The Turning - Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

Prakash shook out his kurta-pajamas out of the overnighter, trying to reorient himself with his surroundings.

Back in these walls after a gap of ten years! So far, his daughter had hardly spoken to him. His mother who had come down from Baroda had been resting in the room allotted to her. She was as yet unaware of his presence in the house. He wondered how she would greet him now, after all these years. Ten years ago, she had vowed that he was no longer any son of hers.

Dina, of course, would play merry hell if she got to know! But that was a remote possibility he had been impelled to risk. He had had to come here, for Karuna's twelfth day ceremonies. He just had to! He'd stay here overnight, sharing Vinod's room, and leave the next evening.
It was just a matter of a day and a half, really!

Prakash glanced at his watch. Almost 5 in the evening. Arun and 5uchitra had been closeted in their room, after greeting Prakash briefly. But thank God they, at least, did not display any animosity towards him! Arun was a sophisticated, highly educated man. Prakash hardly knew Suchitra, but she seemed sensible enough. He sighed, trying to shrug off past ghosts. Vinod should be in shortly.

Here he was! Prakash smiled slightly at him and went on unpacking his overnighter, while Vinod prowled around, making desultory conversation. Vinod had cleared some space for him on the small bedside table, so Prakash could keep some of his stuff there shaving cream, after-shave cream, cologne, a silver-wrapped package tied with gold thread, tooth brush and paste, razor, bottles and strips of capsules . . .

He laid out a pair of clothes on the back of a chair, unwrapped his bedroom slippers, then took Vinod by the arm, led him to the bed and sat down with him. "Now, Vinod, tell me. . ." began Prakash.

* * * *

While her fatehr and Vinod had been conversing, Nivedita was crying her heart out in her grandmother's lap.

"There there child, don't take on so," crooned Kuntabai, stroking the long black hair spread out on her white saree'd lap.

The sobbing ended in a series of shudders. The stream iof tears dried up a tlast. Nivedita raised a white, red-eyed face, her thick hair billowing out like a storm cloud pregnant with rain, and gazed blindly ahead of her.

Just as Kuntabai was beginning to feel a bit uneasy about that fixed unfocused stare, Nivedita pronounced, "Now I know what I have to do. I shall do it! I have to do it!" in a queer calm tone, as though repeating a lesson learnt by rote. Then she ran out of the room before her startled grandmother could react, and rushed straight like a homing pigeon into her brother's room.

There was nobody there. But even in that empty room, Nivedita could feel her father's presence almost tangibly. . . in the clothes piled up on a chair. . . in the toiletries lying on Vinod's dressing table. . . in the shining silver package, indecently opulent in this house of mourning.

Nivedita crept closer to the package and read the message on the card stuck on to it. She felt an almost physical shock of anger, mingled with pain. "And my mother's ashes not yet immersed," she thought to erself resentfully, turning and walking blindly out of Vinod's room. She blundered into her grandmother who had come into the living room, and rushed past her without a word to the main door, and out of the house.

Kuntabai stared after Nivedita, troubled and bewildered. "Hey Ram," she cried out. "What is happening here?" She wandered round the house, looking for Vinod. It was clear at the child needed help. Medical help. Badly. And soon! Where had that boy disappeared without telling anyone? This day, of all the days?

Vinod, however, when he ultimately returned, laughed at her fearS. "Yes Dadi, it's true that she has a deathwish for this other woman. It is but natural! She was at an extremely vulnerable age when Father left us. But she's been working it out of her system in her own way. At least that's a healthy sign." He shook his head at the sceptical look on her face. "Don't believe? Come, I'll show you something. But," he cautioned, "you must keep it to yourself.".

It was quite dark now. A little past 7.30 pm. Vinod led Kuntabai onto the terrace. Not normally given to imaginative fancies, the old lady could not repress a twinge of apprehension that shuddered through her body as she followed Vinod. He switched on the terrace lights, then went straight to the rock garden, knelt, lifted a few rocks and stood back, his eyes on Kuntabai's horror-stricken face as she beheld what was lying below the rocks: a messy, elongated lump of wax with several pins stuck onto it. The sharpness of the figurine was a little blurred by the passage of time, but the figure was still fairly recognizable as a female one.

"Nivedita's brand of voodoo," quipped Vinod with ill-judged jocularity.

"You call this 'healthy'? Kuntabai glared at him, her face puckered with worry.

Vinod shrugged his shoulders. "This kind of thing is harmless enough," he said casually. "This way, Nivedita can expend some of her frustration and resentment on something tangible, instead of bottling it all up inside her."

"Surely something should be done about her?" said Nivedita's grandmother, her heart troubled.


Vinod laughed mirthlessly. "There's no sense in rocking the boat right now. God alone knows how she may react to the suggestion of therapy. And," he added savagely, "I'm not having any sister of mine locked up!"

