no Bhabo. To the servant who knocked on her door, she gruffly replied that she did not want to be disturbed and asked him to take over her noontime duties.

When she did not come down for lunch either, the situation became alarming. An air of crisis permeated the house. Bauji, in a rare gesture, went up to talk to her. Soon both of them came down, Bhabo walking behind him, drying the tears from her reddened eyes. She had relented because Bauji had promised to send the family barber to the boy’s parents’ home to formally request the hand of their son for her daughter. She smiled as she ate a mango cut by Bauji’s hands.

Bhabo was in good humour by the time the two Khanna sisters dropped in for their daily visit. The two sisters were married to the Khanna brothers, both accomplished lawyers from Lahore. The ladies always looked fresh and smart, dressed in white saris of Manchester Muslin No. 26. They came punctually at three everyday, had tea with Bhabo, gossiped and left promptly at four before the menfolk returned from the Courts.

The Khanna ladies enthusiastically supported Bauji’s efforts to find a professional husband for Tara, and Bhabo felt relieved. Since they had grown up in Lahore, the Khanna ladies brought modern and enlightened ideas to the provincial mind of Lyallpur. Among Bhabo’s friends, they were the first to install a sink for washing hands. This was a novel and clever idea which was the talk of the house for days. They also heated their water in an electric heater, which impressed Bauji because it was clean. Bhabo’s children admired them because they were modern and systematic: they budgeted their expenses, observed regular hours, ate at a dining table, and lived in separate houses and not in a joint family as Bauji’s family did.

‘Sister,’ said the elder one to Bhabo, ‘What is Bauji’s secret in finding such a good match for his daughter? Imagine, an irrigation engineer for Tara! Tell us, sister, for we too have daughters to marry off.’

Bhabo smiled and replied honestly that she did not know. She then naively recounted her humiliating experience with her friends in the morning.

After the Khanna ladies left, Bhabo invited Tara to visit her ‘treasure room’. It was an unexpected honour since no one was allowed to enter this tiny room on the first floor, which was situated next to the ‘cotton carpet room’. In the narrow, dark, cool room Tara saw neatly stacked rows of silk saris, embroidered linen, silver utensils and velvet covered boxes filled with gold jewellery.

‘This is part of your dowry, my child. I have been collecting it for years,’ Bhabo whispered conspiratorially.

Tara was left breathless. She had tears in her eyes. But she was diverted by the sight of a hundred rupee note which was torn in shreds on the floor. Bhabo picked it up and laughed.

‘The mouse must have eaten it,’ she said. Tara smiled uneasily for she knew that it was a lot of money.

‘Don’t tell anyone,’ she said. ‘Your Bauji will be angry if he finds out.’

Tara nodded.

Tara kept her promise, but Bhabo could not contain herself and related the fate of the hundred rupees that same night to everyone’s discomfort. At that time it was indeed a great deal of money to lose to a mouse. Bauji did not say anything, but the atmosphere became tense.

‘Imagine, that is more than the cook’s wages for a whole year!’ groaned daughter number two.

‘How could you let it happen?’ said daughter number three incredulously.

Big Uncle came to Bhabo’s rescue and diverted everyone with a hysterical account of Megh Nath’s wife’s brother’s marriage, from where he had just returned. Big Uncle had attended the wedding as the representative of Bauji’s family. At the mention of his contemptible nephew’s name, Bauji suddenly became attentive. It turned out that Megh Nath had selected a temple for the
sehra-bandhi
ceremony rather than his house. ‘Probably to save money,’ interjected Bauji. While the crown of flowers and gold thread was being solemnly tied onto the groom’s forehead, the priest of the temple suddenly let out a shriek when he noticed that the groom was wearing sandals. In the confusion of the ceremony the poor groom had apparently forgotten to take off his sandals. He had thus defiled the temple according to the enraged priest. Any amount of apologies would not quiet him. The indignant brahmin insisted on an outrageous fine of two thousand rupees in order to purify the temple. After prolonged negotiations the matter was finally settled. But Megh Nath’s pocket was lighter by five hundred and one rupees, they were late by two-and-a-half hours, and Bauji’s entire family, including Bhabo, had a big laugh.

