The Onus of Ancestry (7 page)

The friendship between Barun and Dwita developed – they were similar people in many ways and liked doing the same things. They met often at the library, at debates and other alumni events, not to speak of the French classes, which M. Armand thought Barun had joined to enjoy Mlle Dwita's company rather than to learn French. Barun was a lively and vivacious companion, popular with St Augustus and St Cecilia students; through him she met many other students and together they formed a large group which was involved in multifarious social and academic activities.

Parna was not aware of Dwita's extensive circle of friends as she never brought them home, except for the few her mother knew from Sacred Memorial days. Dwita was well aware that any change in her routine, conduct or relationships would lead to unnecessary trauma and increased vigilance on her mother's part.

The tip of the summer sun which Barun had brought into her limited horizon had only touched the edge of the iceberg; it had not melted it. He had made her aware of herself and she was now more conscious of others' eyes upon her. She even paid more heed to Maheshwari's beauty aids and had begun to choose her own clothes and do her hair more carefully.

Barun was different. His feelings for Dwita had grown into a deep attachment. He felt an increasing need to be near her and became more possessive of her and their relationship. This began to concern Dwita – to her Barun was a very special person, a dear friend, towards whom she vibrated with warmth and fondness, but not love. Barun was senior to her at university. He had completed his post-graduate studies ahead of her and was poised to advance further into academia outside his country. He watched Dwita's progress with patient interest as he continued to weave plans for their future together.

Dwita graduated in time with good results and Parna was delighted with her performance, but it was Mahama who said wistfully to her, “I wish Dima were here today, she would have been so pleased, and proud of you. She could have found you a handsome prince.”

“Mahama, these days handsome princes don't grow on trees, nor do I need one. I think the worms have now moved from my head to yours.”

But when she met Barun to give him the good news, he had looked at her strangely and then asked, “What comes next? What are your plans, do you wish to continue?”

“Yes, of course. I wish to continue for another two years with English and then try for the Union Public Service Examinations.”

“Why Dwita – why that? You know that the women in our public services are not allowed to lead a normal family life.”

“What do you mean by that? What is normal family life?”

“Marriage, for instance,” he ventured, looking straight at her.

“Ah, marriage – but who said I was interested in marriage? I wish to work, travel, breathe – marriage is the last thing on my mind.”

“Is it? But you can equally do something else – for example, read law, be a barrister. How about that? Let a few colleagues and criminals faint in court watching beautiful Dwita Roy Chowdhury, please,” he carried on, with an imposed lightness in his voice.

“Why should they?” Dwita said irritably. “If you have not fainted all these years–”

“Have I not?”

“Not that I have noticed.”

“Unfortunately, you seem to notice very little.” He gazed into her eyes warmly and meaningfully.

“Please, Barun, no – not yet anyway, give me time. We have been very good friends, let us keep it that way. We must not think of other ends for this wonderful relationship – it means a great deal to me. We both have a long way to go, a lot to do, places to see, people to meet.”

“But can we not do this together? Why must it be important for you to keep our journeys separate, our goals different? I too value our present relationship, but I have never thought of you as just a special friend.”

“Don't say ‘just a special friend' so lightly.”

“I see the iceberg refuses to melt –”

“Don't be sarcastic, Barun. Friendship like ours is not to be taken so lightly. There is a certain commitment in it, you cannot dismiss it with sarcasm.”

“All right, Dwita – I accept your decision for the time being. But Barun Mitra does not give up so easily.” She remembered what Chandni had said once about him.

Although they parted amicably and Barun had been entirely civilised about it, evidently he had found it difficult to swallow defeat. He had returned to the proposal some time later. She had smiled, shaken her head and sent him away without making any promises. He paraded his friendships with other girls seeking to make her jealous; she kept quiet or, when provoked, complimented him on his choice. He then threatened to stop seeing her. This hurt her enormously as Barun was indispensable to her lonely existence, but she was too proud to show it. She had merely said, “It is your choice, Barun, but my feelings for you will remain the same, come back when you like.”

