My Name Is Radha

Sharda

Nazir went to buy a bottle of whisky from the black market. There was a cigarette stall near the entrance to the pier, just before the main post office, where he always got Scotch at a reasonable price. He paid thirty-five rupees and took a bottle wrapped in paper. Must have been around eleven in the morning. Although he usually started drinking after sundown, the weather was so gorgeous that he’d thought he might get started now and keep going well into the evening.

Bottle in hand, he set out for home in an exuberant mood. He decided to catch a taxi at the Bori Bunder stand, leisurely sip a bit of the Scotch during the ride and arrive home pleasantly inebriated. If his wife made a fuss, he would simply say, ‘Just look at the weather — isn’t it heavenly?’ and then recite a few lines of insipid poetry, ‘The clouds won’t let the angels in; / all sins will be counted as good deeds today.’ Of course, she would nag him for a while, but eventually she would calm down and, perhaps, at his request, get busy making parathas filled with ground meat.

He had only taken a few steps away from the stall when a man greeted him. Given his weak memory, Nazir failed to recognize him but he pretended otherwise and said courteously, ‘Where have you been all these days? Haven’t seen you in ages.’

The man smiled. ‘Sir, I’m always right here; it’s you who have made yourself scarce.’

Nazir still couldn’t place him. ‘Well, I’m here now.’

‘In that case, come with me.’

Nazir was in a very buoyant mood. He said, ‘All right, let’s go.’

Spotting the bottle tucked under Nazir’s arm, the man said with a knowing smile, ‘You seem to have everything else with you.’

‘He’s got to be a pimp,’ Nazir suddenly realized. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

‘Karim. Don’t tell me you forgot.’

It all came back to Nazir. Before he got married, a certain Karim used to procure nice girls for him. He was an exceptionally honest pimp. Nazir looked at him closely and saw a familiar face. The events of a not-so-long-ago past floated in his memory. ‘Sorry, yaar, I didn’t recognize you,’ he apologized. ‘It’s been nearly six years since we last met, wouldn’t you say?’

‘I think so.’

‘You used to do your business at the corner of Grant Road.’

‘I’ve moved,’ Karim said with burgeoning pride as he lit his biri, ‘thanks to your good wishes. Now I work from a hotel.’

‘Excellent!’ Nazir congratulated him. ‘You’ve done well for yourself.’

‘Altogether I have ten girls,’ Karim said with even greater pride, ‘and one of them is brand new.’

‘Oh, you guys! You always say that,’ Nazir teased him.

But Karim took it badly. ‘I swear by the Qur’an, I’ve never lied in my entire life. May I eat a pig’s flesh if this girl isn’t a novice.’ He then dropped his voice and whispered conspiratorially, ‘She had her first passenger just eight days ago — I’ll be damned if I lie.’

‘Was she a virgin?’

‘Absolutely. That passenger had to shell out two hundred rupees.’

Nazir poked Karim in the ribs. ‘I see you’re already at it, I mean fixing the price.’

Karim felt offended. ‘By the Qur’an, may he who bargains with you become a swine. Please come with me. Pay whatever you will. I’ll accept it gladly. Karim has a lot to thank you for.’

Nazir had four hundred and fifty rupees on him. The weather was exceptional, and his mood no less exuberant. He travelled six years back in time, inebriated already without even having a drop. ‘Why not, yaar, let’s live it up. But first, let’s get another bottle.’

‘How much did you pay for this one?’ Karim inquired.

‘Thirty-five.’

‘Brand?’

‘Johnnie Walker.’

‘I’ll get you one for thirty,’ Karim said, patting his chest.

‘Don’t let me stand in your way, be my guest — here.’ Nazir took out three ten-rupee notes and handed them to Karim. ‘After you’ve taken me to her, the first thing you should do is get the bottle. Remember, I don’t like to drink alone.’

‘And, perhaps you remember, I never drink more than a peg and a half,’ Karim said smiling.

Yes — Nazir recalled — six years ago, Karim had always drunk only a peg and a half. The memory made him smile. ‘Have two today.’

‘No, sir, not a drop more.’

Karim stopped near a dismal building with a shabby sign in one corner announcing Marina Hotel. It was a beautiful name, but the building was filthy, with a rickety, crumbling staircase. A bunch of Pathan moneylenders in baggy shalwars lounged on cots near the entrance. The ground floor seemed to have been appropriated by Christians; a slew of native sailors lived on the second floor; and the third had been taken over by the hotel’s owner for his personal use. Karim had a corner room on the fourth floor, where several girls sat huddled together like chickens cooped up in their pen.

