- 6 -
In Bangalore, Haseena lived in poverty. Govind Rao was slothful. While Haseena earned just enough to feed them by stitching clothes, Govind Rao would gulp down his share of the meagre ganji she provided, loaf around the slum and play cards with the local scoundrels. He took to selling ganja and would also get high on it. When he returned home smashed, he would thrash Haseena.
When Haseena gave birth to Jyoti, she visited all her old friends with the baby in her arms, begging for money. Some of Krishnaswamy’s friends told him she had even taken to theft.
One morning when he was reading the newspapers, Haseena got off the Shahpasand train in Mysore. She arrived at his doorstep with a small trunk in one hand and the toddler in the other. As soon as she saw him, she tried to smile with the familiarity of the past. There was no sparkle in her eyes, her face was gaunt. Her sari was so crumpled it looked like a wilted bunch of greens.
No sooner did little Jyoti see the cosy drawing room with its cane chairs and cushions, and the artefacts that decorated the place, she was excited. She picked things up off the table and shelves one by one and Haseena didn’t stop her. Concealing his anxiety, Krishnaswamy called out to the cook and asked him to make tea. Jyoti’s stomach was puffed up and she was pale. Her clothes were shabby and torn.
’Can I stay here?’ Haseena asked, holding back her tears.
Krishnaswamy picked up her trunk and placed it in the guest room. ‘Have a cup of tea, then bathe. Shall I give the child something to eat?’ he asked.
’Yes please.’ She wiped her tears. Krishnaswamy brought in some biscuits. Jyoti gobbled them up shedding crumbs all over the carpet. She drank the milk greedily slopping it all over herself.
Krishnaswamy was not sure if Haseena had walked out of her marriage, and wasn’t sure if he could ask her about it. So he sat before her, waiting for her to open up. ’It’s all over,’ she said, and went for a bath. She gave her daughter a bath too, got ready, and pulled out a fresh set of clothes out for her daughter from the trunk. When she came and sat beside Krishnaswamy he could see that she was not the same Haseena.
Krishnaswamy took Jyoti to the doctor. She was treated for skin allergies, worms and anaemia. With the good nourishment he provided, she recovered in a month. As for Haseena, he bought her new clothes, ordered chicken biriyani for her from a nearby restaurant, got her beer to drink. His feelings of sympathy made her seem piteous. The mutual attraction and mischief of the past was no longer there. They could no longer communicate to each other through gestures.
He tried to teach Jyoti good manners. She had been brought up with no discipline and the process became the source of much irritation rather than of affection. Haseena clearly suffered when he scolded Jyoti but did not say anything.
One day when Krishnaswamy came home late, he saw Govind Rao climbing down the steps of his house. Without a word, he went into his room and shut himself in. After a little while, Haseena knocked on the door, came in and sat beside him.
’Vindu was here. He was hungry. I felt sorry for him. Took out a five hundred rupee note from your suitcase and gave it to him.’ Haseena looked straight at him as she spoke. When he didn’t respond, she said, ’I have stolen in other people’s houses. But never in yours. Even if you hadn’t seen Vinda today, I would have told you.’
Krishnaswamy did not flare up but locked himself up in utter silence, and not a nerve on his face moved.
’Vinda has beaten me, kicked me … the rascal! But do you know why I still like him? Because he is human. Do you know what else I gave him? I wanted to hide this from you, but let me get it off my chest. The cassette tape recorder that you had kept in your cupboard, the one that you take when you go on picnics, I gave him that. That rascal of a loafer, he’ll probably sell it. He asked me for it and I gave it to him, sorry.’
Haseena laughed hideously. Krishnaswamy got up and poured himself a whiskey and drank it neat. He didn’t look at her.
’Beat me at least … are you such a gentleman that you don’t even realise how much I love you? Don’t you have any feelings?’
When Krishnaswamy turned to get another drink in complete indifference, Haseena stomped towards her room.
By morning, she had left with her daughter. Krishnaswamy opened his trunk and found that the entire wad of notes he had saved up for his research trip to Puri-Jagannath had vanished.
She could have, with her deft fingers opened the phoney lock in him, a long time ago.
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