In the end Barun relented. “All right, Dwita, you win. But I shall keep hoping, maybe one day, when you have grown up.”

“Yes, when I am sixty.” They had both laughed at the prospect and Barun knew that only time would tell.

However Barun made up his mind to leave Calcutta and accepted a place at Harvard to read Economics. He went soon afterwards; his father could afford to send him at short notice. He was a wealthy businessman, who had made his money in scrap. He was in a hurry for Barun to get on with his academic pursuits so that he could put him into the harness of the family business in due course.

Dwita and Barun parted with promises to keep in touch, to write to each other frequently and to meet up perhaps at some point – Barun was more optimistic with the hopes of Harvard ahead of him, but Dwita knew that Barun's absence would be hard to bear – he had left a gap in her life. She carried on with her post-graduate studies with public service as a future objective.

However, Parna, as expected turned down out of hand her choice of a career in that field. “You cannot possibly opt for home or foreign service – working and living alone all your life is absurd, unthinkable!” She was visibly agitated.

“But mother, you have managed to live alone and before you Dima – what's wrong with that?”

“Everything – we had to because of our circumstances, not because we wished to or planned it.”

“Is it not better to plan it, than be forced by circumstances?” she had blurted out without thinking of the consequences. Parna went into one of her outbursts.

“Yes, it is easy for you to taunt me, and criticise my decision. I accepted my way of life for your sake, to honour my sacred commitment to your father. What have I got in return? Love? Consideration? Nothing – only ingratitude and threats of desertion.”

“But what would you like me to do? You wanted me to read English. I did not disagree, but where does that lead to now? Teaching or something equally without any objective of interest as far as I am concerned? Even for teaching, to qualify well, I would need to specialise overseas.”

“But that cannot be for long. I can even arrange to accompany you – the company can offer me something in London for instance.” The last thing Dwita wanted was for her mother to remain a permanent shadow in her claustrophobic existence. She wanted freedom and air to breathe. That is when she began to think of ways of escape.

*

Dwita was not yet twenty and the desire to escape was becoming stronger by the hour. She was tired of Parna's nagging remonstrances and her constant interference in every sphere of her life. She questioned every movement, interrogated every action, checked every piece of correspondence – it was a life of inquisition, close and airless.

Once, she had decided to probe her about Barun when she discovered his existence for the first time – she had seen a letter Dwita had received from him from America.

“Who is it from?”

“I can only tell you when I have opened it,” Dwita said, knowing full well that it was from Barun.

“Then go ahead and open it,” her mother said curtly.

“Do you really want to know Ma? You won't like it – it is not from a girl friend.”

“Who is he, Dwita? There is no use hiding it from me.”

“There is every use, I think. Anyway, if you must insist, he is Barun Mitra.”

“Who is he? What sort of family does he come from? Who is his father? Where did you meet him?

“
Bas – bas – bas
– let us take it a little slowly!” Dwita was livid, but somehow controlled herself enough to continue, “He is a friend. His father is Abani Mitra – Barun is his eldest son.”

“Abani Mitra? You do not mean Abani Mitra, the scrap merchant?”

“So what, even if he is, it is his business.”

“No, it is mine as well – no daughter of mine will be involved with the son of a scrap dealer.” Parna said with an expression of acute distaste on her face and in her voice.

“Ma, Barun and I have been friends for ages and nothing you can say or do will ever stop me from seeing him. Please get that straight.”

This was the first time that Dwita had spoken to her mother with open challenge and outright opposition. She underestimated Parna's power and capacity for directing the wheels of fortune.

Parna did some quick thinking on Barun and her daughter, the extent and character of their relationship, as well as the possible pace and scope of its development. She decided on certain actions that would stop it in its tracks immediately. She could have spared herself the trouble, had she been closer to Dwita and had her daughter revealed the extent of her commitment. A lot of the events of the next few years need never have taken place.