A few days later the family barber set out on his delicate mission after being thoroughly but contrarily briefed by both Bauji and Bhabo. Before entering the boy’s home, the barber went to the bazaar in Pindi, and he met members of his caste to circumspectly enquire about the boy’s family and also to alert the boy’s family to his mission. Later that evening, after he had prepared the ground for his visit, he went to Seva Ram’s fathe’s modest house, where he was received with cold courtesy. The groom’s family were naturally cut up because they had been denied any part in the engagement by their rebellious son. It was politely suggested that the barber should go to the guru. But the barber was clever, and he slowly won over the parents-to-be with tact and praise. They were simple-hearted people, and they generously offered their hospitality to the barber. He ate heartily and slept comfortably in the future groom’s uncle’s room, which was especially prepared for him. The next morning, they served him a rich breakfast of fried puris, curried vegetables, yogurt, halwah and buttermilk and fruits. He reciprocated by delicately singing the praises of the bride-to-be before the future mother-in-law. He showed her the bride’s photograph and invited her to visit Lyallpur to see the bride. The boy’s parents were flattered by the proposal, and gave their unreserved consent. They also thanked the barber and praised him profusely.

When he returned to Lyallpur, the barber related the result of his mission with much self-importance. Not receiving his due attention from Bauji, he went to talk to Bhabo and tried to change her mind against the match. His arguments related to the economic and social status of the boy’s family. He claimed they were virtually impoverished landowners compared to Bauji.

‘Look at you,’ he told Bhabo, ‘here you are in a big house, with horses and servants. Look at them, so poor they couldn’t even feed me in the manner appropriate to such an occasion.’

Bhabo was naturally up in arms. But Bauji quickly attacked the source of this mischief. He called in the barber and vigorously cross-examined him in Bhabo’s presence. Using his legal skills he got the barber to finally admit that it was a good match, because Tara would be marrying a boy with excellent prospects in life, which was more important than the number of servants and horses his family owned. The barber volunteered that the boy’s family were good people even though they were not rich. Bhabo was finally appeased.

Although Bhabo was reconciled, Tara was not. After the barber left and the others went upstairs, she said to Bauji, ‘I won’t marry him.’ She tried to appear calm and decisive, but the boldness of the statement surprised her as well. Her dark eyes were stormy, wilful and anxious.

Bauji could tackle Bhabo and the barber, but Tara, he knew, would be a different matter. He feigned interest in the hookah’s smoke in the dark space in front of his nose. The shadowed shrubs in the courtyard lay awake in the warm lifeless air. From outside the gate came the hoot of an owl. The summer sky was clear and the stars looked inert in the sultry atmosphere. He was vexed at having to conduct negotiations with his own daughter.

‘What is the matter?’ he asked gently.

‘I won’t marry him,’ she repeated.

‘Why?’ he asked.

‘He is short, he isn’t good looking, and I don’t like him.’

‘First impressions are often wrong. Besides you haven’t talked to him.’

‘No, first impressions are always right,’ she said.

He had the uncomfortable sensation of finding himself in a conversation not to his liking. He did not want to employ the verbal dexterity and guile, which he used in dealing with outsiders. He had always been open and affectionate with his favourite daughter. But tonight he found it tiresome to try to persuade her as well. There was a time, he thought with regret, when he could say anything that came into his mind. And everyone accepted his words and behaviour unquestioningly. Children were expected to be obedient and respectful, and did not oppose their parents blatantly. It was a matter of good breeding. But Tara had always been independent and ever since she went to college the problem had become more serious. Bhabo had of course warned him. She had constantly been opposed too much schooling for the girls. It was he who had stubbornly persisted in educating his daughters, especially in the English language. He now looked at Tara’s face, and he remembered that he liked her precisely because she did not submit easily. Her sisters, in contrast, were quick to compromise and to comply. Bhabo had felt that he over-valued this characteristic in Tara. Ironically, at this moment he sought precisely the opposite virtue—obedience and submission.

‘There is much more to marriage, young lady,’ he said. ‘He is a good boy, and he will take good care of you.’

‘Why can’t I marry someone I know?’

‘Child, we usually have to marry someone we do not know. Look at Bhabo and me: we did not know each other; look at your older brother; look at all our relatives and friends. It has always been that way.’

‘All those marriages haven’t been so wonderful, have they? None of you are good companions. You hardly ever speak to Bhabo.’

The girl was going too far, thought Bauji. No one else would have dared to speak to him like this. What position was she in to judge the marriages of those older than her? But he did not want to get into that.

‘Young lady, don’t you worry about our marriage. We have had four children who are healthy, and we are prosperous. Thank you.’

‘But how much better would it have been if you and Bhabo had grown up together, known each other and been friends before marriage,’ argued Tara.

‘Who were you thinking of marrying?’ asked Bauji suddenly.

‘No one especially,’ replied Tara reticently.

‘Come, come, you must have someone in mind,’ persisted Bauji.

‘Why can’t I marry someone I know?’ she said more hesitantly.

‘Like whom?’ asked Bauji.