The Onus of Ancestry (14 page)

“I am not so sure – but as I said to you earlier Nishith, I will stand by my vows.”

“Come to me, come closer – I already feel better. You ease my apprehension, release my tension. You cannot understand the extent of unease in living with guilt and deceit, premonitions and constant threats. Your knowledge of me and the assurance of your presence allow me the opportunity to breathe freely for the first time.”

“Nishith, you must not give me too much credit, more than I can earn. You have asked a lot of me, far beyond my capacity, and certainly well beyond my expectations – we have just begun our lives together and I have a lot more to learn about your family and even more, about myself.”

“I feel I have known you a long time, all my life,” he said sleepily.

They spoke no more about it – there was nothing more to say.

The rest of their visit passed without trouble. Maheshwari had given up her cross-examination of Dwita, realising that she would not succeed in extracting anything from her. Dwita was a past master at concealing her feelings from the world. She had had enough practice hiding her emotions from her mother. Parna did not notice anything. She only felt that her daughter had now passed out of her ken completely and she had never really understood her. They had never been intimate enough to discuss their life together, or solve any problems in tandem. She had always held the rod over her head in the role of disciplinarian, promulgating her own beliefs and dictates, spelling out the do's and the don'ts of her own code of conduct. Now she had no role to play – Dwita was no longer her charge, nor her responsibility. She carried on as best she could with her other role, the good hostess, a kind mother-in-law offering generous hospitality to her son-in-law and her other guests.

Two days later, on her return to the Duttas, Dwita had absorbed herself with the multiple activities of a complex household. To her many chores Nishith had added lessons in swimming and driving; for the moment she was exempted from joining him in some of his more vigorous sporting activities.

Dwita now wished to return to her course at the university – the tutor had sent a message with some notes through a close friend, asking her to return as soon as possible. She had broached the subject to Nishith and was very surprised by his reaction. “How can you possibly return to your classes now? You have too much to do in the house. When will you find time to study? You have to keep me company at the Club and I also wish to increase our social commitments.”

“But you promised to let me carry on with my own interests.”

“I am not breaking any promises, Dwita. For heaven's sake, stop being childish. You ought to know yourself the difference between the life of a student and that of the wife of an aspiring business executive and industrialist.”

“But I am sure I can find time to do both.”

“I honestly do not think so – in any case I hope to travel quite a bit in the near future. You know I cannot do so alone. So you are going to miss classes and lose your percentage of attendance – what is the point of it all?”

She had not argued further, but realised again that she was not just Nishith Dutta's wife, but also nurse-companion to an ailing, ambitious man who was aware of his limitations but not prepared to accept them. For the first time she felt not only unhappy and desolate, but without hope for the future. Yet she knew too that she was not going to give in so easily, merely letting it go for the time being to avoid an immediate showdown. Nishith was as good as his word about travelling. He presented her with a proposed tour of their estate in Benebagan. He said she ought to see the property, meet some of the employees and neighbours and also added demurely: “It could be our honeymoon as well – a few quiet days together.”

Later on she overheard Prithwish saying: “Dada, why do you not go for your honeymoon somewhere else? Then we can have time to fix things up at Benebagan before Dwita's visit. You know Ashish is there–”

“So what?” Nishith had retorted, “they can be kept apart, and there are no secrets from her.”

“It is not a question of secrets – how much more do you wish to expose her to in so short a time? Are we not pushing her too hard? She is still very young, you know.”

“You mind your own business!”

“I will, but if her endurance snaps, you will be the one to regret it.” Prithwish had walked out in a huff.

She had heard it all and wondered, was she trying to exceed her capacity of endurance? Prithwish might be right. At any event, Nishith did not heed his brother's advice and they left for Benebagan. It was about 120 miles from Calcutta, towards the eastern coast of Bengal. Nishith's chauffeur-driven Mercedes made the journey pleasant and comfortable. He had produced a picnic hamper in his usual style from the Club as before – Nishith never lacked flair or flourish. It was a very picturesque drive and new to her. The roads were lined with palm trees and thatched village huts, far from the noise and bustle of neighbouring Calcutta. The inhabitants too looked unhurried and relaxed, at one with their tranquil surroundings.

