‘are you sure your health can take it?’
‘Climbing stairs is good exercise‚’ said the father.
‘When you have high blood pressure?’
‘I will be all right.’
What choice did they have? The flat was comparatively cheap, the location comparatively central. The landlord was kind, only demanding three months’ rent in advance, not insisting on a company lease.
*
Dismantling the house in which they had lived for fifteen years was not easy. They took the furniture the new flat could accommodate, the rest they sold. The father’s books were put in boxes which were then placed so as to make two beds and a living-room divan. They would still be with him, that knowledge would have to replace the pleasure of seeing them every day. The bed linen, the small pieces of bric-a-brac that Astha’s mother had stored through the years were given to the daughter. ‘I don’t need them anymore‚’ she said.
‘But these are brand new‚’ said Astha looking at the carefully preserved things, wrapped in soft, old saris. ‘Why don’t you use them?’
‘No, no, I do not need‚’ insisted the mother.
Hemant helped them to move. ‘I don’t like asking him to do so much for us, beti‚’ said the father.
‘He is your son-in-law, Papa. It is all right‚’ said Astha.
Again they had no choice.
*
In the small flat, near the highway, noisy, confined, far from tree and grass, alone for half the day while his wife was at work, eating things he was not supposed to, the father wandered through his life, looking at what was left behindand what lay ahead, and decided there was no use living. Other people decide that with less success.
They had been in the new flat a little over a year when one evening after dinner he complained of a slight chest pain. That night he died in his sleep. Through the period of shock and mourning, Astha and her mother clung to each other.
‘It was the move‚’ the mother kept sobbing. ‘He was never the same after he retired.’
‘He was a saint‚’ said the relatives. ‘Never liking to trouble others.’
‘I kept telling him, do not strain, do not exert yourself, but no. He was never careful. And now he has left me and gone.’
‘You have me, Ma‚’ said Hemant.
‘Yes, Ma. We are all with you.’
As consolation to the widow, now all alone, the relatives said, thank God he saw his child settled, he will rest in peace.
*
In the months that followed the father’s death, the mother became listless and withdrawn. The evenings Astha spent with her she would desperately try and cheer her up.
‘You are still young, Ma, still working. Think of all the things you can do.’
‘You don’t worry about me, beti‚’ said the mother dully.
‘You can travel, you can do social work, you can do something for the children of the poor, you always said you wanted to help other people. Now you can.’
‘Han, beti. You don’t worry about me.’
‘But I do worry. Why don’t you come and live with me?’
‘You live with your in-laws, and besides where is the room in these government flats.’
That was true enough.
Astha tried to interest Hemant in the problem of her mother. He was a good son-in-law, everybody said so, his own parents in particular, closely echoed by the mother-in-law herself. If there was an illness he would call the doctor, if sheneeded money he would offer it, if she needed help in shifting he would provide it. But appeals beyond this irritated and annoyed him.
*
Then the mother met a swami. She informed her daughter of this casually.
‘A swami?’ repeated Astha, puzzled. ‘How did you meet him?’
‘One of the teachers in school took me. Often she has mentioned him, but when your father was alive I never felt the need for anything more in my life. Also he was suspicious of this kind of thing, your father always thought he knew best.’
‘With reason, Ma. Swamis are known to take advantage of women, especially widows‚’ said Astha.
Her mother
‘Climbing stairs is good exercise‚’ said the father.
‘When you have high blood pressure?’
‘I will be all right.’
What choice did they have? The flat was comparatively cheap, the location comparatively central. The landlord was kind, only demanding three months’ rent in advance, not insisting on a company lease.
*
Dismantling the house in which they had lived for fifteen years was not easy. They took the furniture the new flat could accommodate, the rest they sold. The father’s books were put in boxes which were then placed so as to make two beds and a living-room divan. They would still be with him, that knowledge would have to replace the pleasure of seeing them every day. The bed linen, the small pieces of bric-a-brac that Astha’s mother had stored through the years were given to the daughter. ‘I don’t need them anymore‚’ she said.
‘But these are brand new‚’ said Astha looking at the carefully preserved things, wrapped in soft, old saris. ‘Why don’t you use them?’
‘No, no, I do not need‚’ insisted the mother.
Hemant helped them to move. ‘I don’t like asking him to do so much for us, beti‚’ said the father.
‘He is your son-in-law, Papa. It is all right‚’ said Astha.
Again they had no choice.
*
In the small flat, near the highway, noisy, confined, far from tree and grass, alone for half the day while his wife was at work, eating things he was not supposed to, the father wandered through his life, looking at what was left behindand what lay ahead, and decided there was no use living. Other people decide that with less success.
They had been in the new flat a little over a year when one evening after dinner he complained of a slight chest pain. That night he died in his sleep. Through the period of shock and mourning, Astha and her mother clung to each other.
‘It was the move‚’ the mother kept sobbing. ‘He was never the same after he retired.’
‘He was a saint‚’ said the relatives. ‘Never liking to trouble others.’
‘I kept telling him, do not strain, do not exert yourself, but no. He was never careful. And now he has left me and gone.’
‘You have me, Ma‚’ said Hemant.
‘Yes, Ma. We are all with you.’
As consolation to the widow, now all alone, the relatives said, thank God he saw his child settled, he will rest in peace.
*
In the months that followed the father’s death, the mother became listless and withdrawn. The evenings Astha spent with her she would desperately try and cheer her up.
‘You are still young, Ma, still working. Think of all the things you can do.’
‘You don’t worry about me, beti‚’ said the mother dully.
‘You can travel, you can do social work, you can do something for the children of the poor, you always said you wanted to help other people. Now you can.’
‘Han, beti. You don’t worry about me.’
‘But I do worry. Why don’t you come and live with me?’
‘You live with your in-laws, and besides where is the room in these government flats.’
That was true enough.
Astha tried to interest Hemant in the problem of her mother. He was a good son-in-law, everybody said so, his own parents in particular, closely echoed by the mother-in-law herself. If there was an illness he would call the doctor, if sheneeded money he would offer it, if she needed help in shifting he would provide it. But appeals beyond this irritated and annoyed him.
*
Then the mother met a swami. She informed her daughter of this casually.
‘A swami?’ repeated Astha, puzzled. ‘How did you meet him?’
‘One of the teachers in school took me. Often she has mentioned him, but when your father was alive I never felt the need for anything more in my life. Also he was suspicious of this kind of thing, your father always thought he knew best.’
‘With reason, Ma. Swamis are known to take advantage of women, especially widows‚’ said Astha.
Her mother
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