‘Memsahib, I don’t think you can get them in Brahmpur. It was your Calcutta friend who brought them two years ago.’
Gajraj was referring to a friend of Veena’s in fact, a young woman from Shantiniketan who had stayed at Prem Nivas as a guest a couple of times. She had very much enjoyed the garden, and Mrs Mahesh Kapoor found her good company even if her ways were a little surprising. On her second visit, she had brought the yellow lilies with her on the train in a bucket of water.
‘A pity,’ said Mrs Mahesh Kapoor. ‘Anyway, the blue ones are very striking.’
13.6
Out on the muddy surface of the lawn, a few birds — babblers, red-wattled lapwings, and mynas — were walking around, pecking at whatever presented itself. This was the season for earthworms, and the lawn was full of their curled castings.
The sky had grown dark and the sound of distant thunder could be heard.
‘Have you seen any snakes this year?’ asked Mrs Mahesh Kapoor.
‘No,’ said Gajraj. ‘But Bhaskar said he saw one. A cobra. He shouted for me, but by the time I came, it had disappeared.’
‘What?’ Mrs Mahesh Kapoor’s heart beat more rapidly for a minute. ‘When?’
‘Just yesterday afternoon.’
‘Where did he see this?’
‘He was playing on that pile of bricks and rubble over there — standing on it and flying his kite — I told him to be careful, because it was a likely place for snakes, but—’
‘Tell him to come out at once. And call Veena Baby as well.’
Veena, though now a mother, was still called Baby by the older servants at Prem Nivas.
‘No,’ continued Mrs Mahesh Kapoor. ‘On second thoughts, I’ll go back to the verandah for tea. It looks as if it’s about to rain.’
‘Veena,’ she told her daughter when they came out, ‘this boy is like you used to be — very wilful. He was playing on that pile of rubble yesterday, and it is full of snakes.’
‘Yes!’ said Bhaskar, enthusiastically. ‘I saw one yesterday. A cobra.’
‘Bhaskar!’ said Veena, her blood running cold.
‘It didn’t threaten me or anything. It was too far away. And by the time I called for Gajraj it wasn’t there any more.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ asked his mother.
‘I forgot.’
‘That’s not the sort of thing one forgets,’ said Veena. ‘Were you intending to play there again today?’
‘Well, when Kabir comes we were thinking of flying kites—’
‘You are not to play there, do you understand? Neither there nor in any part of the back garden. Do you understand me? Or I won’t let you out in the garden at all.’
‘But, Mummy—’
‘No “but Mummy” or “please Mummy”—you are not to play there. Now go back inside and have your milk.’
‘I’m sick of milk,’ said Bhaskar. ‘I’m nine years old — almost ten. Why should I drink milk forever?’ He was not pleased to have been disciplined in front of his grandmother. He also felt that Gajraj, whom he had looked upon as a friend, had betrayed him.
‘Milk is good for you. Many boys don’t get any milk at all,’ said Veena.
‘They are lucky,’ said Bhaskar. ‘I hate the skin that forms on it as it cools. And the glasses here are one-sixth larger than those at home,’ he added ungratefully.
‘If you drink your milk quickly, nothing will form on it at all,’ said his mother unsympathetically. It was very unlike Bhaskar to be so sullen, and she was determined not to encourage it. ‘Now, if you disobey me again and behave as if you’re six, I’m going to slap you — and Nani won’t stop me either.’
There was a roll of thunder, and a few drops of rain pattered down.
Bhaskar withdrew into the house with some dignity. His mother and grandmother smiled at each other.
Neither of them needed to mention that Veena too used to make a great fuss about drinking her milk when she was a child, and that she often gave it to her younger brothers to dispose of.
After a while Mrs Mahesh Kapoor said:
‘He looked in good spirits last night despite all that the doctors said. Didn’t you think so?’
‘Yes, Ammaji, I did.’ There was a silence. ‘It’s a difficult time for them,’ Veena continued. ‘Why don’t you ask Savita, Lata and Ma to stay here in Prem Nivas until the baby’s born? We’re going to be leaving in a day or two anyway.’
Her mother nodded. ‘I asked once before, but Pran thought she wouldn’t like it, that she’d feel happier in familiar surroundings.’
Mrs Mahesh Kapoor also reflected that Mrs Rupa Mehra, when she visited Prem Nivas, was liable to mention that she found the rooms exceedingly bare. And this was true. Mahesh Kapoor, though he was of no help in running the house, often exercised his veto on proposed furnishing. It was only on the puja-room and the kitchen that his wife had been able to exercise that loving care that she lavished on the garden.
‘And Maan?’ said Veena. ‘This house feels odd without him. When he’s in Brahmpur it is very bad that he isn’t staying with his family. We hardly get a chance to meet as it is.’
‘No,’ said her mother. ‘I felt hurt at first, but I think he’s right, it’s for the best that he stays with his friend. Minister Sahib is going through a hard time, and they would find each other’s company difficult, I think.’
This was a mild prediction. Mahesh Kapoor was short with everyone these days. It was not merely the fact that the house was suddenly less full of hangers-on and aspirants of various kinds, company he claimed to despise but in fact now fretted for; it was also the unpredictability of the future that ate at him and made him snap with less than usual cause at whoever happened to be around.
‘But apart from his moods, I enjoy this relief,’ said Mrs Mahesh Kapoor, completing the arc of her own thoughts aloud. ‘In the evening there is time for some bhajans. And I can walk around the garden in the morning now, without feeling that I am ignoring some important political guest.’
By now the clouds had blotted out the sun completely. Gusts of wind were blowing across the garden and turning the silver undersides of the leaves on a nearby poplar tree so violently that it appeared not dark green but silver. But the verandah where they were sitting was protected by a low wall decorated with shallow urns of portulaca and was covered with a corrugated roof, and neither of them felt like moving indoors.
Veena hummed to herself the first few lines of a bhajan, one of her mother’s favourites: ‘Rise, traveller, the sky is bright’. It came from the anthology used at Gandhi’s ashram, and reminded Mrs Mahesh Kapoor of how they would give themselves courage in the most hopeless days of the freedom struggle.
After a few seconds, she too began to hum along, and then to sing the words:
‘Uth, jaag, musafir, bhor bhaee
Ab rayn kahan jo sowat hai. . ’
Rise, traveller, the sky is bright.
Why do you sleep? It is not night. .
Then she laughed. ‘Think of the Congress Party in those days. And look at it now.’
Veena smiled. ‘But you still get up early,’ she said. ‘You don’t need this bhajan.’
‘Yes,’ said her mother. ‘Old habits die hard. And I need less sleep these days. But I still need the help of that bhajan several times a day.’
She sipped her tea for a while. ‘How is your music?’ she asked.
‘My serious music?’ asked Veena.
‘Yes,’ said her mother with a smile. ‘Your serious music. Not bhajans, but what you learn from your Ustad.’