WET AND DRY

(A Short Story)

By Prof. N. S. PHADKE

Hira, the maid servant, nodded to herself knowingly as she watched her mistress, Indumati, standing before the stall of the moving wax figures in the brilliantly illumined premises of the Industrial Fair. The Wax figures, depicting a scene from a popular play, were drunken husband beating his wife. The man lifted the stick in his hand. It slid down slowly, and hit the woman on the head with a thud. The woman turned her face. Then the stick moved back, was lifted by the man again, who brought it down once more until it struck the woman with a clicking sound. Little Ashok, Indumati’s son, whom Hira held by the hand, stood before the exhibition, wonderstruck, following the movement of the stick with his admiring eyes. “Look, Ma. He will hit her now. Look.” He called out to his mother every time the stick began to come down, “Hira, keep looking at the man. He will give her a blow.” He pulled Hira’s hand and made her look. “There!” he cried when the stick clicked. He wasn’t at all willing to move away from the stall. And Hira could guess why his mother too stood gazing at the wax figures. The scene had for her a meaning which was beyond Ashok’s comprehension. There was a sign-board on the stall with a big lettering on it: ‘Prohibition be Blessed’. Little Ashok didn’t care to look at it; and even if he had read it he wouldn’t have understood its meaning. How could a child know that his father was a drunkard, and that since the coming of prohibition he had been required to give up his drink? But his mother, Hira knew, lingered before the wax figures because they had a secret personal meaning for her. They had a similar meaning for Hira too. Because her father also was an addict and had been reformed by the new prohihition law. There must be many women like herself and her mistress, Hira thought, who must be daily watching these wax figures, thinking of their own lives, and blessing the Government for having cured their men of the drink habit...

“Well, Ashok,” Indumati said at last, “Let’s make a move. There are yet many other stalls to visit. Come.” But Ashok stood rooted to the spot. “Wait a minute, Ma,” he said, “Let him strike again just once. Let us watch it–just once more.” “All right” his mother said, with a wistful smile on her face. The stick came down and clicked on the woman’s head. Indumati was about to drag her son away, when the chief organiser of the Fair happened to come along and greet her. “Hullo!” he said, “So we have the pleasure of your visit. Did you like this show?”

“It’s grand.” Indumati told him. “Who made these wax figures?”

“Don’t you know? Wait a moment. I’ll introduce the artist to you.” And the organiser turned to a neighbouring stall, and shouted, “Rajan! Mr. Rajan! Would you mind coming here for a minute?”

A man who stood talking to a group of people turned round, smiled, and began to walk slowly towards the organiser.

Hira gave a start when she saw him. She knew this man...She would have liked to run away. But she couldn’t do such a strange thing. She therefore only turned her head away. But even in so doing she looked at the approaching artist again. And she was convinced that she had recognised him rightly...She knew this man. She heard her mistress complimenting him “What beautiful figures you have modelled...” And she also heard the organiser telling Indumati, “He is a great artist, you know. And Government are very pleased that he is popularising prohibition by his show.”...But she didn’t care to hear their further talk...Her mind had gone back over four years, and she remembered what were perhaps the sweetest and also the bitterest years of her life...This artist whom the organiser was praising was then an ordinary young man...

He lived in the ‘Toy-Makers’ lane. He belonged to a family whose profession for several generations had been that of making dolls from rags. Rajan was a clever boy. He began to make small clay figures, and although there was no one to guide him, he soon became known for his beautiful clay figures. Images of God Ganapati are worshipped by the Hindus in the month of ‘Bhadrapada’, and are in great demand in that season. Ganapatis made by Rajan became very popular. People registered their orders two months in advance, and Rajan’s house assumed the look of a small factory when he was busy making Ganapatis in various sizes and poses...Hira first began going to Rajan’s house as a servant girl whose business was to prepare the clay and to pound the rags....

Her father had a job as a ‘Pattewala’ in an office. But his salary was too small to provide him with money enough for his evening drink. It was necessary for the daughter to earn a few annas every day. It became easier for him to have his evening drink when Hira began to work in Rajan’s factory. He also got a fine image of Ganapati free once a year, when the Ganapati festival came round. He was therefore quite pleased with the arrangement...She was of a marriagable age now. But he was not very anxious to marry her away, and lose the money which she brought home every day. So he tried to shut his eyes to her blossoming youth...

But her youth and her pretty looks attracted Rajan towards her. In the beginning he had taken her just for an ordinary working girl, not caring to look at her. But one day something happened within him as he went near her and stood before her just to see whether she was kneading the clay properly. Wanting to test if the clay was sufficiently soft and even, he bent down, and looked into her face. And in that instant he was amazed by her beauty. She had a fine nose, big, dark eyes, and long dark tresses, sweeping back from her broad forehead, dangling in a loose knot en the nape of her neck...

