ARGUMENT
-
P C K
Prem (India)
A long
narrative, he wants to share and it is impossible to agree. Apparently, Raja
proximity looks disgusting and an oblique staleness quite often holds back some
truths he never wishes to reveal. Some kind of passivity creates an aura of
dullness and the consequent ambiance draws clear lines of separation I avoid to
go across, for fears of interfering in privacy. Raja wields an archetypal
authority even to correct deformities in feelings and thoughts. A strange
feature he possesses, which certainly discourages any man of reasons so he
resists the temptation to offer suggestion. He is intriguingly complex but it
gives an identity to him.
“I feel lost
when I see crowds of men before the eyes. It is a mass of laughing, joyful and
boisterous men. I am mystified. Next minute, I see, it is nothing but a thought
and I am alone.”
I simply look at him.
“It is an
intellectual disease of a modern man, who visits past and lives in future
uncertain. He creates a world where he is listened and obeyed, or at least, what
he says, gains value.”
After a pause, he says, “I think it is an effort to find justification
for whatever nonsense this man carries on his head.” He tries to recollect what he feels does not
exist even in memories. Somewhere within, a feeling takes birth that I must run
away, for he is becoming difficult for me. However, next moment I think I
should stay on to hear what he wants to tell.
“Do not
struggle within…” He laughs. I feel small. He comes near me, “Never forget that
man refuses to accept truth of life. You
enjoy warmth of someone and then, you just disappear. You cherish momentary
pleasure and then, an obscure and indolent awareness fills you. It fills you
with loathing and strain, I often think.” He is silent but facial expressions
speak of an inner chaos he wishes to control. He goes to the other room and I
hear some humming tunes of an old Hindi song. I fail to make out what it is. I
sit on the chair and notice everything in the room. Very well furnished and
walls are nicely painted, simple and fresh as if and a two water paintings
decorate the empty walls. I know he is rich. He tells me he belongs to an old
family of the state and so at times, looks a feudal lord. However, I feel
sorry. He is not so.
He returns after five minutes with a
cigarette in hand. He is relaxed and normal and the earlier seriousness is
nowhere.
“I hate
present. Many may not love present for it engages you, pressurizes and loads
you and you feel, people try to suppress you. You are free but sill you say,
people restrict you, imprison you in norms society or the system makes for you.
You obey because you are weak. You follow, for you do not have the courage to
fight against a rotten attitude and so you think it is injustice. Is it so?”
He hurls a question I am not prepared
to accept. He throws clusters of smoke and it looks ridiculous rather
preposterous. He hurts me I realize, “Do not mind it. I do not mean you nurse
bitterness or say, you are not of this world.” An uncanny proposition he throws
at me and I try to lap it up as if and so I say, “I want to live in the world,
here and now without disturbing anyone if you understand me rightly.”
I stand firm and pierce into the
eyes of man, who challenges everything that exists and refuses to live in the
present but prefers to derecognize it. He takes out a cigarette and almost
pushes the white stick into the lips. He does not offend. I take it. He hands
over the lighter to me, laughs and sits on the easy chair, stretches legs on to
the table and bends rearward and smokes as a thick grey sheet rises up to the
roof.
“You know wife
Sony is not here. You will spend time here. After dinner you can go. If you
cannot drive, the driver will drop you at your home.”
“…” I look at
the door and try to understand. He understands and before I ask anything, he
tells, “She is not here. Do not worry. Gone…” He tries to wet dry lips with the
tongue and then takes out another cigarette.
“During the
last three days, I do not know why I burnt cigarettes …or perhaps, cigarettes
burnt me. Either way, it is a fact.” It is an unemotional expression. He reads
questions on my changing facial contours and movement of eyeballs as I continue
to smoke.
“Everyone wants death for…you do not love
relations. You say you love, but it is incorrect. A standardized form of
looking a decent man it is. You may not agree. You may say you are not selfish,
and that you love graciousness and virtues and that you are honest and love
culture and heritage…that man can become god or …such funny ideas come to mind.
I hear these words outside. On the platform leaders, teachers, wise men and
priests of the temples, speak. Yes, I also do it without a break but I feel I
am insincere, almost an animal. But you know even animals keep some …”
“You did not
tell me…” I try to structure a sentence but fail.
“Just imagine
a situation where patients hold a dialogue in the dark when doctors play with
nurses and talk of medicines. You know abortive efforts in fulfillment
exasperate when someone disturbs and you feel guilty. It happens with the man
whose woman just walks out and tells you are a dunce. It is an honest
acceptance that has no questions.”
He calls a servant and asks for
coffee.
“What would
you have in the dinner…?”
