Chapter 66

62. Master and Matilda

Snuggling deeper into the pillow, Kirti stretched an arm to dismiss the ringing alarm. Half an hour later, the strings of a devotional song gently roused her up from her sleepy state. Languidly stretching her arms over her head, her eyes landed on the wall clock, and Kirti grimaced. Ammaji would be upset. 

Ammaji's dressing had been removed; the fracture had healed and she had begun to contribute somewhat in the household. But Kirti had noticed that every time Mayank’s mother took up a chore, she would make a huge fuss about it. Earlier Kirti had been confused at such behavior. Slowly, it dawned, Ammaji wanted Kirti to do everything without any helping hand. When crossed, she would be passive-aggressive about it.

Looping her hair through Radha's discarded scrunchie, Kirti prepared herself for the veiled taunts. She had casually hinted at moving out to the Ojhas but before the discussion could advance, it was nipped by Mr.Ojha’s dismissive grunt. As much as independent and brave Kirti had considered herself to be, Mr.Ojha’s grunts and growls had a way of disarming her. He was once of lean buildt but now had a paunch; he boasted of dense hair till this age and dyed it every fortnight. Usually, he was a soft-spoken, gentle, and jovial man; but there were moments when Kirti saw him bare his vicious fangs - often when he got into arguments with his wife or younger son. During neighborhood squabbles. The other day she thought she heard him use derogatory language against an old widow. She did not expect such contemptible behavior from an educated man like him. 

Draping a cotton stole around herself, she traipsed outside hoping everyone was still busy in their morning ablutions. 

The sight that greeted her was the opposite. Ammaji, on a wooden chair and Mr.Ojha, on his diwan, were sipping their tea while their new paying guest sat on the floor, one of his spindly legs folded around his neck in the form of a Pranayama.

‘Ammaji,’ he was saying,’ Lakha and all are okay but our regional Bhajan melodies have no match. Especially Divine Mother’s songs. My favorite is Pawan Bhaiyya’s Nimiya Ke Daar Maiyaa...What is your favorite song Ammaji?’

Kirti did not think of Ammaji as a person with individual tastes. She saw her as a mother, a housekeeper, a careless grandmother, and often a mean gossip bearer. It came as a surprise when she heard the woman bashfully croon a melody, ‘Dhowat dhowat Tohri Mandirwa…’

‘Bharat Sharma has a wonderful voice Ammaji and so do you.’ Buta complimented. Ammaji’s sagging cheeks turned cherry red. 

When Buta saw Kirti, he beamed.

‘Kirti Didiii!!! Good morning...Good morning...O Kirti Di.’ She was blank in the face of his effusive greeting. ‘Hamara naya gana suniye...Gud marning gud marning oh Ammaji...Gud marning...Gud marning oh Ojhaji...I mean namaste namaste uncleji...the happy days are coming...hey hey…’ She looked at Ammaji whose lips twitched before turning to focus on the news that was playing on the TV.

‘Good morning,’ she greeted back. ‘Gana aapne banaya hai? You sure?’ She asked, amused watching his yoga postures.

‘Ji, Didi bol Kaifi Azmi ke aur awaaz  Ankit Pandey ka,’ he grinned, disengaging his arms and getting up from his mat. Smiling at him, she moved towards the kitchen, when Ankit aka Buta jumped in her way.

 ‘Didi!’

‘What?’ She stumbled back. 

‘You are not allowed into the kitchen today.’ He announced.

‘I am not?’ She looked at the two elderly Ojhas.

‘Yes, Kirti today let him be in charge of the kitchen.’ Mr.Ojha agreed.

‘Huh? But you are our...’

‘I am Uncle Ji's son. Am I not, uncle?’

‘Of course. Of course.’

‘So I am going to prepare all our regional cuisines for you all.’

‘He claims to be an awesome cook, Kirti. He says he knows how to make anarsa as well. Let us test the weight in his words,’ Mr.Ojha said.

‘Ammaji?’ Mayank’s mother was particular about who and what entered her kitchen.

‘It is between the master of the house and the rentee, Kirti. We women should stay out of it,’ There was resignation in her tone.

‘So Kirti Di, today you sit and let me serve you.’ He ran inside and brought her a cup of steaming tea.

It must have been a month since she had tea prepared for her by someone else. She had almost forgotten what it felt like to sip tea leisurely without the pressure of other chores crowding her head.

