The New Wife

1

Although our body grows old, new blood surges through its veins. In fact, the entire structure of life rests on the flow of this new blood. And the wave of this newness surges through every particle of the earth like the musical notes latent in a stringed instrument. So the earth, with its primordial system, continues to stay as young and adorned as a new bride.

Lala Daga Mal’s new marriage not only restored him his youth and renewed his vitality, but also awakened fresh passions and emotions in him. During the lifetime of his first wife, he seldom had time to stay at home. After his daily religious rituals from early morning to eleven o’clock, he would eat his food and leave for his shop. He would return past midnight, around one o’clock. Dog-tired, he would fall into a deep sleep. If Leela ever dared ask him to come early at night, he would flare up, yelling, ‘Should I close down the business for you? Gone are the days when a devotee used to earn Goddess Lakshmi’s bountiful blessings by offering just a jug of water as a token of worship. Today, the devotees prostrate themselves in obeisance so many times but fail to earn Lakshmi’s generous pleasure.’ Driven to despair, poor Leela would have no option but to stay quiet.

Once, just six months ago, Leela was running a fever. When Lalaji was about to leave for his shop, she gathered up courage to say, ‘Look, I am not feeling well today. Come a little early.’

Daga Mal took off his headgear, hung it on the peg and said dryly in a tone dripping with sarcasm, ‘All right, if my staying back at home makes you feel better, I will not go to the shop.’

Quailed before Lalaji’s anger, Leela stuttered, ‘I do not mean to hold you back at home. It is a humble request to you to come back home a little early.’

Lalaji reacted sharply, ‘Perhaps you believe that I go to the shop to enjoy myself over there?’

Leela, with a woebegone expression, preferred to keep silent. Of course, her husband’s habitual loveless behaviour was by no means shocking. She had been distressed for quite some years to think that her existence was of little consequence. Quite often, she would be lost in contemplation, fumbling through her past to grab the genesis of the loveless attitude of her husband, but in vain. Moreover, she never found herself in the wrong. Guilty of no transgression and disobedience as she would find herself, she had, in fact, grown more devoted and sincerely assiduous in her duties to him. She genuinely cherished to share the burden and responsibilities shouldered by her husband, maintaining her cheerful self to win his favour and love. She never dreamt of going against his wishes. But it was in no way fair to hold her culpable for the dissipation and waning of his youth. For that matter, no one is blessed with eternal youth. Similarly, it was not her fault if she no longer bloomed in her previous health. If she was guilty of no crime and offence, why at all was she meted out punishment?

Ideally, their twenty-five-year-long life and companionship should have developed into a marvellous compatibility and a sound understanding of each other’s natural propensities and inmost desires, leading to a condition where even demerits were treasured as merits and the relationship was savoured as a luscious ripe fruit. But Lalaji’s intrinsic predilection for materialistic gain measured everything in terms of materialism. Needless to say, when an old cow stops giving milk and conceiving, she is consigned to the cowshed, the most ideal place for her.

Lalaji also believed that Leela must feel fairly content with her life and status as a housewife, eating her fill and leading a comfortable life at home. Obviously, she was free to buy as much jewellery as she wished and go for pilgrimage to as many holy places as she could. But he wanted her to keep herself away from him. It seemed incongruous and inconsistent when Daga Mal ardently craved the pleasure which he denied Leela. How intriguingly mysterious and complex is human nature!

Leela was barely forty years of age. Relegated to seclusion, she was treated as old and decrepit by Daga Mal. On the other hand, he was forty-three but believed himself to be young, bubbling with youthful vigour, vitality and passion for life. Much to Leela’s chagrin, he felt a deep aversion to her when she resorted to make-up and toiletries in order to hide the heartless blotches and scars left by callous time. Whenever she wore make-up, he said with heavy sarcasm, ‘What a rapacious appetite for looking young! Though a mother of seven children, hair grizzled and face puckered, she is seized by a craving for wearing mahawer, sindoor, and applying ubtan. How strange the nature of women is! God knows why they always take make-up to be a thing to die for. If only someone asks what else they pine for. Why don’t they accept the fact that youth once lost can’t be restored with the help of a wide range of cosmetics?’ How interesting! Daga Mal thought he was young with desire raging on. During the winter, he fed on food prepared with dried fruit, used mixture and powder with medicinal properties, dyed his hair black twice a week and also had a correspondence with a doctor regarding this monkey gland.

Seeing him in a fix, Leela asked in a subdued tone, ‘Could you tell me when you will be back?’