Parna decided first of all to marry Dwita off in the immediate future – that she would be left on her own was then not foremost in her mind. It was of paramount importance to her that the purity of the line of her illustrious family, the respectability of Dibendra Chowdhury and Monmotho Roy Chowdhury and their ancestors, had to be preserved at all costs. In no conceivable way could a self-made scrap dealer and his son be allowed entry into this exclusive enclave or be permitted to taint it. It was a completely wasted exercise as far as Dwita was concerned – not her remotest thought was directed towards matrimony. But Parna occupied her own isolated world, a construct of personal beliefs and convictions, an environment where discussions did not take place.

Parna decided to hold Barun and Maheshwari responsible for Dwita's erratic impulses. She vowed that her daughter would neither be given the opportunity of a future career nor access to Barun Mitra's polluted fortunes. She took it upon herself to save Dwita from what she saw as her doom and with an all-consuming maternal concern she quite unwittingly drove her daughter into a destiny she could not avoid or escape – like those who came before her, she too became a victim of circumstances.

Parna was determined to find a suitable partner for Dwita – one of whom she approved. A distant cousin opened a wide vista of possibilities for her. She neglected other interests to immerse herself completely in investigations and explorations of potential in the field of matrimony. There was no shortage of male progeny of equal heritage in Bengal, but most of them were rejected for one reason or another. She finally decided on the Duttas of Benebagan – a well-known Brahmo family of West Bengal, people of established wealth and high social standing.

Parna investigated various aspects of the family – such as Nishith Dutta's eligibility, the number of brothers and sisters he had, details of their extensive estates and large inheritances – but unfortunately her search did not succeed in reaching the dark crevices of their private lives or shine a light into the interior of deep cupboards where families normally hide their skeletons. She was impressed by Nishith's carefully cultivated manners, his fluent speech and impeccable dress sense. Professional references from Hutchinson, where he was employed in a senior position, were blandly acceptable; all else was inferred from Nishith's conversational skills. Parna's confidence was further reinforced by the pleasant, informal disposition of his mother and members of his family. Like Parna she was a widow; Nishith's father had died two years earlier, leaving five children and all his estates to his wife, Protima Dutta.

Parna knew Dwita's feelings about marriage, particularly her views on arranged marriages. Hence she devoted the whole of her energy in the following days to setting up a sequence of events which could result in Dwita meeting Nishith in a way that avoided arousing suspicion in Dwita's mind. She was confident that once they met, Dwita was going to like him and might even think that she had discovered Nishith all by herself. Parna could then proceed to arrange further meetings with him and his family – carried away by the force of her private conspiracy she wove a web of plans and events, consulting no one else.

She kept Maheshwari well out of it, fully aware of where her loyalties lay. She decided to take Nishith a little into her confidence which was not difficult – he had already seen Dwita at a Brahmo wedding, and having ascertained her credentials and whereabouts, had asked his mother to approach the Roy Chowdhurys. In fact what Parna did not know was that Nishith Dutta was maniacally single-minded in pursuit of his desires. He was as tenacious as a bloodhound, and in this instance his intended prey was Dwita Roy Chowdhury. It was not going to prove difficult for Parna to enrol his connivance or support.

It was 25 January or 11 Magh, the most important day of
Maghotsab
, the annual festival of Bramos. Parna knew that this was the day when Dwita never said no to accompanying her to the Brahmo Samaj. It was the day of remembrance for Dwita, when she relived the moments of her childhood in the company of her grandmother. She always went because her grandmother would have wanted her to, had she been alive. Hence Parna planned for Nishith to meet her there. She also requested Mrs Dutta not to make her presence too obvious, as she knew that Dwita resented being scrutinised or interviewed by Parna's friends and acquaintances. Dwita had once told her mother that she felt like a prize animal at a village fair. Parna was afraid that Mrs Dutta would be less competent at concealing motives than Nishith, who seemed to understand well the stakes in this game.