“It’s fine,” he smiled at her as he rubbed the clay with his fingers and then added, “Aren’t you tired?”

“Tired?” she asked in a puzzled voice, as though there was no such word in her poor life;

Rajan looked at her hands smeared with wet clay. What beautiful hands, he thought. “You must do something else than this...” he said.

“What else can I do?” she said, smiling. I know nothing else.

“Would you like me to teach you?”

“But what will you teach me?”

“Making clay figures for instance?”

“Can I?”

“Of course you can. Why not?” he said. And then he added. “Let us make a beginning right now. Get up, wash your hands, and come over to that stool there.”

Thus Hira began modelling figures of clay.

It took some time for her to discover that Rajan loved her. But when she knew it she decided to lure him even more. Her cleverness matched her beauty, and she instinctively knew how to make herself more and more desirable.

“Hira, you have become an expert now in this business of making clay figures,” he said to her one day. “You had better start a shop of your own.”

She was busy carving the eyes of a Lord Krishna. “What? Are you tired of me?” she asked, tilting her head and placing the point of the wooden carver between her lips. “Are you asking me to have a shop of my own so that I might stop coming to you? Want to get rid of me?”

“O no, not that,” Rajan said. “But you will earn more money.”

“Hang the money!” she said. “If I earn more money it will only help my father to drink more. Do you think I come here for the sake of money?”

“No? Then why?”

“Don’t you know?”

Yes, I know. But I like to be told. Come. Tell us.”

There was a row of large bowls filled with colours on a range. “Hira made a movement to pick up one of them. “Stop your tricks.” She said, “or I’ll splash this over your face.”

Rajan laughed and moved away. But no sooner had she put back the bowl than he turned and drew her by the hand, and, not minding her protests, held her in embrace and kissed her.

Soon after this she became his...She lived only for being loved by Rajan...And then slowly the reaction also came. There comes a phase in young people’s love when the first summer showers of abandon are over, and the woman begins to ponder over consequences so Hira began to ask herself what the end of her affair with Rajan was going to be. She wanted to discuss things with her lover. But she also feared that he might not like it, and if she nagged him he might end his relations with her altogether. So she kept silent. But soon her anxiety became unbearable, and she found it increasingly difficult to let things drift...She decided that she must speak to Rajan sometime and tell him how worried she was...

“Let me go home now,” she said to Rajan one night, as she moved away from the bed, “Don’t you hear the bells in the temple? It’s nearly midnight.”

“Bells?” Rajan asked, “I hear nothing when I lie like this in your arms. Do you really hear any bells?”

“Sure. If I stay on any longer I’ll be terribly late, and what excuse shall I have to satisfy my father?”

“But you have already told him, haven’t you, that the Ganapati festival is drawing near, and you have to work here late in the night?”

“But that does not mean that I should stay here after midnight.” She caught hold of his locks and lifted his face. “I’ll stay on with you if you answer a question,” she said, her face suddenly becoming serious.

Rajan nodded. “Yes?”

“And you must tell me the truth.”

Rajan nodded again.

“Look here,” she said, “I am a Maratha by birth. You belong to a different caste. What shall I do in case my father comes to know of our affair and asks me to leave his house?”

“Leave it.” He laughed.

“And where should I go?”

“Come here and live with me.”

“As your mistress?” she asked. “No, that can never be. So tell me, Rajan, will you marry me?”

“Of course I shall marry you,” he said. “Don’t you trust me?” He kissed her.

That made Hira tremendously happy. She gave him a kiss, “I trust you, my sweetheart,” she said. “But after all you are a man. And I often fear...”

“Don’t be silly,” he said and took her back into the bed.

And she heard the temple bells again when she awoke. For a moment she thought that they were the midnight bells. But then she remembered what had happened after midnight, and knew that these bells meant that it was dawn. “My God!” she gasped, “now I shall surely have a good beating from my father.” She got down from the bed, Rajan pulled her ‘sari’. But she freed herself. “Will it never be enough for you, you beast?” she reproved him with mock anger. She moved away from him, and left the house.

The streets were empty and only dimly lit by the dawn. The tolling of the temple bells went on. It must have rained heavily in the night, because the streets were wet, and water gurgled in the gutters. The sky was thickly set with clouds. A small flock of crows sat on a roof, pecking at their feathers with their hard beaks, and making a raucous noise. A pair of beautiful green parrots clung to a crevice in the wall of a house, and filled the air with their sweet chirping...Hira walked on happily. She wasn’t afraid of her father now. Rajan was always prepared to receive her as his wife. Why should she care then if her father scolded her?...Hira was very happy in her heart...

