After Sujoy left, Apu sat at his window thinking about all that had been said. His thoughts kept returning to Mala. Sujoy’s questions about her had stirred memories that he had buried away into the deepest recesses of his mind. Yet they remained as vivid as if they had happened only the other day.
How could he ever forget Mala?
The first time Apu met Mala was at his brother’s place in Maharani Bagh. The brothers usually met up for lunch over the weekend; Apu worked sixty-hour weeks at an American bank and had only his Sundays off. That Sunday, there had been a guest at lunch, which wasn’t usual. Apu had walked in to find an attractive young woman standing in front of the bookshelves that lined the walls of the drawing room, a glass of beer in hand. She had turned to look at him through heavily kohl-lined eyes and said, ‘Oh, you must be Apu. Hi, I am Mala.’ They had shaken hands. Subir had emerged from the kitchen with a plate of pumpkin flower fritters, ‘I see you have met. Apu, Mala is a new friend, she is a lecturer at the University. History. Mala, I have told you about Apu. The banker,’ he said with a wry smile.
‘Is it necessary to prejudice your friends against me, right at the onset?’ Apu said, in mock outrage. ‘You do make banking sound like the worst of professions.’
‘Is it not, then?’ Mala asked, with a teasing smile.
They had all broken into laughter. Apu liked his brother’s new friend straightaway. After Mala left that day, Subir had asked him, ‘What did you think?’
‘You mean, of her? Oh, she seems all right. A bit on the intellectual side, no?’
Subir smiled, ‘Well, she is Brahmo, couldn’t you tell? Educated, cultured, easy going enough, but reserved. And civil, unlike you.’ These jibes were part of their regular banter.
Subir had never introduced Apu to any of his girlfriends in the past. He may have heard a name or two, in passing, but none certainly had been asked to their Sunday lunches. Apu knew this was more serious. The two of them looked very comfortable with each other – the way they spoke of books and films and art, the ease with which she moved around his house and the fondness with which she regarded Subir – it felt to him like they had known each other for much longer than they had. And so it came as no surprise when Subir told Apu over one of their lunches that Mala and he were going to get married soon.
Apu remembered the wedding. It wasn’t a big affair, Brahmo families were generally not keen on lavish wedding parties. An afternoon registration, followed by dinner at the club. Even so, counting friends and family from both sides, the guest list had swelled to well over a hundred people. There were two incidents that stood out for Apu from that evening. The first was when Mala had gestured to him for a word with her, aside. Without even the slightest hint of a smile on her face, she had whispered, ‘Apu, do me a favour. I am feeling a bit stressed out, there are just too many people here. Please go to the bar, ask for a glass of Thums Up, add a large vodka shot to it and pass it to me. And don’t give me one of your big grins when you do; can you manage that?’
Apu hadn’t expected this, but had done as he was told. Later, they had all had a good laugh about it.
The other incident was more embarrassing. It was late in the evening and guests had started leaving. Apu had stood with a drink in a corner, his gaze on Mala speaking to a relative. Chitra Di, Ronen Da’s wife, had walked up stealthily from behind and laying a hand on Apu’s arm, said, ‘Gosh, Apu, who stares at his brother’s new bride like that? Shame, shame.’ She was only teasing but Apu had turned crimson.
Mala turned out to be a wonderful addition to their family. She was younger than Apu, but had the manner of an affectionate older sister towards him. Apu called her Boudi – older brother’s wife – though Mala had asked, on more than one occasion, to address her by her name. Apu was often included in their plans – for movies, parties, even holidays, and he joined in as often as his work would allow; it never felt like he was intruding into their private space. Mala and he had struck up an easy friendship. For things that Subir had disdain for, or at least no interest in – shopping, eating in posh restaurants and such – Mala turned to Apu. Subir also hated driving around in Delhi and so it fell to Apu to escort her to places that required the services of a private vehicle. He was, in every sense, an extension of their family unit.
The years passed by, Ronojoy was born. Apu discovered, to his surprise, that he got along really well with children.
Mala noticed this and said to him once, ‘Apu, do you ever think of settling down, yourself? Subir tells me about your many conquests, not one who fits the bill? You would make such an excellent father too, you know.’
Apu had laughed it off. ‘The joys of an unattached man, Boudi. Now I shouldn’t say this but that is something you are unlikely to hear about from Dada.’
One whack on the head had followed.
Life changed a bit after Ronojoy’s arrival, which was inevitable. Everything had to be juggled around the little one and socializing took a back seat. Apu still managed to drop by on most Sundays but that carefree, relaxed air was gone. Sometimes, he would even pick up a trace of frostiness, unfelt before, between his brother and his sister-in-law but dismissed it as the pangs of dealing with new parenthood. Apu was sure it would all get better once Ronojoy grew up and they found some breathing space for themselves again, but it did not. He started noticing a decline in his brother’s temperament. Subir had never been an effervescent personality but he possessed an air of quiet contentment that Apu found calming. Now that quietness was gradually replaced by a brooding sourness.
