The house of Nataraj Bhakti could have inspired great poets to write their best pieces. The first thing that jumped to my mind as I made my way through the expansive grounds was eerie; but not your regular eeriness, mind you. There was a hint of breathlessness in the air; a romance that could have inspired a slew of kings and princes; aiding them in their romantic adventures as they eloped with a fair maiden, leaving a title and distraught family behind. The fact that the house was inhabited by a man such as Nataraj Bhakti and his delinquent relatives was spoiling the old, faded glamour, to say the least.
A high roof with rafters loomed closer to us as we walked towards the Bhakti Niwas. I could spot a dry fountain pool with pebbles and insects of assorted variety inhabiting its shallow bed. The pool must have been grand and beautiful once, but now it was just a mere skeleton of its former self; all signs of life and activity gone. We then came upon an area which sported a few ill looking motorcycles. Bhakti told us that this part was once a beautiful, well maintained garden but now it was being used by his younger brother as a motorcycle workshop. A further distance into the grounds and just before the house came into our full view, we saw that another section of the property had been transformed into a shed. ‘My sister, Savita, runs a tuition class here.’ explained Nataraj Bhakti. ‘Few students from well to do families come here to learn. The government schools here, have lost the integrity that they used to have in our days, you see.’
We were now standing before the great ancient house of Nataraj Bhakti. The run down albeit magnificent three storied house, topped by a dusty red rafted roof was towering before us like an imperious but aged master; bold and intimidating, tired but awe-inspiring.
‘Wow!’ I observed ‘You must have a lot of rooms here!’
Nataraj Bhakti made a wry face. ‘All rooms are in such a condition that they cater well only to rats. We don’t have money to fix them. I have managed to repair a room from my savings and live there.’
‘And your relatives?’ I asked again
‘They manage’ was his curt reply.
‘Where do they live?’ Bhrigu asked, eyeing the house with visible interest.
‘They?’ said Nataraj Bhakti ‘Chiranjeev, Premkala and their two sons live in the two rooms on the other side of the courtyard.’
‘And Savita?’
‘She sometimes sleeps in the shed when the students have gone.’ he said ‘In winter, she sleeps there all the time but come summer and she has to relocate to one of the rooms on the second floor.’
‘And that room is in good condition?’ I asked.
‘There is nothing in good condition here, sir.’ he replied hotly. ‘That room was inhabitable too, but Savita got it fixed. She had to spend quite a fortune but she makes her own money and so she can afford it. Chiranjeev and Premkala were after my life for some money so that they could get there room fixed too. But I frankly refused. If I helped them but once, they would end up making me a pauper. They continue to pester me for money and I am now completely fed up!’ I could see blood rising to his head ‘These people think that just because I had a government job in the city, I would have earned a fortune. Tell me sir, if I had the money with me, would I have come to live in a god forsaken place such as this?’
He then took a deep breath and said ‘I won’t worry you with my domestic affairs seeing that you have just been through a difficult journey. Please do come in. I’ll show you to a room that I have fixed to the best of my abilities. If you think you can manage, I’ll be thankful and if not then, sir…’ he gulped, ‘you’ll have to go back as I’m afraid I don’t have the money to put you up anywhere else.’
It was I who gulped visibly this time.