‘Thank you Ankit Ji’ she had said, when she had returned from her work and had found a shiny kitchen, a kettle already boiling on the stove and Ojhas well-fed and satisfied. 

‘Your welcome Didi.’

‘I will take it from here. You must be tired.’ She felt indebted but also felt he did not belong here. She could not convince herself that he was here without an agenda. 

‘Tired?’ He clicked his tongue. ‘I like keeping busy.’

‘Then go and keep busy with what you are here for.’

‘I am doing exactly what I am here for, Didi.’

‘Huh?’ She looked up at him suspiciously. ‘Buta...’

‘Ankit,’ he corrected. Were they going to act as if they had not seen each other at Nishit’s place?

‘You know me, right? You had served me at Aggarwal’s place. You had even carried my missive to Prasanna.’

‘Ohhhh. That is why your face looked familiar. What a coincidence.’ 

‘Why are you here?’ She cut to the chase. ‘Did... he send you here?’ Her voice was a tentative whisper. A far-fetched idea but she had to ask. Are you a spy? She wanted to ask. 

‘Who?’ Buta scrunched his brows.

‘Your bhaiyya.’

Buta waited for her to elaborate. 

‘Nishit,’ she let his name roll off her tongue.

‘Didi! It will be better if you do not mention him in front of me ever again. I have left that house and my past behind,’ the boy gritted through his teeth and stormed off.

XxxX

Kirti and Radha’s world was a small, closed claustrophobic room that was shrinking with each day. Buta and Sylvester were for them like blue skies. Their hearts were like the large expanse of the sky ready to embrace them wholeheartedly, and share their sun with them.

Kirti was still wary and suspicious but Radha flourished like a plant that had received a life’s worth of care and affection. She had not known true friends. Sylvester filled the gaping hole. 

Buta aka Ankit Pandey, with the explicit permission of  Mr.Ojha, had built a pen in the backyard. The hare hopped, slept, and cleared his bowels in his comfortable airy single storey house. When he was freed for a few hours, he was cerebral enough to make the best use of it. Running around, ticking places off his travel list. 

Kirti made sure her limbs and dactyls were out of reach of the little furball. Sometimes forgetful of his existence, she would meander in the backyard;  the beast would give her a fright, his two bulbous eyes peering in the dark.

Whenever it would be mealtime, the house inhabitants would witness Buta and Sylvester get into an intimate dance of sorts, where the master cajoled and cooed while his mistress teased with a glimpse before hiding somewhere waiting to be found.

Radha would jump and clap her hands whenever she sighted the animal. Sylvester’s long ears were an object of fancy. With her big, round, and observant eyes, she would watch the animal’s fun and frolic. On much insistence of Buta, she would often gingerly stroll up to the animal, wanting to pet him but the fidgety animal would whoosh the courage out of her. He would jump over her tiny hands, pulling the floor from beneath her feet. Kirti would rush to her in panic, but would often find the child cackling and guffawing. 

‘It ran away,'' Radha would say the tears in her eyes, an oxymoron to her giggle.

Kirti realized her girl was falling for Sylvester hard and fast. 

It was not unrequited, though. Sylvester, at first jittery around the new inhabitants, took a liking to the little girl soon. Running circles around her, making welcoming noises when she inched closer to his pen, feeding him vegetable leaves from her hand, he would greedily gnaw at them with his teeth, making her shriek and drop the leaves down. Radha found the whole business amusing and ticklish. 

Mrs.Ojha was not happy about the hippity-hop going in her house but had to be a mute spectator. Her husband, the house head, had developed a soft corner for the guy. It was predictable since Ankit was from Mr.Ojha’s neighboring village. Ankit’s sister was married in Mr.Ojha’s village. It was the boy’s brother-in-law, who worked here in the city, who had come and asked for the room. Ankit is a twelfth Boards appearing student, will stay here and prepare for the exams, the brother in law had informed. 

A pure vegetarian Brahmin lodger who knew to communicate in their own dialect, also ready to pay six month’s rent in advance, was a God’s gift. Do you turn away Goddess Lakshmi like this? Mr.Ojha had said to his wife. 

‘But the pet? It will be such a nuisance littering our place,’ she had reasoned.

‘Ankit has assured that it is a well-bred animal and has been well trained. He does not litter.’

‘But…’

‘No ifs and buts. I have given my word. It should be enough.’

XxxX

Kirti still couldn’t bring herself to believe that he had no hand in Buta’s sudden appearance at Jha's residence. Her hands itched to dial his number but she curbed the impulse. 