He sent for the key from the owner and opened the door to a spacious but ill-proportioned room. It had a steel-frame cot, a chair and a tea table. The room was exposed on three sides, that is, it had a profusion of windows, most of them with the glass broken. If nothing else, at least it boasted an airy environment.

After cleaning the filthy armchair with a filthier rag, Karim invited Nazir to take a seat. ‘But let me tell you upfront,’ he said, ‘the room will cost you ten rupees.’

Nazir examined the room closely and said, ‘Yaar, isn’t ten a bit steep.’

‘It is, I agree, but can’t be helped. The hotel owner, saala, he’s one hell of a money-sucker. He won’t take a penny less. And Nazir Sahib, what’s money to someone out on a binge, after all.’

Nazir thought a bit. ‘You couldn’t be more right. Shall I pay for it in advance?’ he asked.

‘No, that won’t be necessary. First have a look at the girl,’ he said as he went out.

He returned in a bit with an exceedingly shy girl in tow — a plain sort of Hindu girl of about fourteen in a white dhoti, not exactly a beauty queen but endearingly simple and naive all the same.

‘Sit down,’ Karim told her. ‘This gentleman is a friend of mine. He’s one of our own.’

The girl perched herself on the cot with her eyes lowered. Karim left the room saying, ‘Make sure you’re satisfied. I’ll fetch some glasses and soda.’

Nazir got up from the chair and sat down next to the girl. She cringed and pulled away. Nazir asked, exactly the way he used to six years ago, ‘What’s your name?’

She didn’t reply. Nazir edged closer to her, took her hand and asked again, ‘What’s your name, madam?’

The girl pulled her hand free and said, ‘Shakuntala.’

Nazir recalled the Shakuntala with whom Raja Dushyanta had fallen in love. ‘And I’m Dushyanta,’ he said. Nazir, in a pleasant mood, seemed hell bent on having a good time. The girl heard him and smiled. Meanwhile, Karim returned and presented four bottles of soda dotted with condensation. ‘I remembered that you like Roger’s soda. They’re chilled.’

Nazir was delighted. ‘Man, you’re something else again!’ Then he asked the girl, ‘Madam, would you like to have some?’

She didn’t respond. Instead, Karim answered, ‘Nazir Sahib, she doesn’t drink. It’s only been eight days since she came here.’

Nazir felt a bit let down. ‘That’s no good,’ he said.

Karim opened the whisky and poured out a shot for Nazir. Then he winked at him and said, ‘Well, see if you can bring her round.’

Nazir emptied the glass in one gulp. Karim had only half a peg. The liquor affected him immediately. ‘You like the girl, don’t you?’ he asked, swaying a little from the rapid inebriation.

Nazir thought about it but couldn’t say whether he did or didn’t. He looked intently at Shakuntala. He might have liked her if she hadn’t had that name. The Shakuntala whom Raja Dushyanta had seen during his hunt and instantly fallen in love with was very beautiful, or so the books said. They described her as lovelier than the sun and moon, with the eyes of a gazelle. Nazir looked at his Shakuntala one more time. Her eyes weren’t bad, though not exactly like a gazelle’s, but they were her own eyes, large and dark. He didn’t deliberate further and said, ‘Fine, yaar. How much?’

Karim poured himself another half peg and said, ‘A hundred.’

Nazir was no longer thinking. ‘Okay, a hundred it is.’

His drink finished, Karim left the room. Nazir got up and closed the door. When he plopped down beside Shakuntala, she became nervous. And when he tried to kiss her, she sprang up with a start. He found this very unpleasant, but attempted it again. He grabbed her by the arm, made her sit next to him and forcibly kissed her. The whole thing was proceeding in the worst possible way. At least the effect of the whisky was superb; he had downed six pegs by now. Soon, though, he began to feel quite disappointed that all this expense would be a waste since this Shakuntala had turned out to be totally raw and knew next to nothing about the protocol of this trade. It was as if he had been condemned to swim with a rank amateur. At last he lost interest. He opened the door and called out for Karim, who sat cooped up in the grubby den with his girls.

Karim scurried over. ‘What’s the matter, Nazir Sahib?’

‘Nothing, yaar,’ Nazir said in desperation. ‘It won’t work.’

‘Why?’

‘She doesn’t seem to know what’s involved.’

Karim took Shakuntala aside and reasoned with her at length, but failed to get through to her. Adjusting her dhoti, she scuttled out of the room, blushing all over. ‘I’ll bring her right back,’ Karim said.