Parna always gave a new saree to Dwita on 11 Magh, it was a family custom. It was like Christmas, special gifts or surprises were expected on this day. Only this year the saree was chosen very carefully – a heavy Kanjeevaram silk, deep flame in colour, edged with a narrow gold border – very simple and elegant, just right for Dwita. “Ma, what a lovely saree!” she had exclaimed with delight. “Thank you so much. But are you sure it will not be a little too much wearing it in the morning?”

“Of course not, Dwita – it is for a special day and you are still young.” Parna remembered her own special days. She, too, had still been young when she lost her right to colour or simple gaiety. She looked at her daughter with nostalgia and wished to say, “You are fortunate to be young and beautiful and still not deprived of your right to be desirable.” But Parna did not believe in complimenting Dwita on her looks, or indeed in expressing her inner sentiments to the outside world. Vanity was not a quality to be nurtured in her daughter, nor should she be permitted to peep into the deeper recesses of her mother's heart. Dwita was to be kept away and apart from all this. She pulled herself out of her reverie and called, “Hurry up Dwita, or we shall be late for the service.”

“Yes, Ma, I am coming. I won't be long now.”

They had arrived on time and Dwita's appearance caused a minor sensation, as Parna had expected – all eyes were on her. Parna sat, privately determining that they could all behold and wonder, but that Dwita belonged only to her, and she would decide who should have her. The young woman would not be allowed the choice or the freedom to make a mistake.

Unaware, Dwita stood upright and slim, her warm, wheat complexion responding beautifully to the deep flame of the
kanjeevaram
silk. She wore a thin gold chain round her long, smooth neck, a pair of tiny gold flowers in her small well-shaped ears. Her hair was swept up and coiled expertly into a bun – Maheshwari had stuck a little marigold like a star in the centre. The sleeveless matching blouse revealed rounded arms. The service was now over and she remained standing in one corner, cool and detached, quite oblivious to the effect she was having on the congregation, particularly the young men in attendance.

Nishith was rooted to the spot, he could not take his eyes off her, and he could not wait any longer – why was Mrs Roy Chowdhury taking so long to give him the signal to approach. He continued to survey Dwita from head to foot – from her manicured hands clutching the flame silk bag, to her carefully painted toenails peeping through gold sandals. He was mesmerised – no one else must possess her, he resolved to himself, even if it were to take him a little longer than anticipated to win her to his side. He somehow felt that Dwita Roy Chowdhury was not going to be easy game – behind her beauty and the mask of poise and detachment he sensed a strong will and determination. The presence of such confidence seemed to irritate him. Although he flaunted his own strength and power, he did not like to perceive it in others.

Parna had warned him earlier not to act with haste. It would be easy to be impulsive but wise to be devious. Yet he also suspected it could be unwise to wait too long.

“Nishith, go on,” his mother whispered at his elbow, “why are you wasting time? She may leave soon!”

“Don't worry, mother, all in good time.” He had at last seen Parna's signal. He slid forward with the stealth of a prowling tomcat.

“Hello, Mrs Roy Chowdhury, what a pleasant surprise.” He greeted Parna with folded palms, in the traditional style of
namaskar
.

“How are you Nishith? A pleasant surprise indeed. I haven't seen you for some time. Have you met my daughter? Dwita, come and meet Mr Dutta. Nishith, this is Dwita, my daughter.” Dwita turned her eyes to meet his steadily, reciprocating his greeting with folded palms.

“Have we met before, Miss Roy Chowdhury?”

“I don't think so, I do not come here very often.”

“Your face seems familiar.” Parna decided to move away at this point. “I am certain I have seen you before even if we did not meet. Yours is not a face one forgets easily.”

Dwita blushed deeply, unused to such compliments. “Well, you may be right, I am afraid I do not have a good memory for faces–”

“I suppose mine is
not
one to remember,” Nishith laughed amiably. “I work for Hutchinsons, a pharmaceutical and cosmetic company, and you?”