He didn’t look happy.
Sometimes he asked strange questions like, ‘Do you feel satisfied after a week of hard work? Does it give you a sense of purpose?’ which Apu deflected with, ‘Dada, since when has my job started to interest you?’ But he did notice the worried look with which Mala followed such exchanges.
More time passed. Apu had to travel more often on work and their family meetings became less frequent. One day, while he was away in Singapore, Mala had called. In a slightly agitated voice, she requested Apu to have a chat with Subir about taking up work projects again. She had a sense that Subir was feeling stifled and going out again, meeting people, immersing himself in something other than his books would do him a world of good. Apu agreed.
As it happened, his bank was in the exploratory stages of constructing a new office in Bangalore and needed architectural advice. Apu spoke to his boss and convinced Subir to go across for a meeting. They met a few times before Subir was offered a consultancy to design the space and hand it over to a contractor. His initial reluctance quickly turned to relief at the ease with which he could slip back into the professional arena after such a long gap.
On the eve of Subir’s departure to Bangalore, where he was required for a survey, Apu came over to their home for a drink.
Subir had said, ‘You know, Bhai, Mala had been prodding me to get back to work but in all honesty, I would not have made the effort had this thing from your office not landed so fortuitously in my lap. So, a big thank you, I owe you one.’
Apu had raised both hands in mock surprise, ‘Thank you? Since when have we started behaving so formally in this house? Or is it that the years with your Brahmo wife have begun to rub off?’
Mala had thrown a book at him, missing narrowly.
Later that evening, as Apu was leaving, Mala had walked him down to the gate. She laid a hand gently on his arm and said, ‘Thank you, Apu. Thank you very much.’ Their eyes had met briefly before Mala turned away and went back into the house.
On the drive back, Apu had felt disturbed. Later, whenever he thought about that moment, he saw it as a point of inflection. Yet, he told himself, it couldn’t be – a gesture of appreciation, a harmless touch, an exchanged look – was that enough to stir desire? And of such a forbidden nature? How thin was the line of desire between man and woman? Did it always lurk just beneath the surface, waiting to be kindled by a random twist of circumstance? Did morality win or lose more battles against desire, he wondered. He had found out, the hard way.
The next day, Subir had left for Bangalore. Apu struggled to focus at work. Finally, during lunch break, he had called Mala and said, ‘Boudi, I was thinking of dropping by this evening for a drink. Dada isn’t there, I thought you could use the company.’
He had detected the briefest of pauses, maybe it was his imagination, before she said, ‘Of course, Apu. Have dinner too.’
All these forks on the road to ruin. We tend to think of life-changing events as lightning strikes, but they seldom are. More often, they are a sequence of unremarkable events and if one thinks back carefully, there are always points where a different choice could have led to an entirely different outcome. Yet, once the wheels have been set in motion, great disaster, like great achievement, seems to have an inexorable pull that manages to work all levers in the direction of the fateful end. In people loath to take responsibility for their actions, this becomes an excuse to blame all circumstance as having been pre-ordained.
Unavoidable destiny.
Did Apu have clear designs when he made the call that day? Or had he just wanted to be near Mala? Could Mala have turned down his request to meet; surely, she must have had an intuition? And if they hadn’t met that evening, would the spell have passed?
But all this was hindsight.
The unalterable fact was that they had met. A bit late in the evening, past Ronojoy’s bed-time.
The awkwardness was palpable from the moment Apu walked in. It needn’t have been, this was hardly the first time they were meeting in Subir’s absence.
Apu fixed the drinks and they sat in the drawing room. Mala had been cooking before he arrived, the music still wafted in from the kitchen.
Conversation didn’t flow easily that evening even after a couple of drinks. Reba came by to check if she should lay the table for dinner but Mala said she would do the needful, it was only the two of them. By the time they finished eating, it was past eleven.
Mala said, ‘Apu, it’s quite late and you have had a bit to drink. You are welcome to stay the night. The bed is made in Subir’s room upstairs, nothing needs to be done.’
‘Dada’s room is upstairs? You mean…?’
‘Oh, how would you know? Yes, I sleep with Bochka down here, your brother uses the terrace room. It’s been quite a while.’
Lying in bed, in the dark room upstairs, Apu couldn’t sleep. It was as if his body was on fire. Why had Mala asked him to stay over? Why did Dada and she not share a bed any longer? He could understand his own awkwardness but why had she appeared equally uncomfortable through the evening? He wrestled with his sinful thoughts but they wouldn’t let go. Finally, late at night, he rose from bed and walked down the stairs. It was very dark but he saw that the bedroom door was ajar. With his heart thumping in his chest, Apu walked up and stood at the door. He could see the figures of Mala and Ronojoy lying in bed in the faint light drifting in from the window. And then, to his surprise, he realized that Mala’s eyes were open, she was staring at him in the doorway. To Apu, it was all he could see, two smouldering eyes in that darkness. He tiptoed in and sat down on the edge of the bed. Ronojoy was fast asleep, his head covered by a quilt.