‘Don’t bother,’ Nazir stopped him. ‘Bring me some other girl.’ Then, suddenly, he changed his mind. ‘Go and buy another bottle with the money I gave you and bring however many girls you have around here — except Shakuntala. I mean, all the ones who drink. Today, I’ll just sit with them and drink. Nothing else.’

Karim, who understood Nazir well enough, sent in four girls. Nazir looked at them cursorily. He’d made up his mind to just drink in their company so he sent for more glasses and started drinking with them. In the afternoon he had lunch brought over from the hotel and chattered with them until six in the evening. Meaningless jabber, but it seemed to revive his spirits; the vexation Shakuntala had caused him was more than redeemed.

Half a bottle of whisky still remained, so he took it home. A fortnight later the weather was again heavenly and Nazir was overcome by the desire to drink all day long. Instead of buying his liquor at the cigarette stall, he decided to get it for less through Karim, and went to his haunt. Luckily Karim was there. The minute Karim saw him he said in a hushed voice, ‘Nazir Sahib, Shakuntala’s elder sister is here. She arrived by the morning train. A tough cookie, I must say, but I’m sure you will be able to tame her.’

Nazir hardly took time to think it over. ‘Let’s see,’ he said to himself.

‘Come on, yaar, get some whisky first,’ he told Karim, giving him thirty rupees.

Karim took the bills and said, ‘Okay, I’ll get it. You go into the room and have a seat.’

Nazir had only ten rupees left. All the same, he had the room opened and sat down on the chair. He had decided that he would take the bottle of whisky, briefly look at Shakuntala’s sister and then be on his way, tipping Karim two rupees for his trouble.

In the abundantly airy room, seated on the terribly grimy chair, Nazir lit a cigarette and lifted his legs up on to the bed. Shortly afterwards he heard the sound of footsteps. Karim entered and whispered into Nazir’s ear, ‘She’ll be here in a second. But mind you, you’ll have to tackle her yourself.’

Karim left the room, and five minutes later a girl resembling Shakuntala and, like her, draped in a white dhoti entered with a frown on her face. She raised her hand to her head and, with utter indifference, said ‘Aadaab’ and sat down on the bed. Nazir felt as though she’d come looking for a fight. Recalling his style from six years ago he addressed her courteously, ‘You’re Shakuntala’s sister?’

‘Yes,’ she replied in a sharp, angry tone.

Nazir was quiet for some time, intently observing this girl who was perhaps three years older than Shakuntala. She didn’t like it, and was, in fact, miffed at being checked out so blatantly. ‘What is it, do you want to tell me something?’ she asked, swinging one leg back and forth in agitation. The same smile that was his wont six years ago appeared on his lips. ‘Madam, why be so angry?’

‘Why wouldn’t I be angry? This Karim, your friend, kidnapped my sister from Jaipur. Don’t you think that’s reason enough for my blood to boil? I hear she was also offered to you.’

Nothing like this had ever happened before. After some thought Nazir said to the girl in all earnestness, ‘The minute I saw Shakuntala I knew she wasn’t my type. She’s very raw and inexperienced. I don’t prefer such girls. You might not want to hear this, but the fact is I’m much more drawn to women who know how to make a man happy.’

The girl didn’t say anything.

‘Your name?’ he asked.

‘Sharda,’ she replied tersely.

‘Where are you from?’

‘Jaipur.’ Her tone was still sharp with anger.

Nazir smiled. ‘Look,’ he began, ‘you have no right to be angry with me. If Karim has offended you, you should punish him. I haven’t done anything wrong.’

He got up, gathered the girl in his arms and kissed her on the lips. Before she could say anything, he addressed her: ‘This, of course, is my offence. I plead guilty and am ready for my punishment.’

Myriad expressions flitted across her face. She spat on the floor a few times. For a moment it seemed as if she was about to unload a volley of curses, but she didn’t. She sprang up from the bed and sat back down just as quickly.

‘So, have you decided on the penalty?’ Nazir was tempted to ask.

Just as she was about to open her mouth, the cry of a child sounded from the chicken coop. The girl got up again but Nazir stopped her. ‘Where are you going?’

Suddenly she was a mother. ‘Munni is crying for milk,’ she said and left the room.

Nazir tried to think about her but his mind got muddled. Meanwhile, Karim returned with a bottle of whisky and some soda. He poured soda for Nazir, finished pouring his own drink, and asked him slyly, ‘Were you able to strike up a conversation with Sharda? I thought you would have brought her round by now.’

‘Boy, oh boy, she’s got one hell of a temper,’ Nazir answered with a smile.

