Dollar Bahu (2 page)

C
handru was quite unprepared when the train pulled into Dharwad station the next morning. He hurriedly jumped out from his compartment, still in his lungi. When he realized that he had not changed, Chandru was most embarrassed. A lungi on a railway platform! For heaven’s sake, what had come over him!

Dharwad station reminded him of Mysore—small, neat and quiet. Chandru looked about for his charming co-passenger but she was nowhere to be seen. He felt disappointed.

Suddenly he heard a booming voice. ‘Hey Chandru! Did you come by train or walk? You are the last passenger to get off. Looks like you overslept. Thank god you woke up in time, or else you would have had to see Belgaum, Miraj and Kolhapur.’ It was Girish’s friend, Kitty. Asking all the questions and answering them himself.

‘Oh, hello. Just give me five minutes, I will change.’ Chandru went to the waiting room, ignoring Kitty’s questions and his replies.

Kitty picked up Chandru’s suitcase and the two of them walked out. There were plenty of rickshaws and a few horse-drawn tongas waiting for customers.

‘Can we take a horse-cart?’ Chandru asked enthusiastically, like a child.

‘Dharwad is a city of seven hills, like Rome, and seven lakes. If we take a tonga, we will have to get down and walk when we have to go uphill. Let’s take a rickshaw today. We will reach home faster.’

Kitty’s mother welcomed Chandru warmly. ‘How are you, Chandru? How is your mother? How is Girish? How was the journey?’

‘Aunty, all are fine. My journey was great,’ replied Chandru, thinking of Vinu with the golden voice and enchanting face.

‘You can stay with us as long as you need to, Chandru. No need for any inhibitions.’

‘That is very nice of you,’ he said, and then turning to Kitty, added, ‘but please find me a room as quickly as possible. I would not like to impose on you for very long.’

After breakfast, Kitty took Chandru around town on his bike and showed him the university campus, the famous peda shop and some lush parks.

It was the month of Shravan, the rainy season. All of Dharwad was celebrating, the city a riot of colour. Against the rich red earth, the trees, shrubs and bushes displayed every shade of green. The air was fragrant with the scent of flowers, bright yellow champak, creamy white rajnigandha, flaming orange marigold, delicate white jasmine and roses in all shades of red and pink. It was quite romantic, the atmosphere. ‘Our Dharwad is like heaven,’ said Kitty.

Chandru agreed with him, but in his mind he was thinking, Dharwad is a sweet enchanting girl while Bangalore is a ravishing woman. And while he could appreciate innocence, he was definitely more attracted to glamour.

After a couple of days, Kitty told Chandru, ‘There is a place available for a paying guest. If you are interested, we can go and see it.’

Chandru went with Kitty to see the place.

It was located in Malamaddi, one of the seven hills that Kitty had talked about earlier. After they came up a rough and rather steep road, they saw a house. In the middle of a spacious plot, enclosed by a fence, sprawled an old red-tile-roofed bungalow, surrounded by a vast lush garden. Chandru noticed mango, jackfruit and banana trees growing on one side. Closer to the house were beds of multicoloured flowers, and bushes of fragrant jasmine. He was surprised to see a tall parijata tree and the rare bakula with its dainty brown flowers next to it. Several varieties of champak dotted the rest of the garden. It was a charming spot, without a doubt. Chandru had not seen such a pretty house in Bangalore, especially in his locality, where most of the houses were three-storeyed buildings occupying the entire plot. Home gardens in such areas meant little plants grown in small pots.

Kitty knocked on the door and waited. Chandru couldn’t believe his eyes. The person who opened the door was Vinu!

Oblivious to Chandru’s open-mouthed look, Kitty asked her, ‘Is this Bheemanna’s house?’

Vinu was equally surprised. But she quickly gathered her wits about her and replied, ‘Yes. Please come in. I will call my uncle.’

Chandru looked around the drawing room. The furniture was old and shabby, the walls unpainted. Obviously the family had seen better days.

Bheemanna, a man with a loud voice and a jolly manner, came out to meet them. Kitty introduced Chandru and explained the purpose of their visit. Enthusiastically, Bheemanna showed them an upstairs room. Chandru had already made up his mind. Whatever the rent, he would agree to it.

On the way home, Kitty remarked in a slightly impatient voice, ‘You should have seen a couple of more places. The rent is a little steep. You should have at least said you will think it over.’