Lalaji asked her, oozing loving care, ‘How are you now?’

Leela was in a dilemma, not knowing what to say, for if she said that she was not feeling well then he would sit there, letting out pungent taunts at her. But if she said she was feeling well, he would relax and come back home at two in the night. On the cusp of a strange dilemma, she preferred to say, ‘Although I was feeling a little better, now I’m feeling slightly unwell.’ Then she hastened to tell him, ‘Go to the shop, the customers will be waiting for you. But for God’s sake, come back before two. The children go to sleep. Left all alone to myself, I feel bored and listless.’

‘I will surely come back by twelve.’ Lalaji made his sugar-coated promise.

But the colour drained from Leela’s face when she heard him say twelve. ‘Can’t you come back by ten?’ she implored.

‘No, not before eleven-thirty,’ Lalaji replied.

‘By ten-thirty?’ she entreated.

‘All right, by eleven,’ he said.

Lalaji left for the shop. But on the way, one of his friends invited him to a mujra at ten at night. And he could not dare reject the invitation. Of course, it is not gentlemanly to let someone’s invitation meet with flat refusal.

Lalaji went to the mujra or a nautch session. He came back home at two o’clock and entered the house stealthily, tiptoed and woke up the servant and crept inside his room only to fall into a deep slumber. Poor Leela had already fallen asleep while waiting.

The illness took its toll, killing Leela. Lalaji felt her death. His friends sent him telegrams offering their condolences and a daily newspaper published an obituary, expressing deep sorrow and extolling her religious and personal virtues. Lalaji expressed his sincere gratitude to his friends and instituted five scholarships in a girls’ school in memory of her. He also threw several exceptionally unique after-death feasts, making them the talk of the town for a long time.

But hardly a month had passed when his friends started cajoling him for remarriage. He was lured into marrying again after undergoing six months’ hardship as a widower. To be truthful, the poor fellow had no option because he needed a life partner—it was indispensable at his age.

2

The arrival of Lalaji’s new wife revolutionized his life. He was no longer enamoured of his shop. His business suffered no losses even after he stayed away from his shop week after week. His strength, which had once begun to wane and deplete with every passing day, was revived, burgeoning like green shoots poking from the parched earth after fresh showers. A new car and a radio were bought and the rooms were lavishly furnished. More servants were employed to take care of the household chores. Lalaji’s decrepit youth looked more radiant than that of a young man, exactly like the effulgence of electric lights, which look seemingly more attractive and sparkling than the moonlight. When his friends congratulated him on his eternal youth, he felt a great sense of pride and boasted, ‘I have always been in the flower of my youth and would continue to stay eternally young. If old age dares come near me, I will blacken its face, seat it on a donkey and deport it from the city. One thing I don’t understand is why people correlate youth with age. Youth has a correlation with age but to the extent religions have a correlation with ethics, money with honesty and beauty with make-up. I wonder why people call these modern young people young. Believe me, the vigour and strength of thousands of youths will cringe and cower before mine. It seems these young men have no interest in life. To them, life feels like drums around their necks.’ Needless to say, these are the words that he repeated to Asha Devi time and again, longing that they be etched on her heart and memory. Though he would ask her with great interest to accompany him to the cinema, theatre and for boating, his proposals never excited her curiosity. Of course, she did accompany him but half-heartedly, that too after his persistent cajoling.

One day, Lalaji told her, ‘Let’s go boating.’

It was the rainy season. The river was in spate. Patches of clouds drifting in the sky looked like regiments of soldiers from various countries marching forward in their multicoloured uniforms. The roads thronged with people moving towards their destinations while singing Malar and Barahmasa. Swings were hung from garden trees.

‘I don’t feel like going,’ Asha said indifferently.

Lalaji insisted with a touch of reproach in his tone, ‘What kind of nature do you have? You do not feel inclined to go out anywhere.’

‘You go boating. I have some other work at home,’ she replied.

‘By the blessings of God, we have so many servants to do the household chores. You are not required to stay back in order to do anything here,’ Lalaji said.

‘Mahraj does not cook a tasty curry. I am sure you will leave the food cooked by him after the very first morsel,’ she said.