‘That she does. She arrived just this morning and already she’s made my life a living hell. Do try to break her down. Shakuntala came with me of her own will because her father had abandoned her mother. Just like Sharda’s husband, who took off for God knows where soon after they got married. She lives with her daughter at her mother’s place now. Please try to persuade her.’

‘Persuade her. . Whatever do you mean?’

‘You know.’ Karim winked at him. ‘Saali, will she listen to me! No, sir. From the moment she set her foot in here she’s been railing me up and down.’

Meanwhile, Sharda came in lugging her one-year-old and glowered at Karim testily. He hastily downed his half peg and went out.

Munni had apparently caught a bad cold; her nose was running profusely. Nazir called Karim and gave him five rupees, saying, ‘Go buy some Vicks.’

‘What’s that?’ Karim inquired.

‘Cold medicine,’ Nazir said and wrote out the name on a scrap of paper. ‘You can get it from just about any store.’

‘Okay.’

After Karim was gone Nazir turned his attention to Munni. He loved children and although Munni wasn’t a pretty girl, Nazir found her quite charming. He took her in his arms and cuddled her. Sharda was having a hard time putting her to sleep. Nazir caressed her head gently with his fingers until she dozed off. ‘Looks as though I’m her mother,’ he said to Sharda, who smiled and asked him to give the child back to her so she could lay her down on the bed in the other room.

By the time she returned all traces of anger had disappeared from her face. Nazir sat down close to her. After a brief silence, he asked, ‘Would you allow me to be your husband?’ and embraced her without waiting for her reply. She didn’t resist.

‘Madam, please answer.’

She remained silent. Nazir got up and swallowed a peg. Sharda contorted her face. ‘I hate this stuff,’ she said.

He poured some whisky in a glass, threw in some soda, and sat down by her side. ‘Why do you hate it?’ he asked.

‘I just do,’ she said briefly.

‘But you won’t, from this day forward. Here.’ He offered the glass to her.

‘I won’t touch it, not in a million years.’

‘And I say you’ll not refuse, absolutely not.’

Sharda took the glass and let her gaze linger on it a while. Utterly helpless, she looked at Nazir and then, pinching her nose, swallowed the whole glassful in one big gulp. She felt as if she was about to throw up but managed to keep it down somehow. Wiping her tears with the edge of her dhoti, she said, ‘This is the first and last time. . But why did I take it in the first place?’

He kissed her moist lips. ‘Don’t even try to find the answer,’ he said.

He walked over to the door and fastened it.

It was seven in the evening when he unlatched it. As soon as Karim came in, Sharda left the room with her head bowed. Karim looked ecstatic. ‘Man, oh man, I can’t believe it! Was it a miracle or what? I won’t ask for a hundred. Just give me fifty.’

Nazir was well satisfied with Sharda, indeed so pleased that he’d already forgotten all the other women he’d had before. She was the perfect fulfilment of every sexual desire he’d ever had.

‘I’ll pay tomorrow,’ he said to Karim. ‘The rent too. After the thirty I gave you for the whisky, I only have ten left.’

‘No problem. That you tamed Sharda is compensation enough for me. Believe me, huzoor, she was getting on my nerves. But now she can’t admonish Shakuntala.’

Karim left. Sharda came in with Munni in her arms. Nazir gave her five rupees, but she declined. Nazir smiled. ‘What’s this, am I not her father? Why are you refusing?’

Sharda very quietly took the money. Whereas earlier she had seemed quite talkative, now she was unusually quiet and reticent. He took Munni in his arms, kissed her. As he was leaving, he said, ‘Well then, Sharda, I have to go now. If not tomorrow, I’ll come the day after.’

Nazir showed up the very next day. Sharda had slaked his sexual appetite so well, and returned his passion with such an unalloyed spirit of giving that he was completely swept away. He paid Karim the amount due, had him bring a bottle, and sat down with Sharda. He asked her to join him in drinking, but she said, ‘I told you that was the first and last time.’

Nazir continued drinking alone. From eleven in the morning till seven in the evening he remained closeted with Sharda. He returned home feeling extremely sated, even more than the day before. Despite her very plain looks and unusual reticence, Sharda had completely overwhelmed his sensual appetites. Time after time he wondered, ‘What kind of woman is she? Never before in my life have I seen a woman so undemonstrative yet so sensuous.’

He started visiting her every second day. She had no interest in money, nor did she ever mention it to him. Nazir paid sixty rupees to Karim, who paid ten for the room and deducted seventeen as his commission. But Sharda never mentioned it to Nazir.

