The unfolding of our lives (3)

Ma is asleep. Her body weak. Her face considerably unwrinkled, belying her real age.
And even as she lies in her bed, she has that grandeur that she has always carried with her. I have never known Ma, even in the toughest of times, to display even a hint of weakness.

But Kaaveri’s was a strength that was, in fact, born out of weakness. That summer afternoon, she sat in the midst of the dearly departed, struggling to hang on to the last dredges of hope. She had led a life of privilege, never having to struggle for anything. And here she was unwed and pregnant, with the man she loved perhaps dead. Nothing had prepared her for such a fate. She could feel her breath draining, her life slowly ebbing away from her body. She was so devoid of strength that she couldn’t even muster the tears to cry. All she could do was stare blankly into the earth, numb to all sensations, all thoughts. She sat like that for hours. The sun set and the half moon rose, yet she didn’t move. And as she looked at the tombstones around her, it suddenly occurred to her that she was still in the land of the living, and all she could do was live - let the chips fall where they may.

Kaaveri went back home and barged into the drawing room where her father was sitting with several other male friends.
“Baba, can you come with me. I need to speak to you, “she said.
Her father, Ishwarnath Diwakar, was annoyed by his daughter's impertinence. Women and children were not allowed to disturb hum when he was sitting with his friends. He replied curtly, “Not now. I am busy.”
“This is important, “she continued without the slightest trace of fear in her voice.
Her father was visibly angered by his daughter’s insolence. “Go inside Kaveri. I will speak to you later.” It was a command issued as the patriarch of the house.
“Baba, this cannot wait. I have to speak to you now. “
Her father sensed the awkward looks that his friends were exchanging, and politely excused himself.

“Kaverri, don’t you know…” But before her father could complete his furious tirade, she blurted, “Baba, I am pregnant.”
Ishwarnath Diwakar was stunned, aghast, outraged. In fact he wasn’t quite sure what he felt. After a prolonged silence, he asked, “Who is the father?”
“It doesn’t matter who the father is. He is dead.”
Kaveeri could sense all the questions and accusations stirring inside her father’s head –anger and hurt that he couldn’t find the words to express. She decided to pre-empt her father’s question and said, “I know you are hurt. I am sorry. I didn’t want this to happen either. But I loved him.”
She continued in a completely calm voice, almost sounding like the parent, “Don’t tell Ma, she will not be able to handle it, but I think I have a solution for this. “
“Solution, there is no solution to this – we are all ruined. All you can do now is throw yourself and your child into the Ganges,” her father retorted angrily.
But the moment he said those words, he regretted them. Despite everything, Ishwarnath Diwakar loved his daughter; he could not bear to lose her.
“You will have to drop the child - that is the only option,” he said in a mellower tone.
“I don’t want to lose the baby. And I think there is another way. You could get me married,” Kaveeri replied.
“Married – are you out of your mind? Who will want to marry a pregnant girl?”
“There is someone I know. Sudhanshu Ganguly. He is a professor at Lucknow university.”
“Is he the father of your baby?” Iswharnath interjected hastily.
“No, he is not. I told you the father of my baby is most likely dead. But Sudarshan Ganguly comes to listen to me sing at Akhtarabai’s house everyday. I know he likes me. Offer him my hand in marriage, and let me talk to him.”
Kaveeri spoke so forcefully that Ishwarnath couldn’t help but go along with his daughter.

Sudhanshu Ganguly was a widower with a six year old daughter. He had been entranced by Kaveri’s voice since the first time he had heard her. He kept going back to Akhtarabai’s house to listen to her, and gradually - he didn’t know exactly when - he had developed a deep attraction towards Kaaveri herself. Kaaveri had sensed that attraction. While she sang, she would make eye contact with her listeners and had an intuitive knowledge of what each of them was thinking. Often, in the middle of a ghazal, she would adjust the notes to cater to the likes of a particular listener, and both she and the listener would acknowledge this and exchange smiles. Akhtarabai often said that Ghazal singing involved flirting with your listeners, and Begum Ahktar had mastered that art. Almost anyone who had heard her sing would fall in love with her.

The following day, Kaverri and her father went to Sudhanshu Ganguly’s house, though Kaaveri did most of the talking. She told him about her unborn child and Asad. She told him that she needed a respectable home for her baby and herself, and she told him that she would be a good wife and a good mother to his daughter. In the end of her hour long monologue, she added, “I think you have kind eyes, and I think you like me.” Sudhanshu was appalled and impressed by Kaveeri’s honesty. He was offended by her brazenness and yet somehow touched by her courage. Three weeks later, Sudhanshu and Kaaveri were married. It wasn’t the grand wedding that Kaaveri’s parents had envisaged. The family gossip mill worked overtime with stories of scandal. Questions about why a beautiful, young Kaaveri was marrying a not-so-attractive Bengali widower were raised. But as is often the case with family scandals, before long there are buried, hidden and forgotten.

I was born on August 10, 1942. A day earlier, Gandhiji had made his famous 'Do or Die' speech in an open session of the All India Congress Committee at Gowalia Tank. The entire congress leadership was arrested and hundreds and thousands of people rushed to the streets to clash with the British authorities. The last big battle for India's freedom had begun.

The final instalment of this story will soon be posted...in a day or two.