Asha passed most of her leisure time in cooking delicious dishes and savouries for Lalaji. She had learnt from others that men of Lalaji’s age tended to be more interested in the gratification of their taste buds. Lalaji’s happiness knew no bounds after learning that Asha was so caring that she was ready to deny herself the pleasure of entertainment trips and her comfort for the sake of cooking sumptuous and healthy food for him. Suddenly, he remembered Leela with distaste and muttered under his breath, ‘Leela, in sharp contrast to Asha, would always tug at my sleeve, ready to accompany me everywhere. She used to spoil my mood. Sometimes, it was so difficult to shake her off. I had to put her off with one excuse or the other.’

Liberated from the oppressive thought, Lalaji told Asha, ‘Do not be so fussy about the food. It doesn’t matter if there is no tasty curry for one day. Moreover, if you unduly tend to my personal whims and pamper them, you will give a long rope to my luxurious lifestyle, leading me to get spoilt. Besides, I won’t go if you are not ready.’

‘You take me for so many pleasure trips, fun and gaiety. Don’t you think you are also spoiling me?’ Asha spoke in an endearing tone, though actually longing to shake him off. ‘Who will do the household chores, if I get used to such habits?’ she added.

Lalaji said with an air of large-heartedness, ‘I do not give a damn about the household chores. I want to spoil you so that you stay away from the drudgery of housework. And look, do not address me with the word “aap”. Address me as “tum”. You know, I wish you to wantonly spout abuse, play pranks and blow up at me. But to my frustration, you address me with “aap”, making me a deity. I do not want to be treated as a god. I crave to behave like a naughty urchin at home.’

Asha replied with an effort to smile, ‘Good gracious! How can I address you with the word “tum”. It is used for one who is of the same age, not for someone older.’

Asha’s disarmingly naive words stung him, making him feel dizzy He would not have felt such terrible shudders down his spine even if his munim had told him that he had suffered a loss of one lakh rupees in his business. His excitement evaporated. He felt as if his immaculately perfect look—colourful cap with flowers sewn on it, saffron-coloured silk shawl draped loosely around his shoulders and the embroidered kurta with gold buttons—howled derision and scoffed at him. He felt deflated and downcast.

Broken-hearted, he asked dolefully, ‘Are you coming with me or not?’

‘I do not feel like going,’ said Asha.

‘It means that I shouldn’t go,’ Lalaji said.

‘I am not stopping you from going,’ Asha replied while addressing him with the formal “aap”.’

Cut to the quick, Lalaji said sharply, ‘Again you’re addressing me with “aap”.’

‘Tum,’ Asha said with great effort, blushing.

‘Yes, like that. From now onwards, address me with “tum”. So, you are not going. But if I command you to go, what will you do?’ Lalaji asked.

‘Of course, I shall have to go. It is my bounden duty to obey you,’ Asha answered.

But Lalaji could not command her. The words ‘duty’ and ‘order’ jarred on his ears. He felt sheepish and took a step to leave. Asha pitied him and said, ‘When will you come back?’

Seething with indignation, he said, ‘I am not going.’

‘All right, I will accompany you,’ she said.

He scowled, behaving like a stubborn child who after getting what he wants, throws it away. ‘You don’t need to go if you don’t want to. I am not in the habit of forcing my will on others,’ he said.

‘Aa . . . p . . . I mean, tum will feel bad,’ she said.

Asha went for the outing, but half-heartedly, not even dressed for the occasion—wearing neither any jewellery nor make-up looking like a widow. Lalaji had a malignant dislike of such habits. He had remarried to enjoy life to the fullest, to pour oil in a lamp so it burnt brighter. But if the lamp failed to burn brightly, then what was the point of pouring oil in it? In fact, he was unable to understand why she was so indifferent and nonchalant, always wearing a dejected look. Sometimes, he thought she was like an usar tree that never sprouted any green shoots no matter how much one watered and tended it carefully. He had bought expensive jewellery and saris for her from various places like Delhi, Calcutta and France. But they sat in the boxes, the jewellery gathering dust and the saris eaten by moths. ‘This is the problem with girls from poor families. Stingy to the core, they neither eat good food nor wear good clothes even if they are favoured with a large fortune. Moreover, they are also unwilling to give them to others. If they get hold of some buried treasure, they will shrink away from spending a penny,’ Lalaji opined resentfully.

Although they went boating, it was dull and dreary.

3

Having strained every nerve to arouse her interest in fun and entertainment, Lalaji realized that Asha was naturally disposed towards melancholy. But interestingly, he did not lose heart. Sanguine of success in his attempts, he kept cajoling her with his stubborn persistence to bring her around. Of course, it was not expected of him to lose sight of the profit he had to earn after the sound investment in the form of his marriage. He was bent on deploying one or the other new method and means of exciting her interest. He was well aware of the fact that if one’s gramophone did not work properly, one had better get it repaired rather than allow it to gather dust.