Two months went by. Nazir had practically exhausted his budget. He also noticed that his association with Sharda was beginning to affect his marital life. Every time he slept with his wife, he felt that something was missing. He wanted Sharda in her place. This wasn’t a good thing. Being conscious of the impropriety, he desperately wished that his affair with Sharda would somehow end. Eventually, he himself brought up the matter with her. ‘Sharda,’ he said, ‘I’m a married man. All my savings are gone. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to give you up, but at the same time I never want to come here again.’

Sharda was quiet for some time after he spoke. Then she broke her silence. ‘Whatever money I’ve saved, you can have it. Just let me keep enough for the train fare back to Jaipur for me and Shakuntala.’

He kissed her and said, ‘Don’t be silly. You don’t seem to get my meaning. If I can’t see you any more it’s because I’ve run out of money. I was wondering how I might continue to see you despite that.’

She didn’t say anything. When he came to the hotel the next day after borrowing money from a friend, Karim told him Sharda was all set to leave for Jaipur. When Nazir sent for her, she didn’t come. Instead she gave Karim a wad of banknotes for him with the message, ‘Please, accept this and write down your address for me.’

Nazir gave his address to Karim, but returned the money. Sharda came with Munni in her arms. She greeted him with ‘Aadaab’ and then told him, ‘I’m returning to Jaipur this evening.’

‘But why?’

Her answer was brief: ‘I don’t know.’ Then she left.

Nazir asked Karim to send her back, but she didn’t come. Nazir left with the strange feeling that his body had gone completely cold; she had abandoned him without really answering his question.

She had gone away. She really had. Karim was terribly upset. He complained, ‘Nazir Sahib, why did you let her go?’

‘Friend, I’m not some seth loaded with money,’ he replied. ‘How could I possibly spend fifty rupees every other day, plus another ten for the room, thirty for a bottle, and a little extra as well. I’ve drifted into bankruptcy. By God, I’m in debt.’

Karim was quiet.

‘I couldn’t help it. . I couldn’t have gone on like this.’

‘Nazir Sahib, she loved you.’

Nazir knew nothing about love. He only knew that Sharda was generous in giving of herself physically. She was the perfect answer to his sensual needs. Beyond that he knew next to nothing about her, except that she had once mentioned in passing that her husband had been a sucker for pleasure. He had left her because she couldn’t conceive for two years, but Munni came along within nine months of their parting. She so resembled her father.

Sharda had taken Shakuntala along. She wanted her sister to get married and live a respectable life. She was very fond of her. Karim had tried hard to get Shakuntala started in the oldest profession. There was no dearth of ‘passengers’ willing to pay two hundred rupees for a night, but Sharda wouldn’t allow it and would start quarrelling with Karim. And when Karim taunted her, saying, ‘What exactly do you think you’re doing?’ she would shout back, ‘If you weren’t in the middle, I wouldn’t do it! I would never let Nazir Sahib spend a penny.’

Once, she had asked Nazir for his photograph so he had brought one from home and given it to her. She had taken it with her to Jaipur. She had never spoken to him about her love for him. Whenever he was in bed with her, she remained totally silent. Nazir would try to provoke her into speaking but to no avail. He only knew that she never held back in giving herself to him physically. At least in that she was sincerity personified.

Nazir felt a sense of relief at Sharda’s departure. She had gravely affected his relationship with his wife. If she had stayed much longer, chances were that he would have become entirely indifferent to his wife. However, as time passed, Nazir slowly reverted to his old life and the memory of Sharda’s touch gradually began to fade from his body.

One day, exactly a fortnight after Sharda left, Nazir was at home busy doing some office work. His wife, who usually collected and opened the morning mail, brought an envelope over to him saying, ‘Can’t tell whether this is in Hindi or Gujarati.’

Nazir looked at the letter and put it aside in the tray, unable to make out the language. A short while later his wife called her younger sister Naima. As soon as Naima appeared she handed her the letter. ‘Perhaps you can read it; you know both Hindi and Gujarati. What does it say?’

Naima glanced at it and said, ‘It’s Hindi,’ and started to read: ‘Jaipur. . Dear Nazir Sahib. .’ She stopped. Nazir started. Naima read another line, ‘Aadaab. You must have forgotten me. But ever since I’ve come back here, I’ve been thinking of you. .’ Naima blushed and quickly turned the page over. ‘It is from some Sharda,’ she said.