On arrival at Benebagan they were greeted by Naibmashai, who managed the estate for the family, and a number of other staff who stood with bowed heads and folded hands. Although she was herself from a similar background, she had never been subjected before to this embarrassing show of servility. She had heard of her grandfather's imperious temper and arrogance but had never had to live with it. Her adult world had been comprised of women who ruled with strength and control, but never sought to lower the status of men. In Nishith, she was shocked to see the worst type of feudal overlord – he was brusque and impolite in his speech, negligent of greetings, discourteous and condescending to those who were his so-called subjects or employees. She felt embarrassed and uneasy in his company.

The house was a two-storey monstrosity, held up by massive white Grecian pillars. They were no longer truly white as the sea air had eroded them and imparted a sheen of fungal green. Inside there were damp patches and parts of the ceiling and walls were peeling. The ground floor had numerous reception areas, anterooms and offices, but the furniture and curtains were old and laden with dust. The first floor consisted of a private parlour, and numerous suites with their own facilities. One wing was completely deserted and neglected. The other wing was kept going by occasional bouts of painting and dusting, but the rooms were dark and cheerless. The house had obviously been built for a larger family, but over time nobody had cared to use it, live in it or look after it. The air seemed tainted with the threat of the family's curse.

Their suite of three rooms and a bathroom had obviously received some recent attentions, though the musty smell had not disappeared completely. The staff were visibly nervous – they probably feared that Dwita would disapprove or complain and they would then be subjected to Nishith's temper. She had not complained and had put her maid at ease with encouragement and compliments. She knew how a feudal household operated – the maid was the medium to communicate with the others – her feelings would influence the general atmosphere of the household, would help to decide on the rapport between ‘them' and ‘us'. Dwita's success with the serving staff had been established quite quickly and it became embarrassing on departure, when each of them in turn offered their services for her personal household in Calcutta. How could she explain that she had neither a personal household nor the power to employ them?

Nishith had taken her round the vast acreage of fields and orchards. There were extensive rice fields, and large stretches of grazing for the cattle. The mature orchards of mango, coconut palm and banana surrounded three sides of the house. There were also jackfruit, guava, and tamarind trees, not to speak of the shady neem, devdaru and the banyan with their old, twisted and gnarled branches which had become entangled, ancient ghosts of the Dutta family. There were two fish ponds and the lotus and lily pools. It was an attractive piece of property but through the lack of interest of its owners it was not loved and enjoyed, merely tolerated and exploited.

At the back of the house were the kitchens, storerooms, the go-downs and the living quarters of the estate employees and their families. There were innumerable women and children of all ages and sizes who stared at her with wide-eyed curiosity. They bowed in deference as soon as they became aware of her identity, but Nishith looked at them without interest or recognition, nor did he return their greetings.

Beyond the orchards and the main surrounding wall of the house, Dwita saw a short narrow pathway leading to an old cottage with a tiled roof and whitewashed walls. It was enclosed by a tiny garden, neat and tidy except for overgrown rose-bushes and some overhanging creepers with long snaky tendrils. She wondered who lived there. The windows had shuttered blinds and the house looked uninhabited except for a man asleep, humped in his armchair.

“Madhu, you son of a bastard! Are you being paid to sleep?” Dwita was shaken out of her thoughts by the violent anger in Nishith's voice. The man called Madhu jumped up like a startled deer, then bowed so deeply his head was almost touching the ground. He was obviously afraid.

“I shall have you flayed alive, next time I catch you sleeping – understand?”

“Yes, huzoor – I beg your pardon, huzoor.”

Nishith's language had shocked her. “What is the matter? Why are you so angry?”