In the meantime, the old cook, Mahraj, suddenly fell ill and went back home. A young boy, Mahraj’s son, was employed temporarily as his replacement. In his mid-teens, the boy was strangely funny, rustic and a little uncouth. Unable to understand anything, he made unshapely chapattis, leaving one or the other part under-baked. Sometimes, he cooked dal as runny as tea and sometimes as thick as yogurt. He would at times put just a pinch of salt and at times a ladleful of it, letting the dal taste as salty as lemon pickle. So, Asha frequently visited the kitchen with an intention to train him. Sometimes, she gave him severe reprimands for being a straggler. Once, she said, ‘What a dullard you are, Jugal! You have wasted your life doing nothing. Shame on you! You can’t even make flat, round and properly baked chapattis.’

Jugal replied with tears in his eyes, ‘Bahuji, I am still young—just seventeen.’

Asha burst into laughter. ‘What do you mean? Does it take a decade or two to learn how to make chapattis?’

‘Just train me for a month. I will make chapattis to your taste. Once I learn how to make round chapattis, I will bag a handsome reward from you. Look, my curry tastes slightly better now.’

‘Stop boasting! You have yet to learn how to cook a tasty curry. You know, you had overdone the salt even yesterday,’ said Asha, but smiling encouragingly at him.

‘Bahuji, you were not here when I was cooking the curry.’

‘You mean I have to sit here for you to cook a tasty curry?’

‘I am in my senses when you are here.’

‘And when I am not here . . .’

‘Then my wit goes to sit on your doorstep.’

‘You will go back home after your father returns, won’t you?’

‘Bahuji, provide me with some other job here. Make me learn how to drive a car. I will take you around. No, Bahuji, no. I will take the pan away from the stove. Stay away lest your nice sari gets stained.’

‘You had better stay away, you untrained fellow. If the pan falls on your feet, you’ll suffer from burns for months.’

Jugal held back despairingly, his frail face looking drawn.

Instantly, Asha asked him with a smile, ‘Why did your highness now pull a long face?’

‘Bahuji, I feel heartbroken when you rebuke me. I do not mind when Lalaji gives me a severe reprimand. But when I find you rolling your eyes, my heart sinks.’

‘I did not rebuke you. I simply wanted you to be careful lest the pot fell on your feet,’ said Asha, gently soothing him.

‘But look, Bahuji, you also used your hands to hold the pan. If you had lost the grip, then . . .’

In the meantime, Lalaji came in. He stood at the threshold and shouted, ‘Asha, come here! Look at the beautiful flower pots I have bought for you. They will be tastefully placed in front of your door. Just tell me why you take pains to stay in the kitchen? Ask this fellow to call Mahraj back otherwise I will employ someone else. There is no dearth of Mahrajs. How long will one go on waiting for him? And this slovenly stupid fellow awfully lacks in manners. Listen to me. Write to your father today asking him to come back soon.’

The iron plate for baking chapattis was ready on the hearth. Since Asha was rolling chapattis and Jugal was waiting for his turn to bake them, she was not free to go see the flower pots. ‘Wait. I am rolling chapattis. If I leave them to Jugal, he will make unshapely ones,’ said Asha.

Quite irritated, Lalaji said, ‘If he makes unshapely chapattis, he will be dismissed.’

Turning a deaf ear to Lalaji, Asha said casually, ‘He will learn within a week or so. There is no need to sack him.’

‘Come. Tell me where and how the flower pots will be placed.’

‘Wait. I am not done yet. Now do not kick up a fuss.’

Frozen in shock, Lalaji glanced at her in stupefaction. Asha had never before retorted so curtly and discourteously. He felt hurt and beat a hasty retreat.

Seething with indignation, he felt like smashing the flower pots and hurling the plants into the hearth.

Jugal cringed at the sight of Lalaji, and spoke in hushed tones, ‘Bahuji, go. Sarkar is fuming.’

‘Stop talking nonsense. Bake the chapattis or else you will be sacked. Take some money from me today and get yourself new clothes and a haircut. Do not stay shabby like a beggar. How bad of you! You can’t even afford to go to a barber.’

‘If I buy myself new clothes, how will I be able to account them to my father?’

‘What a fool I have to deal with! Didn’t I tell you to take the money from me?’