Nazir rose quickly, snatched the letter from Naima’s hand, and said to his wife, ‘God knows who it is. I’m going out. I’ll have it read and transcribed into Urdu.’ Without letting his wife say anything, he left the house. He went to a friend and had him rewrite the same letter in Hindi on identical paper and with ink of the same colour, keeping the opening sentences intact but altering the rest of the contents so that it read to the effect that Sharda had met him at Bombay Central and was delighted to have met such an illustrious artist, and so on.

That evening, he gave the new letter to his wife and read out the Urdu translation. When she asked who this Sharda was, he said, ‘A while back I went to the station to see off a friend who knew this girl called Sharda. She was standing on the platform. My friend introduced us. She is a painter too.’

The matter ended there. But the very next day he got another letter from her, which he subjected to the same treatment. He immediately sent a telegram to Sharda advising her to stop sending letters and wait for his new address. At the post office he instructed the mailman for his area to hold back any mail from Jaipur and keep it with him. He would come every morning and collect it himself. He received three more letters in this manner. Afterwards Sharda wrote to him in care of a friend of his.

Sharda, never much of a talker, wrote very long letters. While she had never admitted her love to his face, her letters overflowed with her feelings — the same reproaches and complaints, the same pain of separation that is the staple of love letters. Nazir, though, didn’t feel love for her, the kind of love found in romantic stories and novels, and didn’t know what to write to her. He commissioned a friend to do this job. His friend would write out a letter in Hindi and read it to him, and he would invariably say, ‘Yes.’

Sharda was dying to come to Bombay but didn’t want to stay at Karim’s. Nazir couldn’t put her up in a house since houses were scarce and hard to find. He thought about sending her to a hotel but hesitated lest this should let out their secret. He had his friend write to her to wait a while longer.

Just then communal rioting erupted throughout the country. A strange panic and confusion seized people in the days just prior to Partition. Nazir’s wife wanted to move to Lahore. ‘I’ll stay there for a while,’ she told him. ‘If conditions get better, I’ll come back, otherwise you come over there too.’

He kept her from going for a few days, but when her brother got ready to leave for Lahore both she and her younger sister went along with him. Nazir was left alone. He mentioned casually to Sharda in his next missive that he was all by himself. She telegrammed to say that she was coming. It seemed from the message that she had already left Jaipur. Nazir found himself in a terrible fix, although his body was feeling a blossoming sense of anticipation. He was thirsting for her body and her genuine devotion. He yearned for the days when he had clung to her for hours, from eleven in the morning to seven in the evening to be precise. There was no question of spending money now, or of Karim’s involvement, or even of the rent for the room. He thought, ‘I’ll take my servant into my confidence and everything will be fine. A few rupees will be enough to shut his mouth. He won’t breathe a word if my wife does decide to come back.’

He went to the station the next day. The Frontier Mail arrived but, despite a long search, he couldn’t find Sharda. Maybe something held her up, he concluded, and she’ll probably send another telegram.

The next day he left for the office as usual by the morning train. When the train pulled into the Mahalakshmi station, where he usually got off, he spotted Sharda on the platform and cried out loudly, ‘Sharda! Sharda!’

A startled Sharda looked at him. ‘Nazir Sahib.’

‘What — you here?’

She complained, ‘You didn’t come to meet me so I decided to go to your office. There they told me that you weren’t in yet so I was waiting for you here on the platform.’

He thought for a bit and then said to her, ‘Stay here. I’ll go to office, arrange a few days off and come right back.’

He sat her down on a bench and hurried off to his office. He wrote out an application to be absent for a few days, handed it to the office boy, and took Sharda home. Neither spoke a word on the way, but their bodies were communicating perfectly, drawing ever closer to each other.

‘You’d better bathe,’ he said to Sharda after reaching home. ‘Meanwhile, I’ll have some breakfast prepared for you.’

While she was bathing, he told the servant that a friend’s wife was visiting him; he should quickly prepare breakfast. He then took a bottle from the cabinet, poured a double shot, added some water and gulped it down.

He wanted to make love to her in the same spirit as in the hotel.

Sharda emerged from her bath and started on the breakfast. As she ate, she talked to him about a hundred different things. Nazir noticed a change in her. She had been quite taciturn and had preferred silence most of the time, but now she couldn’t resist using every opportunity to impress upon him how madly she was in love with him.

‘What is this “love”?’ Nazir wondered. ‘Wouldn’t it be nice if she never mentioned it? Frankly, I liked her silence better. It communicated a hell of a lot more. God knows what’s gotten into her now. When she talks, it seems as if she’s reading out loud from her letters.’