Mala lay with palms folded on top of her stomach. Apu put a hand on her intertwined fingers, their eyes still locked. With the slightest of movements, Mala shifted one hand and laid it on top of his. And then Apu slowly removed his hand from that loose clasp and laid it on her belly. Again, a point of no return. A barely audible gasp escaped from Mala’s lips but she turned her face towards Ronojoy’s sleeping figure. Apu’s fingers slid lower, pausing for a moment at Mala’s groin and then sensing no resistance, lower to where her night-gown ended around the calves, to feel skin. A current passed through him. He lifted the gown and the hand retraced its journey up her thighs to reach the mound of curly hair. Mala’s fists now clutched the bedsheet, her eyes were shut, head still turned away. As Apu stroked her, Mala’s legs parted to allow his fingers to enter her. She was soaking wet. Apu’s other hand moved to Mala’s breast but she gripped his wrist with some force and pushed it away. She sat upright. Apu removed his hand and stood up in alarm. But it was not what he feared. Mala rose too and holding Apu’s wrist walked briskly towards the door. Closing the door gently behind her, she led Apu up the stairs to his room – Subir’s room. Even before they reached the bed, they began touching, undressing each other. Mala responded to every kiss and caress of his and they made love with a hunger Apu had never experienced. When they were spent, Apu lay heaving, his head buried in Mala’s damp neck. After what seemed like a long time, Mala gently pressed Apu’s shoulder. He rolled away and she rose, retrieved her night-dress and left the room.
Apu lay in bed watching her silhouette disappear.
That was the first of their infidelities. They were intimate only three other times, during their brief affair. Once, in the same week, before Subir’s return, though Apu hadn’t stayed the night. On the other two occasions, Mala had dropped by briefly, at Apu’s invitation, to his house on her way back from college. Those few weeks, Apu could think of nothing else, yet theirs had been a strange kind of affair.
They hardly ever called each other, and when Apu did manage to reach her on the phone, the conversation was devoid of any note of endearment, leave alone passion. Mostly Mala would fob off his entreaties to get together but then surprise him suddenly by calling to ask if they could meet the following day. This confused Apu but he understood that despite the obvious attraction, she found it difficult to come to terms with the illicit nature of their liaison. And if there was hesitation in agreeing to meet, there had been none in their love making, once they did. There was only need.
Only once, after making love, had he managed to ask, ‘What do you feel for me?’
She had smiled and asked back, ‘What do you think?’
‘To be honest, I don’t know. We hardly speak. We meet, make love, and go away. If I didn’t know you better, I would have thought it was only physical.’
‘Then it’s good that you do know better.’
That was it.
It was the most exhilarating and the most disturbing time of Apu’s life. Once Subir was back, their weekend routine had to change – he skipped a couple of their Sunday lunches, citing work pressure. The prospect of meeting the two of them together was unimaginable; something would certainly give him away. Apu smothered questions that popped up in his head about where their relationship could be heading and how long it would endure; he told himself he would go with the flow for the moment. And then that phone call one afternoon at office:
‘Apu, please be home at five today. I need to speak to you.’
Apu had known from her tone that this was not an arrangement for a date. He feared the worst, Subir had found out. Somehow.
It had been worse.
‘I am pregnant,’ Mala said as soon as she entered the house. And then the real blow. ‘It is yours.’
Apu had blurted out, ‘How can you know for sure?’
‘Your brother and I haven’t been physically intimate for over three years now.’
Apu felt winded, as if he had been punched in the gut. Mala’s eyes had welled up; he reached out to touch her but she turned away. She stood rigidly in one corner for a while and then left the house without another word. What else was there to say?
That was the end of their affair, though they did meet, privately, one last time. Apu tried his best to convince her to terminate the pregnancy. She declined, vehemently, and stormed off. That day, Apu knew that whatever Mala may have felt for him was dead.
Shortly after, she told Subir.
It was midnight. Apu sat as if in a trance in the same position that Sujoy had left him in at the hotel.
He had relived these memories a million times in his head. What had he just told Sujoy – that given another chance, he would have returned much earlier and stood by his side? That much was true. But if he did get another chance, would he have had the affair with Mala? The tempting answer was to say no, the consequences had been so disastrous, but was it the honest answer?
He couldn’t say.
He regretted every fallout of the episode, not the liaison itself. Yet actions and consequences could hardly ever be separated, however much we wanted them to be.