‘If you are going to give me money, I will buy expensive clothes—a fine khaddar kurta, a khaddar dhoti, a silk shawl and a nice pair of footwear.’

Asha smiled warmly at him. ‘And if you have to spend your money then . . .’

‘Then I will not buy new clothes.’

‘How clever!’

‘Look, Bahuji, one can go to sleep on dry chapattis at home but would not want to have the same in a feast.’

‘All right. I do not want to listen to these excuses. Go and get a kurta made of some coarse cloth and a cap as well. But do not forget to take two annas for your haircut.’

‘Leave it. I do not want anything. If I wear good clothes, I will remember you fondly; but if I wear poor clothes, it will be dispiriting for me.’

‘How selfish! You want clothes for free and of high quality.’

‘Give me your photograph at the time of my departure from here.’

‘What will you do with my photograph?’

‘I will hang it on the wall of my room and look at it every day. But wear the sari you were wearing yesterday for the photo. And do not forget to wear a pearl necklace. I do not like a bare neck. I know you have a lot of jewellery. Why don’t you wear them?’

‘Do you like jewellery?’

‘Too much.’

Just then, Lalaji came and shouted at Jugal. ‘You are not yet done with your chapattis, Jugal! If you don’t make good chapattis from tomorrow onwards, I will sack you.’

Asha rushed to wash her hands and then accompanied Lalaji with great pleasure to see the flower pots. She radiated extraordinary bloom, her conversation sparkling with charm. Lalaji consigned the humiliation inflicted on him to oblivion. Obviously, Asha spoke from within, ‘I want each flower pot to be placed tastefully in front of my room. How beautiful they are! Wow! Tell me their names in Hindi as well.’

‘What will you do with all these plants? Keep a few of them. I will ask them to put the rest in the garden,’ Lalaji said light-heartedly.

‘No, not at all. I won’t part with even one of them.’

‘How greedy!’

‘All right. Let me be greedy. But I am not going to give you any.’

‘Give me a few. I took a lot of pains getting them here.’

‘No, not at all. You will get none.’

4

The following day, when Asha came out in her turquoise-coloured sari, adorned with jewellery, Lalaji’s eyes flashed. He thought his persistent and passionate cajoling was finally working. Earlier, no matter how much he would implore her, she wouldn’t wear any jewellery. Sometimes, she would wear the pearl necklace, that too in a clumsy way. Today, embellished with the jewellery, she was putting on airs and graces. It seemed as though she wished people to look at her, and praise her beauty.

Lalaji was beside himself with pride. He wished his relatives and friends would visit his queen, adorned with gold, and see that he was leading a satisfied and enjoyable life. He wanted to dispel the doubts lingering in the minds of his kith and kin and wished them to see how confidence, tolerance and broad-mindedness had made his life lovely and pleasant.

He proposed, ‘Let’s go for a leisurely stroll. It is quite pleasant outside.’

But Asha had work in the kitchen. She was sure that she would not be finished before twelve o’clock. She felt a mild pain in her liver. She had never had such a pain before. It had started only last night.

Lalaji was ecstatic after learning of the pain. He thought of the Raj Vaidya and that his pills had possibly produced the intended result. Needless to mention, the efficacy of the pills had already been measured. They were made from a mixture prescribed by the Raj Vaidya’s father, who was once the family doctor of the Maharaja of Banaras.

Staring at her in complete perplexity, Lalaji said, ‘So you have been suffering from the pain since last night. If you had told me, I would have taken you to the vaidya.’

‘I thought that it would subside without any medicine. But it is getting aggravated now.’

‘Tell me the exact spot where it’s paining.’

Lalaji stretched his hands towards Asha but she shrank back instinctively. With her head lowered, she said, ‘I do not like such overtures. Bring me the medicine now.’

Lalaji felt elated to have got the certificate of his being young. He would not have been this happy even if the title of Rai Bahadur had been conferred on him. He ardently wished to bag the appreciation of his friends for his remarkable achievement. He also thought that he had grabbed the opportunity to scoff at those who had muttered under their breath about his new marriage. First of all, he went to Pandit Bhola Nath and told him sadly, ‘Brother, a new problem has cropped up. Asha has a chest pain since last night. I do not know what to do. She said that she has never felt such pain before.’

Bhola Nath said, ‘I believe it is nothing serious. She must have been hurt by some evil spirit.’

Lalaji disagreed and said, ‘No, she has not been hurt by some evil spirit. It seems that she has some internal problem. You know, she is young. I think I had better take some medicine from the Raj Vaidya.’