Her father didn’t ask her anything. She found him lying in his bed, snoring. He must have had a bottle too many last night. She didn’t have to face his questions.

But she soon had to face a question which nature posed before her. She was going to have a child, she discovered. What was she going to do? The prospect filled her with fright... But everything would be all right, she thought. Only she must get married without delay...

But Rajan refused to take matters seriously. When she reminded him of his promise, he talked of this difficulty and that. She quarrelled with him, rebuked him, at last wept and fell at his feet, begging him to take pity on her. But he only laughed, and asked her not to be a fool...At last she gave up all hope. She understood that she was herself to blame. She had foolishly thought that it was love which Rajan gave her, but it was mere lust...

Her father flew in a rage when he knew her condition. He got dead drunk and started calling her a bitch and beating her. He took out a burning stump of wood from the fire and branded her. “This will open your eyes, you shameless harlot?” he shouted...Was there no one, Hira, thought in her agony, who would flog and brand the real culprit–Rajan?...

Her father stopped speaking to her...After a few days, however, he realised that it was no use being sullen and angry and punishing the girl. He must help her and save her from dishonour. So he took her to another town, got her out of the difficulty, and on returning, lost no time in marrying her away to an old man...

Hira went through all this with set teeth, without murmur. But inwardly she burned with the thought, was there no one to whip and brand Rajan?...Hira’s old husband died within a year, and she returned to her father’s house, and began to work as a maid-servant in Indumati’s house. Outwardly she looked cheerful. But there was pain in her heart. The wound which Rajan had inflicted on her heart was old now. But whenever she saw the big dark-blue scar on her left arm she remembered all that she had suffered. Was there no one, her heart cried, to slash Rajan with a whip and to brand him with burning wood?

She had never seen Rajan during all these years. And now she saw him all of a sudden. He looked like a prosperous man. He was dressed in white ‘khadi’. His wax figures exhibition was being praised by the people and the Government. He was a famous artist...She had remained what she had been–a common working girl, scrubbing pots and washing clothes for a living. Her heart shook with anger, and hate. How she wished to step forward, catch hold of Rajan, and ask him straightaway, “You scoundrel, shall I tell all these people how you betrayed me and made a mess of my life? But she knew that she couldn’t do this. She thought of going away. But even this became difficult, because Indumati called out to Ashok, “Don’t you want to meet this gentleman? He made these wax figures, do you know! Come and say how-do-you-do. Hira, bring him here.” So Hira had to step forward and lead the boy to his mother. Her eyes met Rajan’s. She thought he smiled at her–a secret smile of recognition. She showed disapproval. But the next instant she too had smiled at him before she knew...

On her way home she reproached herself severely. She wanted to slap her own face. What business had she to give him that smile? How could she smile at the man who had ruined her? Did she love him still! What a big fool she was to want to please him? She had no business to grin at him. She deserved a cracking slap across her face for having grinned like that. She mustn’t let her heart soften like this if she met him again...

But she forgot all about this resolution when Rajan came to her house after two days. She went into a flutter, spreading an old carpet for him to sit, running to the neighbour to borrow sugar, and making tea. He remained with her for a long time, talking gaily about this thing and that. When at last he got up to leave, he placed a few currency notes on the carpet.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Keep them,” he said, “I am a rich man now.”

She frowned angrily. “What have I to do with that?” she asked.

“Don’t talk like this,” he said. ‘I didn’t marry you. That was a mistake. But I wish to correct it. I shall make you happy.”

There came a lump in Hira’s throat. “Don’t play with me again,” she said.

“Play with you?” he said, “No. Believe me, I wish to make you happy. Why should you slave like a common working girl? I cannot marry you. But I am a rich man, and can give you a lot of money. Come to me once. I have many things to tell you.”

He left. His sweet words had revived an old yearning in Hira’s heart. She was angry with herself for this weakness. What a shame it was, she thought, that she wanted him again, after all this. She wanted to slap her own face. She hated herself. “Come to me once,” he had said. She knew too well what he wanted from her. But she was no longer the thoughtless foolish girl that she was once...No. She would never go to him. She would kill herself rather than succumb to this temptation...

She kept her resolve for three days. On the fourth she went to his house...