Raja moves about in the room and I
find he is restive, indecisive and nervous. I can understand he wants to say
something very personal but does hold the willpower to say truth and therefore,
indulges in certain philosophic ponderings quite irrelevant and out of context
I feel and still he tries to connect whatever happens to his existing life. It
is clear his wife goes out without revealing the intent. “I hope she has not…” Unhealthy and bizarre
thoughts frighten me.
“I cannot
believe.”
“That puzzles
me. It is more disturbing. You know you love, and she understands that you love
her and if some distance takes roots, it needs quick remedy. It terrifies
you…the very thought of separation or a feeling that the woman you chose for
life dumps you with reason or without just to find happy times elsewhere. It
asks you many questions and you recall joint transaction of love-feelings and
collective dreams to make life full. It is about children, a house and happy
shared moments of love, a few quarrels and conciliation in a spirit of
surrender. You reinvent love, warmth and then, restate definition of love or at
times, rewrite tales of mutual joy. This paraphrasing of relations and love
fulfills you. I wanted to do this…but failed.”
He looks vacantly, sips coffee,
puffs off, and stands firm, still and expressionless as flatness overcomes. I
hear noise of traffic, horns and screeching sounds. In spite of the loudness
and strident voices, Raja’s words create dreadful echo.
“It is good
coffee.” He holds my shoulders tightly, gives off pale smile and says drearily,
“Man in noise and chaotic jarring sounds feels tiresome quietness within, a
desolate situation it is where you are alone and still you feel, it is a huge
mass of people pushing you around and you are trying to find your existence and
identity.” He crushes the cigarette in the ashtray, “She left me only a day
ago, and I feel she has derecognized me, and killed my individuality. A woman
does not enter man’s life just to share some remarkable experiences in love but
it is an effort to provide eternity…a thought of permanence to love, warmth and
family, a relation that makes you a real man and if it is woman she reflects
culture and …”
I can understand the intensity of
Raja’s agony and probably his fears of public ignominy and disgrace. A feudal
man celebrates non-existent instinctive glory that he proclaims but he knows he
has none. He loves to live in this falsity and illusion.
He bursts into long-drawn-out
laughter and finishes cup of coffee, and looks up towards the huge crystal
chandelier, bright and dazzling. I do not know if he wishes me to remind me of
his dead glory and splendeur. Maybe, this thought arises out of my own
smallness before the man, who can boast of his past. His sudden laugh stuns me.
I recall the face of his beautiful and charming wife Sony, who holds unique
womanly elegance. I cannot easily pin point flaws or irritations in
relationship.
“I understand
your pain. How it happened? I do not know the exact cause of argument. She
often avoided conflicts and …” I fix eyes on the vacant wall away from the
wonderful painting. I do not know if it is a deliberate act.
“I know you
admired. It is my fault.” He is frank, “…that I just did not care for
exclusively private moments, a man and woman ought to have. I know her
classiness and refinement.” Raja vacantly
looks out at the blue sky in the frame of window. He loves to avoid an
immediate confrontation.
He turns to me and says, “I did not
know what she had in mind. I am not sure. I always thought I knew her. She
smiled, talked and argued well and valued the sanctity of relations. I loved
the way she reasoned out and at times, overawed me in style and expression. I
did not know that reasons and smiles were clear signs of an imminent break. Was
she struggling to come out of the boredom of relation? Did she think, it was
tiresomeness or aversion she had for me. She was more interested in the baby
when I was around. When she went out, she appeared fantastic…loveliness and
glow enchanted. I just thought and sat on the working desk. Before she went
with baby she often hugged me warmly and said, “I love you”, kissed me and went
out. I can visualize each smile, laugh, silent moving in the house, vibrations
still echo…”
Raja is silent. Now, he looks sad.
He goes out to the other room, brings another packet, takes out a cigarette and
says, “I am weak. I cannot share …because it will humiliate me I know. You know
many a time, big houses…impressive and glorified contain certain secrets that
remain buried for generations. I will bury the relation in some corner of the…even
servant will not know. You kill a relation and still it lives before you.” He
tries to control tears perhaps and so, softly walks up to the window and looks
out again. I do not want to embarrass.
“She was in
search of a better relation. You live in illusion that someone loves, but it is
just a feeling, a thought sans roots. She lived but did not know that she
really…the baby and the cheers she spread around in the house! What it was?” He
says and throws many inscrutable questions. I know he finds it difficult to
face truth.
“Today, you
are dumb…what it is?” He asks me gently and gives a laugh and very soon, a sad
layer appears to shadow.
“…” I hold
Raja’s shoulders strongly and after a few warm pats, I say, “I do not probe
into what you do not want to tell. Yes, I respect and recognize privacy.” We do
not know that even after three hours, it seems much is unstated and unshared.
