Geetli by Kusum Choppra

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Stories
Geetli – 6
A Long Story by Kusum Choppra

Mataji took me straight home into Thakurda's outstretched arms. He wept over my head. Why ? he knew nothing of my plight ?

I thought Thakurda look a bit forlorn. Laajjo too was rather subdued.

Mataji had a long, private session with Thakurda. As we drove away, she gave me the gist of it. " I have told him that Ravi is no longer welcome under our roof. He had violated our trust."

Quietly she went on " Prema, I cannot protect you forever. Nor can you rely on Ved. I know, he is my son. You yourself will have to tell off Ravi. Can you ? Will you ? " was that a trace of pleading ?

I took a deep breath " I Will". We headed straight for the capital's Ritz Hotel. Ravi was summoned and received out of earshot of other tables on the lawn, dripping diamonds, pearls and venom.

" Ravi, have your posting orders arrived ?"

" Why ? they are not even due."

" I heard it was down south, Coimbatore maybe." He started.

" Coimbatore ??"

"That should, I trust, put enough distance between us to bring you to your senses."

Ravi turned on me. I met his gaze, my eyes boldly blank. " You have done enough damage. I almost paid for it with my life."

Mataji was icy. " Go to your own wife, Ravi. she is a good woman. Let Prema bear her own husband's children. We will not expect to see you ever again. And, by the way, yesterday we were at Thakurda's......." the tone was ominous with portent. Turning her face away, she got up and walked away, before Ravi could whip up a suitable reply. I was at her heels. my gait was elegant enough, but my palms, I found, were clammy.

Thereafter, I steadfastedly refused to meet either Ravi or Geetli. " Kya mooh leke jaana ? I had teased her mercifully and betrayed her willingly or unwillingly. "
When Laajjo's daughter was born, I was pregnant. Mataji would not let me go. She wanted the baby to be born under her own roof, not at my maika. At Thakurda's, no-one pressed the issue. For all her love and care, I felt terribly hurt and cheated.

A year later, I went home. The house was beginning to look ramshackle; the annual coat of paint had apparently lapsed. Thakurda looked distraught and Laajjo had lost her saucy confidence.

When I saw the face of my youngest ' sister ', I knew why.

" Laajjo too, " I thought, " but then she was willing game." There was nothing more to fear from Ravi anymore, but I never went home again. Not even for Thakurda's funeral.

Geetli haunted me there.

Dada

As the years rolled by, Prema grew into a plump contented soul, but my heart bled for Geetli.

She and Ravi lived in a permanent boxing ring in their souls, lashing out at each other, tearing bits out of each. Geetli rarely spoke. Ravi tried everything , from teasing, to raving and ranting. No matter what he said, or how much he needled her, her response was a mute one. Not a word out of her. Only her eyes spoke and they flashed uncomfortably, demeaning him with their eloquent silences.
The only time he heard her voice was when they had guests. Even then, she spoke very little, but very effectively, stripping him in public. Her tongue dripped acid very politely, as if questioning him for her every move and gesture, almost making him a laughing stock.

The boot had obviously gone onto the other foot and she extracted sweet revenge for all those times that Ravi had poked fun at her in front of guests. He dared not poke fun for fear of it rebounding and gradually rolled back the entertaining. After all how long could he go on feeding people on a static fund of old jokes when his wife refused to be the butt of any new ones.

Beeji mentioned that she heard Geetli talking to the children, telling them stories and songs in the privacy of her room , never outside it. So Ravi had to rest content with the knowledge that his children were getting their mothering, even if he seemed to have lost his wife.

Geetli made long and regular visits home, restricted only by the school schedules of her children. But whenever she came, it took only a very few hours under Thakurda's roof, to wipe out the tense lines which she brought on her face from Ravi's home.

But the transformation was even deeper; it was not too difficult to recognize the emptiness gnawing at her insides, washing away her limited beauty and turning her into a sharp-eyed shrew, constantly chewing paan and spitting out her spittle and her spite at everyone and anyone.

The boys corresponded with me; they wrote that Laajjo hardly seemed to miss home; she had a large circle of friends and activities to keep her busy.

It was the little one, Latika, who hungered for India. Every summer, there was a tantrum; and as she grew older, she would write to me, demanding to come to India. I trotted out weak excuses, droughts, floods, epidemics, riots, the house under repairs etc. etc. etc.

One year, Latika just turned up at my doorstep. I looked up from my book at the noise at the door and saw two bedraggled souls seeking entry at the gate and then approaching me in the garden.

The female was dressed in the loose shirt and skirt favored by hippie tourists, her hair uncombed, except for a thin chuttiya in the middle of her head, dressed in flowers. She pulled her companion in long hair and dirty jeans along by the hand, to stand before me.

Taking off her dark glasses, she stood straight in front of me and gave me a long direct gaze. " Dada, I ran away to meet you. Don't you know me ? " the voice was almost plaintive and the lovely eyes pleading.

I looked at her and felt my mouth falling open. I stood up; it hit me between the eyes. ' how could I have not recognized her ?'

I placed my hands on her shoulders, looked at her carefully and then closed my eyes to contain the tears of thanksgiving. " Thank you God, thanks. Shukar hai twada, Rabba, meherbani ". wordless thanks to the grace of the Almighty.
Slowly, I opened my eyes and allowed the swimming tears to wash over her head, as I pulled Latika into my arms. After a while, I again pushed her back and examined Latika carefully; how did I not recognize her ? I examined every feature separately.

God had been great to us. Time had done its work well. The early baby cast of her face, which replicated Ravi's, had changed with the years. some femininity had cropped in; the eyes had taken on Laajjo's doe-like cast. Only the nose and lips belonged to Ravi. the firm chin was not his, it was Thakurda's. Except for those of us who knew, no-one would recognize her as Ravi's daughter.

Thakurda's memory was safe. As I sent up another silent prayer of thanksgiving, Latika shrugged out of my grasp, crying plaintively " am I such a freak... what are you staring at ? Meet Randy."

I smiled. " My little sister, who has grown into a beauty, why are you in such rags. Doesn't your mother buy you clothes ?"

" Dada ! don't be stuffy. we're hippies, visiting India and these clothes are fine, thank you." she pirouetted. " Mummy would want to stuff me into a sari, if she could. Please, we're hungry ..."

With a snap of fingers, I led them in and arranged breakfast, gazing at Latika and her boyfriend stuff themselves and lick their fingers. ' What had Laajjo taught the girl ? I must take lots of photographs ? ' I thought to myself.

Two weeks later, Laajjo landed in India, in response to my cable informing her of Latika's arrival.

– continued

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