‘But I think it will subside without any medicine.’

‘You understand nothing. And this is your shortcoming.’

‘As you like. But you are wrong. Go to the vaidya. Take the medicine but do not forget to take some medicine for yourself as well.’

Lalaji got up and left to visit another friend, Lala Phag Mal. He repeated the story with the same grim face. Astutely playful, Phag Mal said with a smile, ‘I believe this is the result of your naughtiness.’

Though greatly elated, Lalaji said, ‘I am telling you about my woes and you are in a playful mood. You disregard others’ feelings.’

‘I am not joking. I know she is young and tender. But you are a veteran, I bet. If it isn’t good news, I will get my moustache shaved!’

With a façade of seriousness, Lalaji added, ‘Honestly speaking, I take every precaution. I swear by your head.’

‘Do not swear by my head. I have children. Except me, there is no one to look after them. All right, go and take some medicine.’

‘I will take some medicine from the Raj Vaidya.’

‘The vaidya has no medicine for it. None but you have the remedy.’

Lalaji’s eyes lit up. As he felt the tidal surge of youth, his chest swelled. He trod firmly, with a slight swagger, his cap slanting, his face radiating youthful lustre and wantonness. When Lalaji gave the good tidings to the Raj Vaidya, he said, ‘I had already asked you to take the pills carefully. But you paid no heed to my advice. Take the pills for a month or two and take preventive measures, you will witness the miracle. Due to great demand, there is an acute shortage of these pills. It takes a lot of time to prepare them—sometimes even a month. It requires thousands of herbs that we have to bring from faraway places such as Kailash, Nepal and Tibet. Needless to say, its preparation is not easy. You had better take a bottle.’

5

Asha looked gorgeous. Jugal said, ‘Bahuji, you should always dress like this. Today, I won’t let you come close to the hearth.’

Glancing naughtily at him, Asha said, ‘Why are you ordering me about today? You have never stopped me earlier from going near the hearth.’

‘Today’s different.’

‘What is it? Tell me.’

‘I fear lest you get angry at me.’

‘Tell me. I won’t be cross.’

‘Today you are looking awfully beautiful.’

Although Lala Daga Mal used to praise her beauty to the skies quite sincerely, yet Asha found his eulogy to be artificial and hollow. His words of appreciation seemed like a sword held by an effeminate man. On the contrary, Jugal’s words sent her into raptures. She felt an intense pleasure, her eyes betraying passion and desire.

‘Your eyes will harm me. Do not stare at me, Jugal.’

‘I will miss you a lot after I go back.’

‘Where do you go after making the chapattis? You are nowhere to be seen.’

‘Since Sarkar is around, I fail to muster up the courage to approach you. Bahuji, I am going to be dismissed now. Let’s see where I am fated to find a job.’

Asha flew into a rage and said, ‘Who is going to dismiss you?’

‘Sarkar himself said, “I will sack you.”’

‘Go on doing your duties. No one is going to dismiss you. You have already started making properly baked and shapely chapattis.’

‘But the master loses his temper easily.’

‘Don’t worry. His temper will abate.’

‘When he walks with you, he looks like your father.’

‘You are taking liberties with me. Beware. Think before you speak.’

Her apparent annoyance failed to cloak her furtive feelings. They shone like the rays of light. Moreover, Jugal added with a disarming frankness, ‘You can command me to stay silent. To be honest, everyone says so. As for me, if I am married to a fifty-year-old woman, I will either run away from home or consume poison or give her poison. I know the result—it won’t be more than capital punishment.’

Asha’s false annoyance vanished into thin air. Jugal had touched a raw nerve. She could not contain her woes. ‘Jugal, one cannot escape one’s fate, ‘she said despairingly.

‘May such fate perish!’

‘Wait, I will get you married to an old woman.’

‘I will consume poison.’

‘Why? An old woman will love you more than a young one. She will be more devoted to you and will keep you on the right path.’

‘Those are the jobs of a mother. A wife is not meant for them—she is for something else.’

‘What is a wife for? Tell me.’

‘If you had not been my employer, I would have given you the answer.’

Suddenly, they heard the sound of a car outside. God knows how and when the part of Asha’s sari covering her head had slipped down to her shoulders. She hurriedly pulled it over her head and rushed out of the kitchen, instructing Jugal, ‘Come when Lala goes away after taking his meal.’

Translated from the Urdu by A. Naseeb Khan