Ja Noy Tai (On with the Show)

Gayatri stood before the mirror a long time, carefully examining herself—front view, side
view. What was it she had? Was there anything so special about the way she looked that the
whole male race should be ogling her, as Sripati so weirdly imagined? How could one rid
him of this absurd notion, which was searing Sripati’s mind and grating on Gayatri’s nerves
every moment? Of course, being considered alluring by men did give one a sense of deep
pleasure—shameful it might be to admit as much; but denying it would be equally a lie.
Gayatri could make no claims to such allure, however; she had sense enough to see that. Did
Sripati not see it too? Was he blind? Why was he so bedeviled night and day? What did those
men do, who had truly beautiful wives? What violent fires must be consuming their tortured
hearts? Gayatri felt angry. Insulted. And sad too. What reason had Sripati to burn so
incessantly? Whenever a male relative visited their home, all Sripati’s plans for the day
would be immediately shelved! No matter how important the work he had in hand. He would
not even stop to consider how old or young their visitor was, it was such a fixation. Why,
only the other day, he was on his way to the eye specialist. When her cousin-in-law Rajen
dropped in to invite them to his daughter’s wedding, Sripati immediately stopped in his
tracks. Now Rajen was a great talker. He rattled on about the current market for bridegrooms,
their relative prices, and so forth, showing no signs of hurry. And Sripati too stayed put. Yet
his appointment time had been fixed. In the end, the trip to the doctor was dropped. To hell
with his eyes. How could he leave behind the apple of his eyes when that other pair of lustful
eyes was on her, swallowing her whole? Apart from her father and brothers, all other male
relatives were debarred from entering this house. It had become an unwritten rule. Many of
them had been frequent visitors at first, in those first few months when Gayatri had still been
newly married. But not now. The Bengali title means, literally, “not what it seems.” pad’s
expression of silent disapproval had worked better than an outright notice of eviction. Well
and good. Gayatri had become adjusted to this state of affairs. Whatever people might make
of it, they had kept their thoughts to themselves. But the deep flaw in Sripati’s character had
never been made so amply evident as had happened the day before. And yet the same drama
was to be reenacted again this day. What had happened was this. In her school life, Gayatri
had made quite a name as a dancer and singer: she had given several recitals before she was
married. But that was another Gayatri, now long buried. Now, eight years later, a horde of
young people had descended on her suddenly, determined to unearth her buried talents. Some
of the ground had been cleared the day before, and they were coming back again today. The
boys were from her old neighborhood, near her parents’ place. When Gayatri was married,
these boys had been in shorts, still playing marbles. Now they were all responsible young
men running a voluntary service society—the Benevolent Brethren of the Distressed, or some
such mouthful of a name it had. A charity show was being put on by them, a variety program
of sorts, for which tickets would be sold, proceeds to go toward the “alleviation of hunger.” A
worthy cause! So far so good. If they had come to sell her expensive tickets, Gayatri would
have willingly agreed. Sripati was neither poor nor miserly. But that wasn’t it. Their demand
was more forceful. They wanted Gayatri in person! According to them, Gayatri’s voice in
itself was more valuable than any donation she could make. They had roped in old Rekhadi
as a veteran hand, and had come along in a body to persuade Gayatri to join them too. Gayatri
had simply laughed off the idea at first. “Sing in public? Are you crazy? Just as well you
didn’t say dance too! Isn’t that on your program too? Sorry, but I’ve forgotten how to sing.”
“What rot! Once people learn something, they never forget.” “Don’t they? But they do when
they get old.” Now all the boys burst out laughing. “Old! You? Then what would you call
Rekhadi? Decrepit?” “Rekhadi?” Gayatri glances toward the lady, smiles faintly, and replies,
“Oh, she’s not to be counted. Rekhadi will be eternally young.” The lady had somehow
squeezed her almost cubical frame into a chair, and was busy catching her breath all this
while. Now she came out in full form: “Of course, I will! Not like you, my dear, old before
your time! Tsk, tsk. What have you done to yourself, eh? Good lord, we all get married,
surely. But whoever goes under the way you have! Forgotten the world, you’re so immersed
in each other!” “Now stop it, Rekhadi! You’re just the same as ever!” “Why ever not? Expect
me to change completely, like you? Anyway, let’s drop all this nonsense. Just come along
now!” A peal of laughter from Gayatri. “Come.” “What do you mean? Where to?” “Where
to? To hell, that’s where! Honestly, the way you carry on! The boys were right, after all.