She was amazed by the change in Rajan’s style of living. Formerly he had occupied only the front portion of the house in the ‘Toy-Makers’ lane. But now he also owned the tiled courtyard beyond it and the rear portion of the house which opened into another narrow lane. The front portion was occupied by his studio and factory. The room on the first floor overlooking the courtyard was used as a living room, and the spacious but dark building beyond the yard presented a look which utterly puzzled Hira. And she was simply astounded when Rajan explained to her what the place was being used for. For a moment she couldn’t believe him, and kept staring him. “Rajan, are you mad?” she whispered.

He laughed. “Mad?” he said, “This isn’t madness, but sound business. It brought me three thousand rupees in three months time. This is a gold mine I have discovered.”

“But what if you are found out? They will put you in a jail.”

“You are a simple child, Hira,” he said. “It’s only the poor who go to Jail. Men who can block the way to prison by spreading bricks gold are never caught. You too can become rich, if you join me this. You will be an ideal help to me, taking this stuff secretly to big monied men who thirst for it. This is a gold mine, remember.” He waved his hand at the distiller and the utensils and tubes in the half-dark room.

Hira shook with fear as she looked at that ‘Gold Mine’...So Rajan ran a secret liquor distillery...The place was indeed ideally suited for the business. There was Rajan’s Studio in the front part of the house. Who would suspect the existence of a distillery in a respectable house like this? The rear portion of the house had a door opening into a narrow by-lane so that liquor could be sent out without anybody’s noticing it. Rajan had earned the Government’s goodwill as a supporter of prohibition by his exhibition of wax figures. He wore handspun ‘khadi’. Who would ever think it credible that there was a distillery in his house? The whole thing was indeed very cleverly conceived...

Hira stood speechless, afraid and amazed.

“So Hira,” Rajan said again, “you must help me. There’s a fortune in this for both of us, you see.”

What a despicable devil this man was, thought Hira. He had ruined her. And now he was betraying the Government. He was betraying women like herself and Indumati, whose fathers and husbands, freed from the drink habit, would again find a means of slaking their vile thirst. Rajan was turning them again into drunkards. The scoundrel! Was there no one, the old bitter thought came to her again, who would give this brute a good flogging and brand him with a rod of iron!...A strange new idea occurred to her suddenly...She grinned. “Do you really mean,” she asked Rajan, “that I’ll get rich if I help you?”

He caught her hands. “Let’s go upstairs to my room,” he said, “We are wasting the night. Come, dearest.”

She went with him.

Leaving Rajan’s house after a couple of hours she went straight to the nearest police ‘chowki’. She found a policeman sitting on the steps, smoking a country ‘bidi’. “I have something very serious to report;” she said, and told him everything she had come to know of Rajan’s distillery. She had expected the policeman to be impressed by the news, and to ask her to take him to Rajan’s house. But he did no such thing. He kept sitting where he was, and smoking. “Do you know, woman,” he said in a threatening voice, “people are sent to jail if they give false information?” Hira remembered Rajan’s words. Rich men are never caught, he had told her. It was no use, she understood, arguing with this policeman. She turned to go away. But the policeman wouldn’t let her go. “You will have to sit here,” he ordered in a gruff voice. He even uttered an oath. This frightened Hira. And she also felt very much puzzled. People were told, she thought, that they should report offences fearlessly and help Government. And now this guardian of the law…She sat down in a corner, thoroughly bewildered. She didn’t know what to do…

An Inspector came to the ‘chowki’ at one o’clock. The policeman seemed to be taken aback by this surprise visit. “Who is this woman?” the inspector asked. Hira collected all her courage and, going up to the officer, told him about Rajan’s distillery.

The next day the police raided Rajan’s house. Rajan was arrested.

On the third day Hira was taken to the police headquarters. She was terribly frightened when she was made to stand before the chief officer. But he smiled at her. “Be seated,” he said, “You have nothing to fear. I asked them to bring you here because I wished to thank you. You have rendered very valuable service to Government. Women like you…”

But Hira was not attentive to what he went on to say…She wished to tell the officer her whole story, and the real reason why she had reported. She hated liquor, no doubt. She wished that Rajan should be punished for breaking the law,–for having cheated the public by donning ‘khadi’ clothes and by his wax figures exhibition. But there was another, and a more personal reason which had impelled her. Rajan had betrayed her and ruined her life. She had always wanted that someone would whip him and brand him…She thought of telling all this to the officer…She even thought of rolling up her sleeve, and showing him the big dark-blue scar on her arm, which had been to her the symbol of both woman’s helplessness in this unjust world and man’s vile power to sin and to escape punishment...She wished to show the scar to the officer, and to confess to him that she had exposed an offender against the ‘dry’ law because her own heart was wet with the dripping blood of silent suffering...

But she didn’t do any of these things…

“You can go now,” she heard the officer say after finishing his long speech...

She mumbled a few words, and left the room…

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