THE NEEM

(A short story)

KUMAR S. MUKHERJI

At about six-o-clock in the morning, I opened the door leading to the inner verandah and stood at the window facing the east. Patches of dark clouds were spread all over the eastern sky, it wasn’t raining though. Cool moist breeze refreshed my mind and relieved me of the tedium and weariness that I had been enduring since last many days for a cause unknown to me. A very heartening sight enlivened and brought real delight to my sick mind.

A very young Neem tree raised itself straight and stood with a proud gait on the open plot of land behind my house. It shook gracefully with all the load of its new branches and leaves and looked as if it was thrilled by the revelation of some long awaited news held secret from it. The green, wet leaves, shining under the mild sun-rays piercing through the clouds, shivered gleefully and helplessly trying, perhaps, to maintain the secrecy of the news. The tender branches held myriads of tiny rain-drops over its new leaves like new pearls carelessly spread over the tender body of a teenager bride. The entire world of the Neem was of freshness, fullness and joy. It shook, it bowed, it shivered, sometimes in quiet-absorption, sometimes in eloquent expressions. One who would follow nature’s language would hear it whispering words of hope and great expectations.

No apparent cause of all this jubilation could be seen, yet it gave me a feeling that its merry mood would certainly bring good news to me. The atmosphere around the Neem had, somehow, got linked with my emotional world. The grimness of the young tree had always indicated grief to come and it waved its arms in full humour whenever I had fun in life. It had become a virtual partner in sharing my everyday emotions. Let me think once again or scan the post carefully, does it bring any message of joy. Oh! no, there are none. Then whom is it welcoming, whom is it inspiring? It unleashed the secret a day later. It was Vasanti’s reunion with her old father.

Poor Vasanti! deserted by her faithless husbands centered all her feminine feelings round her foolish father. She left her village in Chattisgarh, the area of the tribals and beautiful paddy fields. Twice she had been married for the prospects of a happy family-life of their tribal type and both the times she had been discarded by her husbands like a rotten fish. The reason was her weak health. She could not cope up with the diverse domestic duties. She could not add to the family prosperity by helping in their hard economic ways of life. Neither could she satisfy the demands of the healthy, youthful husband. She proved there, worth nothing and had to seek the asylum of her father’s insufficient household. She was happy here even in poverty. No one looked upon her for contempt. No one pretended to be her protector. She had choice before her to accept or reject her task-masters. Now she lived in the city with her father Jhanku. She worked for those who tolerated her sickly looks and imperfect work. Earned some money for two mouths and some occasional purchases of tit-bits to beautify herself. She spoke a language which was distortion of both, her own tribal dialect and Hindi, the tongue of the civilized.

She attended to all my domestic work with full interest and made best efforts to improve her standards in presenting her work and her own self. She selected one of my used sarees and a pair of sandals for a change after the day’s menial work. In the evening she passed my door, donned in her bests, with a limp shopping bag in her thin hand, all in smiles between her broad bony jaws. After about an hour she would return the same way, except her slower speed and fuller bag, she would be the same free bird to halt at my place for a short rest to her lungs, working fast, beyond their capacity.

She was happy with her routined life and her non-interfering father. Gradually she realised that she should work more to earn more to improve her failing health. She picked up work with a number of households in the neighbourhood and stayed out for long hours without rest and nourishing food. Her health would not permit this injustice. She would naturally be compelled, intermittently, to lie down flat on her back and pray for speedy recovery. Overloading always left her spine weak. Yet she enjoyed her illness because it provided her opportunities to purchase medicines and injections, though on credit, that charmed her in the houses of the respectable ladies. The druggists wouldn’t mind selling medicines on credit to ever-smiling and ailing Vasanti because they knew she was a regular pay-master.

Her new mistresses volleyed sour epithets on her return to work. She shrugged her thin shoulders and gave a broad smile showing the milk-white teeth, the only sign of health on her person, and started giving her explanations at a high pitch of voice. She readily agreed with all the new terms of service dictated by her young mistress, finished her work there, swifter than usual and entered my door. She would slam it hard behind her and take her usual place near the tea-table and start bubbling out her stories amidst loud laughter and heavy breathing alternately. Vasanti convinced me that she had befooled the young housewife next to my door by making promises to come regularly, provided she could pay for the medicines she should take religiously. A few chips of her pay in advance would help them both. The “foolish girlish mistress “ paid her at once, enough to purchase “Benadryl” which brought great relief to her hard coughing. I enjoyed her talks. She was an interesting crook showing all the symptoms of a woman of this progressive age. She could easily forbear with the cruder aspect of life because she was a mistress in her own house here. She enjoyed liberty of action and decision and could even command obedience from her old father. She asked him to cook late so that they could enjoy hot food even at late hours of the day. She would even ask her father to go for fishing on week-ends so that they could enjoy a ‘Chattisgarh’ type of meal consisting of hot rice and fish steamed in mustard and chillies. She agreed to work hard for all these prospects of prosperity and luxury.