‘Will she agree to come, if we go on our own?’ That’s why they dragged me along. And I’ve
come with my mind made up: you’re coming with us, even if I have to drag you by the hair,
you rotten girl!” Go with them! Gayatri wouldn’t dream of it. How could she, in Sripati’s
absence, traipse off with a bunch of neighborhood boys to some club office or other? She
could forget about reentering the house then; that was the horrible reality. But since she
couldn’t very well tell them so, she tried to make a joke of it: “This is a lawyer’s house, don’t
forget! You could be arrested for ‘trespassing,’ ‘use of violence,’ ‘plunder and theft,’ and a
heap of such charges!” “Lump your lawyer! A fig for such small fry! I, Rekha Bhattacharji,
can spin circles round even a High Court judge! Bijoy, ask them to start the car. Gayatri, look
snappy. I’ll give you just one minute to powder your nose.” All Gayatri’s attempts at finding
excuses were simply swept away by a torrent of words. Rekhadi just would not accept that
leaving the house for a couple of hours could cause so many problems. “Bone lazy, that’s
what you’ve become, my girl. That’s all the more reason why you have to come out. Not as if
you have such an enormous establishment to run anyway. Just the two of you, lord and lady.
So why all this fuss? You should be gallivanting around all day! Now, take me; I have four
minimonsters to tackle, and I still have more time of my own than you.” Impossible to
withstand such an onslaught. Still Gayatri made a last feeble effort: “That’s exactly what the
problem is, there being just the two of us. If he comes home and finds the bird flown, he’ll
pass out.” Let him, just let him! You can fan him back to his senses when you get back and
do your good deed as a virtuous wife! Oof, how marriage can ruin someone so! No one else
has ever had a husband, of course. And no other man has ever loved his wife! Hmph! Now
where’s that maid of yours? She was hanging around all this time! Hey girl! Come here.
Listen, I’m taking your missus or madam, or whatever you call her, off with me. When your
master comes home, tell him a gang of dacoits and their lady chieftain have kidnaped her!”
“Aw, you’re quite impossible, Rekhadi! Okay, I’ll join you tomorrow. Forget about today,
there’s nothing arranged.” “Hang your arrangements! You’ll have to start rehearsals with
those girls tomorrow. That’s what we have to decide today. It’s fine for these boys to say,
‘Rekhadi, we leave everything to you.’ They can relax and twirl their sweet young whiskers
and leave all the headaches to me. Like it’s my own mother-in-law’s funeral! And with just
four days in hand!” There was nothing Gayatri could do but agree. But she got into the car
only on one condition: that she could get back home by five o’clock. “Yes, yes, agreed! Oh
dear, she’s such a heavy weight! Almost impossible to budge. Lord, may I never in any
afterlife, ever be a lawyer’s wife! What conceit!” So Gayatri explained the matter carefully to
the maid, and came away most reluctantly. “So much effort spent on just bringing you out of
the house, Gayatri. Far easier to move a mountain perhaps!” Flushed with joy at their success,
one of the boys ventured this cheap crack. Gayatri smiled weakly. “Well, it served as a test of
your capabilities, didn’t it?” she said. Her heart was thumping madly now. The only thing
was to get back home before Sripati. But even that was not to be! It was the usual scene. The
benevolent brothers became so engrossed in conversation that anybody listening from outside
might have thought it was a wedding party. All kinds of fantastic ideas were thrown up.
Imagination ran riot for hours. And then it all had to be pruned down more practically.
Finally, when it was dark outside, the meeting had to break up. Gayatri realized suddenly that
it was past five o’clock—ninety-five minutes past the hour! She stood up agitatedly. And
even then, more time passed before they could finally disperse. They extracted a promise
from her to come back the next day before they let her go. “Who’s dropping her back?” One
of the boys answered Rekhadi’s question: “Shivajida’s already waiting near the car.
Shivajida!” Now who was that? Gayatri hadn’t met him! And the da would mean someone
older than the boys here. Oh hell! How much older? Gayatri’s heart shuddered. These young
boys with hardly a faint down on their lips, even they could have upset Sripati. Thank God he
hadn’t seen them! Imagine his reaction to an older escort! “Hell’s bells,” she thought. She
said hurriedly, “Couldn’t one of you drop me instead? Why bother the other gentleman?” But
as luck would have it, the gentleman in question walked in just then and answered her
himself. “This poor gentleman has explicit instructions: twice every day, until the show is
over, he must accept the bother of picking you up and dropping you back! So come along
now. You needn’t feel embarrassed.” It was a straight and simple enough request. How was
he to know the cause for Gayatri’s embarrassment? It was not just politeness, was it? How
lucky Rekhadi was. Such a free and uncomplicated life, it made Gayatri envious. How could
she let these people in on the demeaning secret of her own life? How could she tell them how
petrified she was at the thought of driving home alone with Shivaji? As if the sky were
crashing on her head! No, that she couldn’t. So regardless of the impending calamity, she had
to get into the car. “So you’re coming again tomorrow?” Gayatri thought this question from
Rekhadi gave her a good opportunity to back out. She made a show of annoyance and said,
“What’s the use of my coming? Is any work ever done? All we did is chat! No fears, I’m not
coming again!” “You think they’ll let you off so easily?” Shivaji chuckled. “You don’t know
these benevolent brothers then!” Gayatri just smiled quietly for want of a suitable reply. And
anyway, she was too distraught now to make polite conversation. God alone knew what lay in
store for her that evening. What one dreads most inevitably happens. At the moment she got
out of the car, she saw Sripati waiting there in person. So even a little subterfuge like
“Rekhadi dropped me back” was out of the question. Yet Shivaji was no monster after all.