“They understand no other language – it's the only way.”

“What is he supposed to be doing?”

“Do not involve yourself in such matters unnecessarily. You are only here for a few days, so enjoy yourself.”

Dwita decided not to take it any further – instead she followed Nishith obediently round the estate on her first sightseeing tour. The day passed quite quickly. Nishith was busy meeting employees, receiving visitors and holding long discussions on the affairs of the estate with Naibmashai. There was little to remind her of a honeymoon in this totally unromantic visit to Benebagan, but for Dwita this was a relief. However much she tried to accept her lot, the future hung over her like a dark cloud in a monsoon sky. She understood Nishith's need of her in a world where he played a part outside his being, but she could not forgive or forget the enormity of the deception that he had wilfully practised upon her. She might be young, but she was old enough to comprehend the implications of being with a man who was on the edge of sanity, and that man was her husband. The balance could tip at any time. She had decided to stand by him as long as she could but it seemed a prospect of eternity, devoid of hope, love, children, anything that could make life worthwhile. Her only salvation must be to throw herself into a career – an all absorbing interest in work which could help retain her own sanity and equilibrium. Whatever happened in the next few years of her life, she had to find an occupation. She promised herself she would brook no resistance from Nishith on this front, none at all.

Next day was very quiet except for neighbours' wives calling, to survey her or offer her their friendship. Some gazed in mute wonder, others seemed inclined to broach the expected but forbidden topic – “Did your family know the Duttas?” She at once realised why they asked and why the others contemplated her with such surprise – they did know the Duttas. She prevented any further discussion by saying, “Yes, in fact very well.” The pride of her up bringing had taught her to value, or perhaps overvalue privacy – it was not a small price to pay. In some ways she would have loved to have broken down and confided in a friendly soul.

Nishith was away all day and had left her to fend for herself. It was nearly dusk and he had not returned. He probably disliked this uncomfortable honeymoon as much as she did, she thought to herself. She sat on the terrace, where it was tranquil and cool. The only sounds that emanated from her surroundings were the flutterings of birds, the deep-throated monotonous croaking of frogs and the buzzing of unfamiliar insects. These noises served to reassure her, as the house seemed eerie and unfriendly in the descending darkness of the night.

She suddenly heard a rustling behind her – she attributed it to her maid who had probably come to turn the bed. “Shaila, is that you?” There was no response. The rustling seemed to be getting nearer. She shivered a little, and got up to look for the light switch – where was it? She was unable to locate it. Suddenly there was a presence – a breathing presence, just behind her. She could not go forward, there was a wall ahead of her, with no doors or corridors. She turned in desperation and found herself facing a half-clad, deformed figure of a man, with long unkempt hair and wild demented eyes. She wanted to scream. Somehow she knew immediately who he was – Ashish, this must be Ashish. He raised both his hands towards her, fingers bent and twisted like gnarled old twigs. She was absolutely mesmerised, and had lost her voice completely. But he had seen the fear in her eyes and crowed, triumphantly, “I have found you! He thought he could hide you – not a hope, my dear. Ha, ha, ha–” He laughed like a villain in a badly made film, showing uneven yellow teeth. Then he lunged and caught hold of her with a vicious grip, pulling her to himself. His naked body touched hers, he was too strong for her to offer any resistance, his breath smelt, and the unwashed odour of his presence nearly asphyxiated her. She must cry out, but could not. “What is his, is mine – the selfish, vile brute. I am what he has made me, that rascal, I shall show him what Ashish can do–”

She must have screamed, for the lights had come on and Shaila stood there with unmasked horror in her eyes. She shouted: “Ashish, babu, leave her! Barababu will kill you!” When he did not heed her, Shaila picked up a chair and aimed it at him. He was too quick for her, left Dwita and sprang on Shaila, grabbing at her throat.

“You first then, and then her–” Shaila screamed as he gripped and squeezed her throat. Dwita knew he would kill the girl if she did not intervene.