Chandru replied with a smile,
‘Pehla
pyar,
pehla
nasha.
’ And walked away, leaving Kitty completely puzzled.

T
here was nothing special about the sunrise that morning, but when Vinuta stepped out of the house with a broom and a bucket to clean the garden, she felt it was a spectacular sight. The sun was dazzling in the bright blue sky, the air alive with the chirping of birds and the bakula and parijata flowers gave off a heady scent. Together, it was quite an intoxicating feeling, thought Vinu. The radiance of the morning was reflected in her face and echoed in the joy she felt in her heart. Vinuta gathered the bakula flowers that had fallen to the ground and, smelling their gentle fragrance, closed her eyes in a moment of happiness. Chandru watched her from the window upstairs.

Tring . . . tring . . . The milkman’s cycle bell at the gate brought Vinu out of her reverie, reminding her to collect the milk and hurry up with the day’s chores.

Bheemanna Desai, Chandru’s large-hearted and friendly landlord, had told him on the very first day, ‘Don’t consider yourself as just a paying guest. Look upon this as your own house.’

Within a few days Chandru had figured out that it was a big joint family, but he had not worked out the relationships between the members. One thing that had struck him in this short time was that the major share of the housework was done by Vinu. Even from his room on the terrace, he could hear someone or the other calling out for her, ‘Vinu, have you plucked the flowers for puja?’, ‘Vinu, where are the ironed clothes?’, ‘Vinu, where is the bigger kadai?’, ‘Vinu, add some salt to the dal’, and so on. Who was she really? A maidservant, an orphan, a poor relation, a housekeeper or . . . ? But then she addressed Bheemanna Desai as uncle and he knew she went to college . . . It was a mystery to Chandru.

Then, one day, while talking to Bheemanna, he realized the house belonged to Vinuta, who had inherited it from her parents. They had died when she was very young, and Bheemanna, a distant uncle, had moved in here with his family to take care of her. This dilapidated house was the only thing she owned.

On Saturdays, his weekly holiday, Chandru preferred to stay at home and relax rather than go out in the hot sun along the dusty roads. On one such Saturday, he was woken up from a deep sleep by Vinuta’s dulcet voice, singing as she watered the plants.

‘Do you have to keep singing all the time? Do some worthwhile work at least some time. If you sit in the garden the whole day, who will do the housework? The dirty vessels are piling up. I am sick of reminding you about every task. God knows when your madness for music will go away.’ A croaky voice interrupted Vinuta’s song. Abruptly she stopped singing and ran inside.

Without realizing it, Chandru compared Vinuta with his sister Surabhi. Though she could sing reasonably well, Surabhi had neither the interest nor the dedication for music and though Chandru had often tried to persuade her to take music seriously, she would refuse under some pretext or the other. Whereas, Vinuta had a golden voice and deep dedication, but no opportunity to pursue it! Despite all the scolding and the heavy housework, she would hum happily to herself, and carry on. It upset Chandru much more than it did Vinuta. It was not long before the talkative Bheemanna passed on most of the family’s history and background to Chandru. Seetakka, the elderly lady, was Bheemanna’s mother. Bheemanna himself had four children. Vinuta was his niece. Bheemanna had only a modest income and had to try hard to make both ends meet, but he was a generous man and always a good host to the stream of guests who walked in throughout the day.

Bheemanna was very fond of Vinuta and wanted her to complete her degree, work for two years in order to become financially independent and then marry. At present she was in the second year of the BA degree course in Karnatak College, majoring in Hindustani music. A bright and talented girl, she had won almost every prize in every event in the college.

Every night, after dinner, Bheemanna would sit on the bamboo cot underneath the mango tree and relax for some time. That was the time when he also talked to Vinuta. ‘Vinu, come here. You have done enough work for the day. Let the others also do something. What did you learn in the college today? Come on. Sing me a nice song now.’

When Chandru heard that, he would immediately come to the window and listen.

The sun was shining brightly on that day when Vinuta walked on to the terrace with a big cane basket full of ripe tamarind pods which she was going to spread out to dry. Knocking on Chandru’s room door she asked timidly, ‘Do you mind if I spread the tamarind in front of your room?’ She was speaking to him for the first time since he had moved in.

Chandru smiled. ‘Of course you can. The tamarind and the terrace are both yours,’ he said.

He knew she would go away soon after her work was done, but he hoped she would linger on.