Just a very ordinary young man, looking a few months younger than Gayatri perhaps. Sripati
was pacing up and down the road. He had come home and been told of the whole incident by
the maid. And for the last two hours he had been pacing back and forth like a caged beast.
Not a drink of water, not even a washup. “Who was that smart aleck? Quite a Romeo!”
Gayatri was steeling herself mentally. She said with annoyance, “What kind of language is
that? Just a young fellow—” “Oh yes! A little bottle-fed toddler, wasn’t he? So where was it
you went?” “To hell,” Gayatri would have liked to reply. But no, Sripati’s temper was very
uncertain; no knowing where it might lead. So she swallowed her anger and tried to sound
natural instead. “Awf, you can’t imagine! What a shindy in the middle of the afternoon!
Rekhadi arrived out of nowhere and she wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. I just couldn’t
shake her off!” “Now that’s something I just can’t believe. If one really wants to avoid
something, one can. What was it all about anyway? Why this sudden overflow of affection on
Rekhadi’s part?” “There’s always a reason, of course.” Gayatri sounded a little irritated.
“Now tell me, who gave you permission to ride off with a bunch of loafers?” Sripati’s words
were loaded with acid. He was never so openly harsh, normally. But then, Gayatri had never
given him such an opportunity before. She hardly visited her parents’ home. Not even a
passing vendor had she ever ventured to hail. “So I’m just a slave. I hadn’t realized till now.”
And she walked away to the window to cool down. “That’s it! Try a lot of big talk now!
When you know very well that I dislike such things. So what did Rekhadi want, may I
know?” Gayatri, now desperate, rattled it all out in one breath. “Not Rekhadi. It’s those boys
from my old neighborhood. They’re putting up a charity show and they want me to sing for
it.” “Oh really! Just sing? Not dance too?” Sripati gave a sneering laugh. “They couldn’t find
another singer in the country, yes?” “Well, maybe not anyone as good as me!” And Gayatri
smiled in triumph. But Sripati was in no mood now to be won over by smiles. There was an
ugly leer on his face. “Go sing and exhibit yourself in public for money; it’s the done thing in
respectable families!” “Mind your language,” Gayatri said. “The maid’s standing there
listening! Look, you’re saying that, but isn’t it true that everyone’s doing so these days?”
“Everyone? Not everyone! Just half a dozen shameless females from those ultra-fashionable
families. And they’ve dazzled the rest of you! Well anyway, just let those fellows know they
can’t try such nonsense here. And that’s that!” “Can’t say that now; I’ve given them my
word.” “Given your word? So what? Your head’s not at stake! Pack them off when they
come tomorrow. Tell them, my husband doesn’t approve.” “How can I say a thing like that?”
Now it was Sripati’s turn to look amazed. “ ‘My husband doesn’t approve.’ What’s wrong
with saying that? Is every man supposed to approve of his wife singing and dancing around in
public?” “If you put it like that, it does sound bad. But I don’t see anything wrong in it
really.” Gayatri was trying her best to gather some courage. “You may not, but I do, that’s
all! There’s nothing more to be said.” But that couldn’t put an end to the topic. The verbal
battle carried on, shot for shot. His wife was not such a beauty, but she seemed to keep
Sripati’s heart constantly afire. Now the sparks from those flames flew out in his words. He
said, “What a time to visit a gentleman’s home! Midafternoon. Such innocent babes—how
would they know! They wouldn’t dare face me, or I’d show them!” “How would you do that?