A considerably long period of hard work made her sick again. The old man, being the father of this unfortunate child suggested her, out of desperation, to stay back at home for sometime, cook and eat well and allow him to go out for work. The ambitious girl with her wounded dignity resented, “No, not by any means! Why should I always be fettered to home? I shall earn money and be free. You better cook and eat well at home and enjoy sound sleep under the quilt”. Jhanku was left speechless, could argue no further with his progressive daughter. Quietly he shed tears at his own disability and infirmity, though in the heart of his heart he sincerely wished, if he could fulfil some of his daughter’s desires.

Once I visited the shaggy abode of Vasanti and old Jhanku under a tin-roof with an earthen floor, behind the double-storyed bungalows of the ministers overlooking the lake. Vasanti set up on her bamboo cot with kness near her chest. She was trying to hold herself against the cruel coughing that shook her bony frame mercilessly. On my opening the lid-like door of the box-like room a gush of fresh air brought the usual smile on Vasanti’s tired face and she exclaimed in her choking voice, “So, you are again put to trouble lady, and, therefore, have come with some medicine and a little advice. Leave them near the earthen- pitcher and make yourself comfortable madam. Never mind the darkness of the room. I shall soon change it for an airy one and then invite you to lunch.” She laughed aloud at her own humour but she could not continue further. Started panting for breath. After a short pause, poor Vasahti tried to complete her unfinished speech, “Let me earn a little more, then I shall take a room near yours–that will save my walking all this distance. I too yearn for fresh air and sunlight...” I interrupted with some rebukes, suggesting not to be so adventurous. Paying little heed to my rising temper she gave me another smile and started coughing. It was difficult to stand it longer and I was already on my feet to walk out of the room. Vasanti beseeched me by the sign of her hands to stay a little longer but Jhanku led me out in fresh air.

I was returning fast towards home with old Jhanku at my heels, keeping pace with difficulty. As soon as we were thirty yards away from Vasanti’s door, Jhanku in his diffident, shaky voice cried out in his partially intelligible dialect, “Madam…can’t you … get me some work?” It came as a surprise. I wasn’t ready for an immediate answer. Yet, I replied in a faltering voice, “I shall try to do my best Jhanku, as all honest men do but what can you do at this age and in your state of health?” He almost sobbed, “That is the trouble madam, nobody takes me seriously because I am old, I am poor! But the grand-old Saheb who is even older than me is working perfectly all right at Rani Saheb’s bungalow. She is kind enough to employ him for her household supervision.” Jhanku came all the way pleading for himself. Ultimately, as we approached the Neem I felt it necessary to pacify him by some kind of an assurance. I said, “It is a long way you have to return Jhanku, Go home and look after Vasanti, I shall surely think over your proposal.” He could read my eyes perhaps, he straightened up his bending back and shouted. “That is what everybody says, to get rid of this helpless man.” He raised his hands and bade good-bye. “Ram Ram madam, don’t worry. I shall think over, the matter myself. Surely, I can’t see the wretched girl ruin herself any further.” Jhanku turned his back and the whole body of the Neem started shaking mysteriously. I noticed its behaviour but failed to read what it indicated.

Next morning Vasanti rushed in like a whirlwind and consequently panted audibly. She sat down on the small patch of floor glittering with the warmth of the sun. I had an unfinished kettle of hot tea on my table. I offered her a glassful of it but didn’t have the heart to tease her by offering a sheet of the morning paper in my hand. After she settled down well I asked the cause of her unexpected visit. She sipped the tea very quietly. Felt comforted and then reported that her old boy was missing from home. It came like a blow to me. My inner-self shrinked within and made me feel very small. I faltered when I tried to give her hope and courage. I realised that I had taken Jhanku’s request too lightly last evening. Had I played my role more seriously he wouldn’t have left home in humiliation and desolation.