What if he refused? If he scoffed at and mocked her? 

‘You think my world revolves around you?’ 

How embarrassing!

It was a preposterous idea. What reason did he have to? Because her grandmother in a fit of delirium had asked him to look out for her grandchildren. 

How dramatic!  This was no Hindi feature film! 

She had cut him off from her life. No guy with self-respect...she shook the water out of Radha’s wet skirt before putting it over the clothes wire. Even her dearest friends - the ones with whom she had shared her entire life - didn't care anymore. 

Her eyes sighted the pink puckered flesh at the back of her palm and she felt her heart twinge, all her thoughts halting at one name. Nishit.  Her mind conjured an image before her; of a man walking away into the rain; his grey shirt plastering to his back, the dark undershirt visible. It was soon superimposed by an image of him in a turquoise Tee; his large eyes looking down at her, his one hand cupping her cheeks, the other covering her shivering fingers.

The energy leaving her body, she slid down on her feet, thumping on the brick floor of the terrace. 

Her arm wound around her legs, she laid down her head on her knees. Shutting her eyes to the dancing memories did not help. 

How was it that your mind was busy storing away pictures when you were not even paying attention? Or was it the heart?

No, a married woman now, she could not give in to such foibles. It did not matter that the marriage was based on flimsy grounds and had a hollow existence. She had morals, didn't she? 

‘What morals?’ A cynical voice taunted. You broke Shruti’s heart! You ruined Mayank’s life!

‘Dilbar Mere…’ The sound of a song and of steps being climbed floated to her and she composed herself. 

Radha ran into the terrace and immediately started bouncing with energy ‘Let me touch. Let me touch.’ Her plastic slippers squeaked with every bounce. Her shoulder-length hair was in disarray and Kirti’s hands itched to pull the girl and comb her hair. But knowing Radha, she would make a lot of noise if she wasn’t in the mood of dolling up.

‘Wait, wait. First Sylvester will eat almonds,’ Buta came to sit down next to Kirti. In his lap, the small animal stayed put and his phone crooning the song.

Her past memory kicking in, she scooted away, her toes curling inwards.

‘Didi, you’ve not forgiven Slyvie for his one mistake? He is remorseful. Are you not, Sylvie?’ He put up the hare in his hand and forwarded it to Kirti. The little beast stared at her innocently. 

‘Umm, yea it’s okay.’ She wanted to push away the animal but Radha had come and seated herself in Kirti’s lap. Her little hands shot out to accept the animal. Kirti took Sylvie from Buta and with a  beating heart, handled the furry hare and in turn felt its steadily beating pulse under her palms. The animal was slippery and its stomach was fluffy. 

‘Isn’t it cute, Radha?’ Radha nodded in reply, her palms moving across Sylvie’s back. 

'He,' Buta corrected.

Later when Sylvie had been put back to his pen and Kirti had her legs around Radha to encase her so that she could comb her stubborn curls, Buta started, ‘If I am right, Didi, I had once endangered your hair.’

Her hands stalled in mid-air as she stared at him blankly. ‘I am told I flew a helicopter over your head.’

‘Ohmygod, it was you. The Toddler. Batata? Buta! You were the mischief-maker! There was this haughty maid who had threatened to chop my hair!’

Buta grinned sheepishly. 

Radha fidgeted, trying to break free and she had to return her attention to the girl’s hair. She had been itching her head constantly so Kirti was looking for lice or lice eggs. None till now. But there was lots of dandruff.

‘Who told you?’ She asked.

‘Master,’ he replied. 

‘Who?’ She looked up.

‘The one who had pulled me off you.’

‘Oh. Him. Why are you calling him Master?’ What if he cross-questioned. Why do you refrain from taking his name? 

‘You used to address him as Bhaiyya.’

‘He has lost that right.’

Kirti did not want to come off as intrusive so she did not pry.

‘Now tell me, Didi, does everyone have an interest in studies? So what I failed? Even the supplementary papers! Does it give him the right to humiliate me, to banish me from his house? A house where I have practically grown up. He was a man whom I worshipped and this is how he returns! I always treated him as a big brother but it seems he saw me as only a servant.’ His lips wobbled and Kirti genuinely felt bad for him.

‘He must be thinking about your future. He must be worried about your failures. If your calling is something else, communicate it to him. He will understand.’ She continued to braid Radha’s hair.

‘No, I have left the house and snapped all my ties with him. I am going to pass this time and show him.’