Throw them out by the neck, I suppose?” “Sure, if it came to that! ‘By the neck’ is putting it
mildly. They should be horsewhipped, the twerps!” And so he carried on and on, till he was
so worked up that he lost all sense of proportion. For what he said was quite devastating. If
any woman felt embarrassed to make the simple statement, “My husband doesn’t approve,”
Sripati had nothing to say about her character, and the only way to straighten out such women
was with the boot! Those were his final words! Gayatri was in no state to answer that. But
she lay awake in bed for hours, trying to work certain things out. Would half a bottle of spirit
do to soak a whole sari? Was it impossible to get hold of a strong rope? Was the distance
from the second-floor balcony to the pavement below long enough? What could one do to
fulfill a sudden death wish at midnight? Take iodine? All this was yesterday. Thoughts
churned in her head while her blood was still boiling, until she finally fell asleep. Next
morning, she was up and about as usual. There was plenty to do around the house, there being
no cook or any servants. This was not a necessary economy, but simply Sripati’s driving
sense of “morals.” So she went about her work in a mood as heavy as the monsoon sky. She
had made up her mind. Her life had so little worth anyway. What room was there in it for
things like form and propriety? She would tell them it was impossible for her to go, that’s all.
Even the maid had dared to come and say to her earlier that morning, “What a scene the
master created last evening! And no surprise! Once they develop this fixation, it can be
terrible, I tell you! Even gone through it myself, so I know. He’d beat me to a pulp at the
slightest suspicion! At least in your middle-class families they don’t raise their hands so
easily.” And she had swallowed that insult, too, without a word. What else could she do?
Contradict her? Scold her? That would have made it worse. Sripati too had not said a word all
morning. It wasn’t from anger, but more from a lack of courage. He didn’t like the expression
on Gayatri’s face. Well, perhaps he really did sound a bit too harsh last evening. And of
course he was feeling bad too. His love for her was genuine enough, but it was so all
consuming; that’s what caused all the problems! On his way out to work Sripati picked up his
courage and said, “I suppose those boys will turn up to pester you again today? Well, simply
tell them you’re not well. That’s all.” And he went off, asking the maid to shut the door after
him. As soon as Sripati turned his back, Gayatri asked the maid to have her meal, and went
off to bed. She slept a long time, and woke up only when the maid grew anxious and started
knocking. “It’s very late, ma’am, aren’t you going to eat?” “No! I think I told you so. Go,
have your lunch now.” She got up then, and her eyes fell on the large mirror. Gayatri
examined herself in it for a long time. Front view, side view. What was so special about her
looks that kept Sripati on tenterhooks all the time? Far better to have been really ugly. It
would have spared him the torture of suspecting the whole world to have designs on her. And
Gayatri would have been spared too! Suppose she caught smallpox now, became horribly
disfigured overnight? A virulent pox, that’s it! Chatter-ratter-rat! Was it a bolt of thunder
breaking into her thoughts? No, it was someone at the front door. Who could it be? Must be
Shivaji! She brushed off all poxy thoughts, ran a quick comb through her hair, changed into a
fresh sari, and hurried down. The maid had answered the door by then. And Shivaji was not
alone. Rekhadi had come too. Now how could she say to these people, “No, I can’t go
because my husband doesn’t approve?” She couldn’t bring herself to say it, not even under
pain of death! Rekhadi’s voice reached a pitch the moment she came in. “So Her Majesty has
arisen at last! Our hands were nearly falling off rattling that knocker so long! So, will her
ladyship deign to make her way now: Gayatri shook her head and laughed like a child. “If I
don’t, would you leave me in peace! I used to so enjoy my little afternoon naps; now there
they go. How did this savage invasion happen? You know when I got back last evening how
absolutely mad he was? No tea for him, and nothing to eat. Thank you, no. And that won’t be
necessary. How he carried on! Today I had better be ready for a regular thrashing. Or if not,
at least the door slammed in my face!” Gayatri was in peals of laughter. “Let’s go now. And
trust to luck.” And she asked the maid to lock the door. She would have to have that door
opened again in order to get in. Or would it be closed to her forever? Would Sripati really not
let her in? Would he thrash her? Nothing was impossible. “Middle-class men don’t beat their
wives.” The maid had been wide of the mark there. Not just one day, not even once in a
while, but for Gayatri to go out every afternoon to give singing lessons! And then go on stage
and perform! With hundreds of men watching her! If that didn’t make Sripati’s blood boil,
what would? And yet, what else could Gayatri do? She had promised herself all morning to
turn them away, to say, “I’m helpless. I have no freedom; you see, my husband doesn’t
approve.” But the words had stuck in her throat. How could she so lower herself in people’s
eyes? Better to be beaten by Sripati in private than face such indignity in public. Maybe this
is what she would do all her life: put up with reproaches, insults, even the boot! But she
would not throw open to public view the ugly scenes of her home life to outsiders. She would
paint that life in the gaudiest colors—to dazzle their eyes. What else could she do? What
other means did she have? Should she rebel? Are you crazy? Gayatri was no fool! An open
rebellion would lower Sripati in men’s eyes; how could Gayatri then hold her head high and
move up in society? A woman who was unable to put her husband in her pocket might be an
object of pity, never of respect. So what else to do but pretend a bulge in that empty pocket
and put on a big show for the whole world to see?
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