After she was done eating, Nazir mixed a drink and offered it to her. She refused. When he pressed her, she pinched her nose and drank it just to please him. She grimaced and rinsed her mouth. Nazir felt a twinge of regret. ‘Why did she drink it? It would have been infinitely nicer if she had turned it down in spite of his insistence.’ He didn’t exercise his mind about it further. He sent the servant away on an errand, bolted the door, and lay down with her on the bed.

‘You wrote, when will those days come again,’ she started. ‘Well, they’ve come — and not just the days, but the nights as well. Back then there weren’t any nights, only days — those dirty, filthy days at the hotel. Here, everything is so bright, so immaculate. No more paying rent for the hotel room, or tolerating the presence of pesky Karim. Here, it’s just the two of us, our own masters.’

She told him how badly she’d suffered during their separation, how she survived that agonizing period — the same garbage found in romantic books. Complaints and reproaches, sighs, sleepless nights spent counting stars.

Nazir downed another peg and thought: ‘Who would ever count stars. There are so many, how can anyone possibly count them? Absolute nonsense. Rubbish.’

He gathered her in his arms and held her close. The bed was clean, Sharda was clean, he himself was clean, even the atmosphere in the room was clean. Why then were his senses failing to evoke the same sensations he’d felt with her on that steel bed in the dingy hotel room?

Maybe he hadn’t really had enough to drink — he thought. He got up, poured another peg, swallowed it in one mouthful and lay down beside Sharda again. Immediately, she resumed her litany of separation, the same complaints and reproaches. Feeling fed up, Nazir’s body worked itself into a state of suspended numbness. A nagging thought crossed his mind: Sharda’s body had lost its consuming passion, so much so that it blunted his own desire and became useless, no longer able to ignite his passion. Even so, he lay next to her a long time.

When he finally got out of bed he felt a violent desire to grab a taxi and go home to his wife. But he quickly realized that he was, in fact, home and his wife was in Lahore, which rankled him. Insanely, he wished his home were the hotel.

Sharda’s body was still as physically hospitable as before, but the vibes were no longer the same. There was no haggling over price, no giving with one hand and taking with the other, and there was no hotel filth either. The ambience created by all these things was conspicuously absent. Nazir was in his own home, in the bed where his simple-minded wife slept with him. Ever since this nagging thought took hold of his subconscious he had felt quite conflicted. Sometimes he thought the whisky wasn’t potent enough, sometimes that Sharda hadn’t shown him proper regard, and sometimes that it would have worked out if she had just chosen to keep her mouth shut. Then he thought about the fact that she was seeing him after a long and painful separation; the poor thing needed some time to vent her feelings after all. She would become normal in a day or two, like her old self.

A fortnight passed but Sharda still didn’t give him the feeling that she was the same girl he’d carried on with in the hotel. Her baby daughter was in Jaipur. Back then she was with Sharda at the hotel, and Nazir would have medicine sent for to treat her head cold, her boils or her throat. None of this was there any more. She was alone now. Nazir had always thought of Sharda and Munni as one.

Once he had embraced Sharda rather tightly and the pressure had caused a few drops of milk to ooze out of her swollen breasts on to his hairy chest. It had given him a pleasurable sensation. How wonderful to be a mother! And this milk! — he’d thought. Men are the poorer for their inadequacy: They eat and drink and produce nothing, whereas women take nourishment and sustain others through it. What a sublime experience to be able to nourish someone, especially your own child!

Now Munni wasn’t there with Sharda. The poor woman was incomplete. And so were her breasts. They no longer had much milk in them — that white elixir of life. Now she didn’t protest if he pressed her tightly to his chest. She wasn’t the old Sharda any more, though, in fact, she was every bit the same, perhaps even more than the Sharda he had known. With separation, her sensual ardour had grown keener, and now she also loved him with her soul. Still Nazir felt she had lost her earlier allure or whatever it was.

Such was his conclusion after a fortnight of being close to her continually. Well, fifteen days of absence from the office was long enough. He resumed his work, leaving for the office in the morning and returning home in the evening. Sharda took to serving him like a devoted wife. She bought some wool and knitted him a sweater, made sure he had enough soda for his drinks when he came home, and kept plenty of ice in the thermos. In the morning she laid out his shaving kit on the table and warmed up some water. After he was finished, she cleaned away the shaving paraphernalia and busied herself with housework. She swept the floors herself.

Nazir couldn’t take this any more.