“I am in the final year of the Masters Programme, reading English.”

“You must keep it up,” he said, patronisingly.

“I intend to.”

“Dwita,” her mother called, “Bhajan Singh is not back with the car yet. I wonder what has happened to him.” Dwita was relieved to be interrupted. She was not enjoying this conversation – Nishith nettled her.

“Let me take you home, or drop you off at your next port of call,” Nishith volunteered, eagerly.

Dwita was surprised that Parna accepted this offer without demur. Was Nishith then less of a menace than other young males? Was he married or promised to someone? Less eligible? Or was he much too old for her, according to her mother's calculations?

Nishith brought his car to the Samaj gates, opened the doors for them to get in, lit his cigar, then drove away with a certain flourish and style. Parna was impressed – to her this was reliving her own past, when Monmotho had driven Nirupama away to begin the first chapter of their acquaintance. She stopped herself from thinking about whether the omen was good or bad. Meanwhile Nishith carried on his conversation with Dwita and they soon arrived at the gates of their house.

“Many thanks for the lift, Nishith. If it is not inconvenient, how about a cup of tea with us?”

“Who would refuse tea on a cool January day – not Nishith Dutta! I would love to.”

As they entered the house, Dwita saw their car, and in it Bhajan Singh, as usual fast asleep. She wondered why he had not come to fetch them. He might have misunderstood her mother. He was getting old and perhaps a little deaf as well.

Tea came and with it various delicacies, as though someone had already been expected to tea. Dwita attributed it to the special nature of the day – after all it was 11 Magh.

“Dwita, where are you going? Come and sit down and pour us some tea.” Parna called at Dwita's disappearing figure.

“Yes, mother.” She came back to join them.

“I can pour – I am very good at being mother.” Nishith broke in to ease the tension. He seemed to take over quite easily, pouring tea and maintaining an easy flow of conversation came naturally to him. He carried on talking, punctuated occasionally by laughter and Dwita found herself joining in spontaneously despite her initial resistance. It was a long time since she had spoken so unhesitatingly to anyone, particularly to a man, not since Barun's departure for Harvard.

Nishith left them with promises to visit again and to arrange for them to meet his family. Parna's relaxed acceptance of Nishith still amazed Dwita. She asked her mother, “Where did you met Mr Dutta? Have you known him long?”

“No, not really. I met him through the company,” Parna lied. “He seemed friendly and rather more likeable than most.”

“He is an easy conversationalist, if nothing else.”

“What do you mean by nothing else?”

“Nothing in particular.” Dwita left it at that, and Parna thought it inadvisable to pursue the topic further that day.

Later on that evening when Dwita was alone in her room Maheshwari asked, “Who was he?”

“Who was who, Mahama?” Dwita knew perfectly well, but always liked to tease Maheshwari.

“You know who – the man who came to tea.”

“He did not come to tea, he came in response to my mother's invitation as he had given us a lift home. He is Nishith Dutta.”

“Why did he bring you home? What happened to Bhajan – he was sitting here in the car snoring.”

“Exactly – and why did you not remind him to go and get us?”

“Of course I did and he said he did what he was told.”

“You mean that my mother asked him to sleep in the car and snore, whilst we waited for him at the Samaj – that hardly sounds like my mother.”

“Stop being flippant, tell me who–”

“Not a word more until you have taken out all the pins from my hair and combed it out for me – my head is splitting from the weight of that bun of yours, not to speak of that very heavy marigold!”

“All right.” Maheshwari made Dwita sit on the bed and started to take out the pins one at a time. “Now tell me who is this Nishith Dutta. He is not old enough to be your mother's friend and not young enough to be yours.”

“He is in fact Ma's friend. I believe she has known him for some time, so she said.”

“I see. I hope she knows what she is doing,” Mahama said ominously.

“I hope so too, but then let not my worms take over your head again.”