‘You sing so beautifully,’ he complimented her, eager to strike a conversation.

‘Thank you,’ Vinuta responded shyly.

‘Why don’t you sing on the radio?’

‘I do, I have been, for the last four years.’

Chandru felt rather stupid. ‘Sorry, I did not know that. Please tell me when your next programme is going to be aired, I will definitely listen.’

‘I will. But now, will you please step aside so that I can go?’ Chandru drew back, abashed, and Vinuta left with a smile.

As the days passed, Chandru became more familiar with Dharwad city and its surroundings, as also with the Desai family.

Sometimes, Bheemanna would invite him to join them for dinner. Vinuta rarely spoke much but her friendly smile warmed his heart.

Chandru went to play a friendly cricket match with his team . . . and returned with a dislocated elbow. The doctor put him in a plaster for three weeks and advised him rest for a week. Before he could think of going to Bangalore to recover, Bheemanna came to him and made an offer. ‘Don’t go to Bangalore. We will take care of you. Vinuta is here and she will serve you all your meals in your room.’ Without waiting for Chandru’s response, he called out to Vinuta and said, ‘Vinu, now you are in charge of Chandra Shekhar, until he is up and about. Don’t give him the hard rotis that we eat. Prepare rice for him. Serve him coffee, not tea . . .’

Bheemanna wasn’t just being formal; his warm heart genuinely wanted to be of help. Chandru felt this was an additional responsibility for Vinuta. He felt sorry for the poor girl. Of course, he had never seen her unhappy, tearful or angry. Perhaps, he thought, she shed her tears while watering the garden and no one in the house knew of her sadness. Only when she got married and went away would they realize the value of her presence, thought Chandru bitterly.

Just then Vinuta came with a cup of piping hot coffee. And her beautiful shy smile. Chandru could find nothing to say.

One afternoon Chandru heard the excited chatter and uninhibited giggles of the young girls of the family sitting under the jackfruit tree and discussing saris for Diwali.

‘Good thing Kaka has gone to Bangalore for some work, we could give him our specific requests for saris. I have asked for an aquamarine sari with a pink border,’ said Vinuta, excitedly. Chandru was pleased to hear Vinu sounding so happy.

The following night, after dinner, he heard Bheemanna telling Vinu, ‘Vinu, I could not get the exact colour you had asked for. Instead I have got this for you.’

‘Oh, that’s all right. This is also very pretty. I like this blue colour,’ said Vinu brightly.

Vinuta’s answer came as a surprise to Chandru. So unlike his sister Surabhi’s reaction, he thought. Surabhi was the same age as Vinuta. The last time he had gone to Bangalore, he had had to trudge after her through all the shops in Chickpet just because she had wanted a particular ‘shocking pink’ sari. When she had been unable to find it, had she settled for the next best? Not a chance. She had dragged him to the market again the next day and finally bought a sari at twice the price he had budgeted for. Chandru had wanted to tell her that it looked awful on her dusky skin, but the thought of the possible consequences had made him keep his counsel. Vinuta, by contrast, seemed to be well aware of circumstances and adjusted to every situation. Of course, Surabhi’s case was different. She had doting brothers and parents who were ready to spend time and money on her. She could afford to be choosy and insistent.

Chandru thought he was the only one who sensed and understood the hidden pain and helplessness behind Vinuta’s captivating smile. The next day he asked Vinuta, ‘How would you describe the colour aquamarine? Is it closer to blue?’

‘It is blue mixed with a little green. But why do you ask?’

‘Just curious, that’s all,’ he replied. It would have been very easy for him to buy a sari for someone who had taken such good care of him during his illness. But he was not sure how the gesture would be interpreted by the rest of the family, so he dropped the idea. As it is, Chandru’s behaviour and close involvement with the Desai household had caused Kitty to tease him one day. ‘Chandru, what’s cooking? You hardly ever visit us. All the time you are stuck at Desai’s house.’

‘Absolutely nothing,’ Chandru had retorted sharply. ‘I have begun to like Dharwad, the way you have.’

‘Is it Dharwad or the koel in Desai’s house?’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Chandru.

‘Well, most eligible bachelors have an eye on her.’

‘What about you?’

‘Oh no, my marriage has been fixed with a Bangalore girl. Are you . . .?’

‘No. Unless I settle down to my satisfaction, there is no question of marriage.’