Vasanti broke out in tears, after a long silence. In between her sobs she said, “I couldn’t earn enough money to feed him well or give him more comfort. What shall I do now madam! Our tribesmen never pardon a worthless woman like me, who brings no prosperity to the family. With my ill health I am really more of a liability….at last….my father also left me alone to see my own end.” Vasanti’s sobbing was something unusual, almost unreal to me. The image of Vasanti was very different from what was before me. Tears were rolling down her hollow cheeks–the sense of insecurity and uselessness brought a total change in her character. I couldn’t help giving her a bit of a hint, “Why don’t you enquire at Rani Saheb’s place? I believe she employs the tribesmen in her household. Jhanku must have joined there, wasn’t he keen to work?” The logic impressed her immensely and she left me immediately leaving her glass unwashed. Left to myself I suffered more because in solitariness I sensed, like many others, the irresponsible idiot in me as well.

Vasanti returned in the afternoon with news, though not very exact. Jhanku had approached the leader of his tribe, sheltered by Rani Saheb. He was asked to accompany the group of his kinsfolk who left the same night for the forest areas owned by the Rani for the felling of the trees. Having received this much of news about her father, Vasanti felt happy for a moment but after realizing the uncertainty of his return she became grim again. I myself felt helpless at her despair. She was planning something very quietly. Suddenly tears welled up in her twinkling eyes and in order to put up a bold face she uttered an abusive name for God the Almighty, collected herself and left me in embarrassment.

The six days of the following week crept away slowly. Vasanti tried to be regular in her routine work. She could be seen on her rounds but no more in her gay and colourful clothes nor in her usual speed. During those few dusky days often when I opened the gloss window of the inner verandah, I found Vasanti relaxing alone under the affectionate shadow of the Neem. Sometimes she spent the whole afternoon under that solitary tree, the only friend in the pensive hours, resting her tired head between the two skinny-palms, lost in her own world of dreams. The entire officers’ colony remained unconcerned about this strange woman’s woes and worries. The Neem only would start fanning her with its thousand leaves, and it would gently shower its affections through the worn leaves and flowers.

On the seventh day Vasanti did not turn up at all. On an inquiry in the neighbourhood where she worked, it was confirmed that she had not been seen even sitting under the tree behind. My anxiety rose higher. I could wait no more after the mid-day sun crossed the Neem. Something was growing upon my heart, it was the deep sense of guilt perhaps! The afternoons around the Malwa valley of Madhya Pradesh are usually warm during all seasons not to make a walk very comfortable. I perspired, yet walked fast under the mental agony I suffered from and reached Vasanti’s room half of the time I usually took. Absentmindedly I threw open the lid-like door without giving a knock. But lo and see! Vasanti holding old father in both her arms, was laughing and sobbing at the same time like a mad woman. It was pretty difficult to make out at first sight that the bruised lump, scratched all over the body, was old Jhanku. The way he groaned in pain and chuckled at the pleasure of the reunion with his daughter resembled more with the growing of a buffalo separated from its calf. It was hard to realize what feelings I actually had at that moment. Vasanti became aware of my presence at the door. She released her father from the tight caress on the mat and moved towards me. Now she started narrating the story in half amusement and half pity for her foolish father. It ran thus–“Look, there lies the old tiger, unable to stand. But you should know madam, that he could walk all this distance from Sohagpur back home, all alone, without food or even a drink! How did he dare, I do not know! And why did he have to walk? because he was penniless. But how was he left alone, you ask?” Jhanku tried to interrupt ineffectively. Vasanti giggled and resumed her story after calling him a name in her own delect–“He couldn’t get into the train along with his companions–poor, poor, old boy! How did he live, you know madam? He carried the load for others and earned some money to fill his belly and waited for some train to return but the rascals of railway sahibs would not let him board the train without a ticket. He had nothing left in his pocket, where could he purchase a ticket from? And now he has come home walking all the way, in that wretched condition...see...”. She lifted high Jhanku’s torn feet and swollen legs. Jhanku felt humiliated and ashamed at the treatmeant of his daugnter, collected himself up with effort and came tottering near me. In a husky voice he whispered very confidentially. “Madam, I am a good-for-nothing fellow. I would not go out any more. I would enjoy the sun and the moon under our Neem and watch my Vasanti running about the bungalows till she breathes her last one day”–a painful smile stopped his speech. I had no word to console him because I lacked the courage of repeating the meaningless promises any more. I said “Ram Ram Jhanku, take rest” and took leave with the satisfaction that Vasanti was not alone after all. I reached the friendly Neem. It proudly held its head high and shivered with joy that Jhanku, forsaken by man, returned at last to nature. Here he would find undeterred peace and protection. The oasis of the wearied life of Vasanti and her father could never be grabbed away by man.

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