“…” He takes a
cigarette again.
“I think it is
enough.” I say reluctantly.
He takes a few steps in the room,
stands before me and says, “Yes, too much. Let us have the last one.” He gives
one to me, ignites it up for me, and says, “It is better …” He does not say and
goes out and I simply go after him. For a few minutes, we walk in the lawn and
leisurely take puffs. It is invigorating.
“Would you
have a drink?” He is serious, “After many days, I feel the itch. It is good to
sit and share…” He does not say further and I do not want to intrude into
privacy. We come to the verandah and sit on the cane chairs.
“I know you
have a right to …just wait.” He gets up and goes upstairs.
Time does not mean anything in hours
of inner crisis. He is distressed and wants emotional shelter. I know I cannot
compel him to tell what he hides. I cannot do anything at this moment, I
understand. I do not want to doubt him. I foresee an unhappy future ahead. It
is hurt-feelings. It is darkness, it is ruin and it is emptiness in plenty.
Reality challenges, it irritates and you want some practical way out. I am lost
in deep contemplation but reach nowhere. It is a journey from lack of trust to
more distrust. I cannot injure Raja’s
sentiments. I close eyes and stretch legs on to a cane table. I do not know why
I feel worn-out and languid. I go to the main drawing room and look at the
impressive display of precious painting, baby large size photo, some family
photographs of poster size and a few antiques. I think of colonial rule, feudal
mindset and of bourgeoisie psyche.
Baby Angel’s smiles cast a magic
spell. I hear slow steps but I do not want to become part of what goes on
outside. “It is for you…it is after many days.” The words awaken me, and he
hands over a glass of whiskey. He lovingly looks at baby’s photo, raises hand
as if blessing the child and looks at me. We come out to the verandah and sit.
His lone servant brings dry fruit, fried peanuts and cubes of cheese and a
bottle of soda and a jug of water. I feel uneasy. Nobody speaks for a few
minutes. In the meantime, a few sips go down the throat.
After five minutes, he says, “It is
not easy to…” He reads my facial expressions. I look straight and cheer him up.
He finishes his glass. I get up and fill his glass as usual. He, with a soaked
throat tells, “I miss…yes, I still find she is moving about in the house and
caring so much. I imagine the little baby talking so much about friends of the
nursery, of toys and of…she looked after the baby and…you know one cannot
forget.” He gets up, “I feel…” He goes inside, opens the door of the washroom,
sprinkles water on his face, comes back, sits before me and takes some sips. I
realize what gives him pain. I understand the suffering but I cannot do
anything.
“Between trust
and faith and pretense and infidelity, you live.”
“…” I am blank and stupefied.
“It is good to
survive in persistent betrayal because you cannot confront the final argument.
I knew Sony was in love with Aditya, a business magnet. You know him well. He
is already married…two daughters, aged parents, three sisters and two
brothers…and here I sit alone before you. I want to speak out. What should I speak? It is a misfortune… a
disaster. I unwrap and fail. That little baby Angel…she sits in the heart,
provokes my mind and loneliness crushes me.”
I sit still. Brain refuses to help.
Abruptly, he gets up, strikes the
wall the glass and then with the bottle and breaks it. Aghast I see at the
scattered pieces. I do not know what happens. It shocks and stuns. Liquor
spills all over the verandah with splinters of glass and bottle. Next moment,
he begins to cry. Tears flow incessantly and I just hold him in arms but cannot
ask to stop. I want he should weep, cry and lighten the burden. After ten
minutes, he is calm and serene, goes inside and spends some time in the
washroom. I just stand out and wait for him.
“I hope you
are…” I give a warm embrace and tell, “Just relax. Everything is safe…” I do
not know what I say. It appears meaningless and stupid.
After half an hour, he is normal. I
gather words to comfort him but before I say anything, Raja speaks up slowly
and in low voice, “That day, Sony sits on the bed and speaks to me, ‘I want to
tell you something…’ Angel was sleeping quietly. I look at Sony. Sony says with
a kind of nervousness, ‘I love Aditya. I am going to him.’ I look at her
blankly without expression and say, ‘Sony, I know it.’ She sits totally
fatigued and collapsed as if. I admire her. She does not stop here.” Raja looks
at me and speaks again, “Sony tells me that Angel is not my child…Aditya is and
now, I carry his seed in the womb.’ I stared at Sony as darkness swallowed up
and I was almost dead. Even now…and so, she took Angel left me...” I saw a few
tears rolling down the cheeks. Raja calls up the servant and asks for dinner.
He sits and buries grief in faded
smiles as I stretch lips to frame words…