Until then they had been sleeping together. Now he started sleeping alone on the pretext that he needed to do some thinking. Sharda moved to the other bed. But this only added to his turmoil. While she slept soundly, he lay awake wondering what this was all about. This Sharda — why was she here? Yes, he had spent a few quite marvellous days with her at Karim’s hotel, but why had she stuck to him? What was all this leading to? Where would it end? Love and all that — pure nonsense! It was just a minor thing, and even that was no longer there. It was time she returned to Jaipur.

Not long afterwards Nazir was seized by the thought that he was committing a sin. Of course, he had sinned at Karim’s hotel, and umpteen times even before his marriage. But at that time he wasn’t conscious of sinning. Now, increasingly, he felt as though he was cheating on his wife, his simple-minded wife whom he had lied to so often about Sharda’s letters. Sharda seemed even less attractive to him now. He started treating her coldly, but she was never ungracious to him, never complained to him about his coldness, thinking that, after all, artists tended to be quite moody.

A whole month had slipped away since she had arrived in Bombay to be with him. When Nazir counted the days he felt troubled. ‘Can’t believe this woman has been living here for a whole month. What a rotten egg I am. . writing a letter to my wife every day like a faithful husband! As if all I care about in the world is her. . as if life is hell without her. Could there be a greater impostor than me? Deceiving her there and Sharda here. Why can’t I tell this woman plainly, “Look, woman, I no longer feel the same way about you?” But do I really no longer feel the same way, or is she no longer the same Sharda?’

He thought and thought but the answer eluded him. His mind was in a shambles. He had even started to reflect on morality. Guilt over betraying his wife haunted him night and day, and as the days rolled past it became more pronounced. He began to hate himself. ‘I’m scum. Why has this woman become my second wife? When did I ever need her? Why has she stuck to me so? Why did I allow her to come here?’ Because she’d written to him — that’s why. ‘But it was sent when I could no longer stop her. She was already on her way.’

Then his mind would strike out on a different line of thinking: Whatever Sharda does. . it’s all make-believe, a sham. She wants this charade to drive a wedge between my wife and me. Reasoning like this alienated him further from Sharda, and his attitude worsened. But this only made Sharda gentler and even more submissive. She went to great lengths to ensure his comfort and ease, and that behaviour irritated him even more. Now he began to hate her.

By chance one day he had no money on him. It had slipped his mind to go and withdraw some from the bank. He arrived at the office quite late because he wasn’t feeling well. When he was leaving, Sharda had said something to him and he had yelled back: ‘Shut your trap! I’m all right. I forgot to get cash from the bank and I haven’t got any money for cigarettes.’

He got a tin of Gold Flakes from the cigarette stall near his office. Although he hated this brand, it was the only one he was able to get on credit. He smoked two or three willy-nilly. That evening at home he saw a tin of his favourite brand on the tea table. At first he thought it was just an empty tin, or that maybe it had just a couple of cigarettes. When he opened it, it was full. He asked Sharda, ‘Where did this come from?’

She smiled. ‘It was sitting in the cupboard.’

He must have opened it at some point, left it there and then forgot about it, he decided. The next day another full tin was sitting on the tea table. When he asked Sharda, she repeated, again with a smile, the same answer as the day before.

‘Nonsense,’ he snapped angrily. ‘I don’t appreciate such antics. I can buy my own, thank you. I’m not a beggar who needs you to buy his cigarettes every day.’

‘I took the liberty because I know you sometimes forget,’ she said tenderly, lovingly.

For no reason at all Nazir blurted out furiously, ‘Well, of course, I’m absent-minded! But I don’t like such boldness.’

‘I apologize.’ Sharda’s tone grew infinitely softer.

Sharda was hardly to blame, Nazir thought for a moment; perhaps he should step forward and kiss her for caring. But the next instant the thought that he was betraying his wife overpowered him, so he said to her with all the hate he could pack into his voice, ‘Hold your tongue. I think I’ll send you back first thing tomorrow. In the morning I’ll give you whatever money you need.’

Sharda remained quiet. She slept with him that night, caressing and hugging him with all the tenderness of her being the whole time. It irritated him, but he didn’t let her know.

In the morning he found a variety of tasty dishes for breakfast. Still he didn’t say a word to Sharda. Immediately after breakfast he left for the bank, saying only, ‘I’m going to the bank. I’ll be right back.’

The branch where Nazir had his account was close by. He withdrew two hundred rupees and hurried home. He planned to give it all to Sharda, buy her train ticket and pack her off. When he arrived the servant informed him that she had already left.

‘Where did she go?’ Nazir inquired.

‘She didn’t say. She left with her trunk and bedding.’

Nazir entered his room and found a tin of his favourite cigarettes on the tea table. It was full.