“Dwita!” Parna called. She came in unsmiling, forehead creased. “Can you not do your hair for once? Maheshwari has a hundred things to do. You two are always whispering and laughing together. What is it this time?”

“Mahama, you'd better go – anyway, I have some reading to do for tomorrow.” Dwita spoke calmly, without looking up. The cascade of black hair falling over her face hid her expression of distaste and impatience. Once again her mind was busy exploring avenues of escape from her mother's claustrophobic clutches and constant suspicions, and her own unnatural existence. She needed to breathe, to expand, instead she was being stifled by a possessive love she could not understand or reciprocate.

How could she escape? Could she run away? Where did girls brought up in cloistered gentility like her go? Should she find Barun and accept his offer if it were still open? But how could she use Barun as a means of escape? She cared too much for him. Had her grandfather felt the same urge at seventeen? Had his spirit rebelled similarly against restraint and the pressures of maternal love? He was lucky to be a son, perhaps that made it easier for him to extricate himself from coercion and constraint. But what about her? Could she get away? And if she did where would she end up? Maheshwari's old crinkled face peered at her with worried eyes and halted the train of her thoughts.

*

After their first meeting Nishith had returned to their house frequently. He came alone mostly, but sometimes with his mother or sisters. Parna and Dwita were invited to the Dutta home as well. Parna was delighted with the progress of her plans and Dwita suspected nothing. She was grateful for those evenings of discussions with Nishith and began to welcome his visits, even to look forward to them. He was not unaware of this. He had found out about Dwita's inherent interest in management literature, although she was reading English at the university. His study at home was stocked with British and American books on management. He lent these to her regularly and involved her in discussions which he knew she enjoyed thoroughly. On those occasions her mother also lifted her vigilance and the feeling of relief was much too heady to be ignored by Dwita.

Nishith spread his net of attraction quite invisibly. He never allowed her to feel that he had any other designs on her except for the obvious enjoyment of her company. He was a well-read man and it was no burden for him to satiate a thirsty young mind with discussions on literature or philosophy. They talked and argued on multiple subjects – from the chauvinism of Shaw to the amorality of Sarat Chandra's novels, from pantheism in Africa to dissensions in Brahmo Samaj, from enjoyment of club games to hooliganism at football grounds – nothing under the sun was left untouched. He encouraged her to dream about her career, to plan her future, and even suggested possible areas of specialism. He regretted his own failed plans for Oxford and told her how he had been offered a place, but had to turn it down to stay back and care for his ailing father and to look after the other members of the family. He impressed her with his nobility and made her feel sorry for him for sacrificing his own aspirations. Gradually his constant companionship and frequent presence made him an accepted part of her daily life. His company was almost a tonic in her uneventful existence.

Nishith also made extravagant gestures for her entertainment, taking her to the concerts and theatres of Calcutta. Parna was always invited but she often pleaded work or bowed out gracefully at the last moment. He always emphasised how much these indulgences meant to him, as he enjoyed the arts, and good company made them more worthwhile. He complained that his own family never accompanied him as their tastes were at variance with his.

Dwita began to feel a sense of empathy towards him and wondered if he was as lonely as she was, or if he felt the same need to escape. But then she told herself that their needs could not possibly match – he was not only a much older man but was also head of the Dutta clan, which should really entitle him to have his own way. Whatever the case, she was thankful for his company for he took her away from Parna's haunting surveillance.

Dwita soon noticed that Nishith was coming to their house every evening, except when he had an unavoidable office or family commitment. He stayed to dinner most evenings too – he enjoyed his food and Parna was pleased to be complimented on every item that emerged from her kitchen. The only person who did not take to Nishith and was wary of him was Maheshwari. She suspected there was a price attached to his generosity. But Dwita looked more relaxed these days and Parna tended to leave her alone; these were rewards not to be ignored. Maheshwari decided to keep silent though she watched them with some premonitions. Parna was absorbed in recreating a semblance of her life with Monmotho, only the performers were different and above all now she alone held the strings.