‘That’s the spirit, Buta. If you have any problems you can come to me. But before that stop doing chores and focus more on your studies.’

‘But Didi, I like making food and being active doing chores. And Didi, you work so hard all day long. Your pretty hands will bruise and age. No, let this brother be of some use to you.’

Kirti was a bit taken back by his devoted eyes, her hackles rising. It was like she was a rebound for him. Just of a different nature. 

XxxX

As days went by, Buta slowly began to become a part of the Ojha residence. The morning Bhajans, tea service, helping out at random, carrying grocery bags for her,  sitting and studying with Radha while Kirti took care of her class notes - as if she had been walking and he had always been around, very smoothly falling in step beside her.

She was no more caught by surprise seeing a gangly figure walking around in a baggy shirt and usually sand-colored trousers. Hair cropped short like his Bhaiyya - a lot of his mannerisms seemed to be inspired by his now dethroned idol. The slight nods of his head, the idle playing with keys.

If you paid attention, you could also see Buta’s upbringing rear head from time to time as well. 

‘You use this refined oil? Oh.’

‘Lots of mosquitoes in this area.’

Sometimes she betted. How long does he last? He had been going steady for a month and a half. 

Sometimes she worried how much and what information he was passing if he was a spy. But mostly, she secretly hoped that she would lose her bet. She was growing fond of him and his stories.

‘Uncle Ji, a man from our village, he shifted to Mumbai. He must be around thirty-five and was sharing an auto with a young woman of around the same age as him. When the man reached his stop and got down, the woman by mistake dropped her handkerchief. So, she turns to our village man and says - Uncle, will you pass me my hanky. What does the man do? Does he accept being humiliated? Called an uncle by a woman of the same age as him. No! He is the man of our soil. He replies, Sorry, daughter. My aching joints do not allow me to bend.’ Then both Mr.Ojha and Buta would get into a discussion of who’s who of their village.

‘My father always mentions Rameshwar Lal. Mathematics genius. I remember a story. Before his M.Sc Final examination, someone brought him a quirky problem he was unable to crack immediately. Everyone started giving up, returning to their dorms. People snickered, the genius has their limits too, they said. Rameshwar Lal did not give up…’

‘Yes, yes…’ Mr.Ojha would continue, ‘I remember the legend. He took out a knife and promised himself if he wasn’t going to solve the sum, he would end his life with that knife. In the end, he had emerged alive.’

‘Our community, Uncle Ji has given too many scholars, legends, and yet people associate us with ignorance and stupidity.’

On Sundays, they sat together, Buta, Radha, and her to play board games. When they would get bored of board games they would shift to Raja, Mantri Chor Sipahi, Ammaji joining in their game. On less sunny afternoons, Buta, Radha would often go up on the terrace and listen to songs while playing with Sylvester. If she would be lucky, he would slip in some tidbits of his Bhaiyya.

‘He had a cat when he was young.’

 ‘Who?’

‘My Master’ His oath to not call him Bhaiyya was equal parts endearing and silly.

‘He called it Matilda.’ An odd name. But predictable since it’s him, she thought.

‘His grandfather had gifted it to him. He was very fond of it. But she died just a few days after the passing away of his grandfather. He was heartbroken. He did not keep cats or for that matter any pets after that. This hare also had found him as a tiny leveret in our...I mean his farmhouse. It was injured. Bha...I mean Master tended to it and then tried to release it into the wild. But Sylvester would sleep returning to him. He gave it to me to look after it.’

Chin in her hand, Kirti was listening to the story intently when Buta stood up in a hurry.

‘What happened?’ She asked, confused.

‘Didi, I ask you to remind me never to talk about him. I need to forget him.’ 

Me too, she wanted to add. ‘I will.’ But she never did. 

One day when she went to dump the garbage, she returned with a tiny mewling kitten in her arms. A yellow ball of fur, with white stripes across it.

‘Buta, how do I care for it and pet it? Can you help?’ She, a new mother, treated him like an infant specialist.

Ammaji created a fuss but Kirti was in love with Matilda and she wasn’t giving up on this one.

Dilbar mere kab tak muze, ayese hee tadapaaoge

Mai aag dil mein lagaa doongaa wo, ke pal mein pighal jaaoge

Sochoge jab mere baare mein tanahaeeyon me

Gheer jaaoge aaur bhee meree parachhaeeyon me

Dil machal jaayegaa,…

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HM2WNb-uGhs

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