"Do you think it might come to that?" she inquired, alarmed. Her flash of temper at his flippancy had been replaced by an urgent sense of concern about Nivedita. "Beta. . . what is your professional opinion? As a Doctor?"

Vinod shrugged pettishly. "I'm a GP as of now, not a specialist, much less a psychiatrist. My professional opinion in Nivedita's case won't be worth a damn!"

Something in his tone made the old lady look up at his face appraisingly. "Problems at the hospital?"

"Just the usual," Vinod muttered irascibly. "Petty jealousies, trying to keep a good man down because they themselves can't rise further." He looked at Kuntabai, noted her slight look of bewilderment at his suddenly vicious tone, and gave a determinedly brave smile. "Don't you worry Dadi, I'll make good someday. See if I don't! I'll get the money somehow and set up a clinic of my own."

The old lady patted his shoulder, looking more troubled than ever.

They went back to the drawing room, and Kuntabai froze.

Standing with his back to them stood Prakash at the bar, pouring himself a measure of whisky. He appeared to have showered and changed. He turned and encountered his mother's condemning look. Without uttering a word, she turned her back on her son and walked out of the room.

Prakash looked at Vinod helplessly. "Looks like everyone is against me. Except you." He took a gulp and said gruffly, "I've not said this to you earlier, Vinod, but I really do appreciate your . . . your feelings for me; the support and affection you've shown me all through this . . . this. . . " He seemed to falter, which was unusual for him, and looked at Vinod with unaccustomed gratitude. "Y ou've been more of a son to me than anybody ever could have been!"

"It's your life, Father. I've always believed that people should be free to do what they want." He smiled at Prakash wryly, adding meaningly, "React as they want, reflect the attitudes they want!"

"Point taken," sighed Prakash, draining his glass. ''I'm going out for a stroll. I think I'll skip having dinner here tonight, under the circumstances. " Vinod nodded. "Take your time."

* * * *

Dina, in the meanwhile, had been glad to be by herself in the house. Karuna's death had brought horne to her the inevitability of her own mortality and transported it from the level of the subconscious to the ultra-conscious. Her approaching birthday merely served to heighten the feeling. Creeping upon her insidiously.

What would happen to her soul after her death was no longer her prime concern. The more'tangible worry was, what in God's name would they do to her body?

"What will happen to you when you die?" an inner voice taunted her. "Karuna at least has had all ceremonies performed for her. The religious rites of her faith. What will happen to you . . . to you . . . when you die?"

Suddenly, Dina knew what she could do. What she had to do. The only thing to be done. And it would be in keeping with her own image of herself. Of altruism. And selflessness.

She picked up the telephone and dialled Banoo Maa. Then she called out to Fatima to make her a cup of tea. Then she got out pen and paper and began to write. . .

* * * *

Prakash returned to his old home and entered the drawing room to find his daughter by herself, sitting curled up on the sofa, rather like a cat. She looked up as he carne in, and to his astonished delight, actually gave him a slight smile! A queer, unfathomable smile. But a smile nonetheless.

He was encouraged to go and sit next to her on the sofa. She leaned her head on his arm and rubbed her cheek against it. The gesture was disturbingly feline. And quite out of character. But then, Prakash hadn't known her for so long, now! He awkwardly patted her hand, lying delicately on his thigh. He was not quite sure what to say. Nivedita solved that problem for him. She startled him by asking how Dina was.

To Prakash, it was a bolt from the blue. His astonishment at her sudden, strange question was obvious enough even to Nivedita, causing her to break into explanations.

"I've been thinking," she said in a rush, "Especially after Mama's death. And I feel I've been wrong to feel this way about her." Nivedita looked up at her father with wide, innocent eyes, saying earnestly, "1' d like to get to know her, Papa; maybe. . . maybe make friends with her.
I'd like to meet her. Really!"

Too dazed and overwhelmed to question her sudden reversal, Prakash squeezed his daughter's arm. "I knew it," he told her. "I was sure that some time, some day, you'd change your attitude towards Dina. See darling, I've got to go for a business trip for a couple of weeks to Poona. We shall all have a small family dinner after I return. You can meet her then. How's that?"

Nivedita frowned and traced a pattern on his sleeve with her finger. "Can't I just myself meet her earlier?" she asked in a small-girl voice. "When are you leaving?"

Prakash thought for a moment and made a quick decision. "Okay, Baby. We'll do this. It's her birthday the day after tomorrow. I'll be leaving from here tomorrow evening after the ceremonies are over, and going back to Cuffe Parade. Why don't you come over, day after tomorrow in the morning, before her family lands up for lunch? Will that be all right?" "Yes," replied Nivedita, sounding pleased. 'I'll come on her Birthday first thing in the morning, and greet her. That will be appropriate. Yes, that will be very appropriate!"

*