He Came to Stay - 14. Chapter 14

FOURTEEN
I didn’t feel comfortable discussing the real cause of my plight with Ishan at the presence of Diya. I was not quite secretive about my feelings, though somewhere down the lane I had developed this expectation of not expressing my feelings to someone who really cares for me. If she were really interested, she would discover it for herself, as I seldom put any serious effort to concealing my real feelings. Neither did I like to be too expressive about them. But in Diya’s case, it was different. Diya has a right to know about me, since she had been a real friend and sympathizer through all these years. I guess she knew that I loved Ishan very much. Nevertheless, perhaps she didn’t know the exact nature of my love for him.

Being quite friendly in nature, Diya shared a good relationship with Ishan. Although her relation with Avijit had never been optimally good as compared with that with Ishan, and I think it was not because of her but Avijit’s growing possessiveness about me and suspicion about my having a soft spot for Diya prevented them from developing a good relationship. On a few occasions, she tried to ease off the inexplicit tension between them, but Avijit would never let it happen. I know not how she interpreted his behavior; she never uttered a single word about it to me, which made me all the more suspicious that she might have a hunch about his feelings for me. Perhaps, she was apprehensive that I might have a longing for him as well and didn’t want to make me conscious about his passionate attachment to me. She might be afraid that it could ignite my passion, had I also have any such inclination.

Ishan and I were already seated at the dining table when Diya arrived. He asked her to join us without any further delay, though she went to the toilet first to wash her hands. I eagerly awaited the opportune moment to present the poem to Ishan. I was not very optimistic about having lunch soon. As far as I had known her, upon closing the door of the toilet, she would come out no sooner than half an hour. I found many ladies doing the same. I had absolutely no idea what they do inside. It might sound a bit indecent, but I had always been curious. Do they re-apply their makeup inside? But I never found any fault with their makeup before they went in. On the contrary many a times it appeared that they should tone it down. Then what was the need for another coat of makeup on their already heavily painted faces! I had seen many beautiful girls in my life. I couldn’t understand why girls feel the need to cover up their beautiful faces with a few coats of paints! Or being secretive and bibliophilistic as they were, they carried some forbidden literature in their handbags and read them secretly inside the toilet, just like teenage boys reading pornographic literature in their schools’ toilet or a rebel reading some forbidden document secretly. A better explanation would be that they memorize their dialogues inside, as a backup for their talkative nature. Anyway, when she went in, I eagerly awaited the banging of the toilet’s door. If she closed the door, then I would have enough time to present the poem to Ishan and get his response. As I had known him, he would not make any serious comment; still I hoped that I would at least be able to see it in his eyes. But Diya’s return within a moment caused my idea to end in smoke.

‘What’s for lunch today, Ishan?’ she asked.
--Biriyani (meat cooked in Deharadun rice with spices) and Murg Mussallam (spicy chicken): all Mughlai. Diyadi is fond of Mughlai dishes so I thought taking Biriyani as the main dish was not be a bad idea. What do you think Diyadi?
--Oh great! My mouth is watering at the smell of it. But you should have bought cuisines of Sumanda’s choice today.
He was quick to refute her, ‘Dada also likes Mughlai dishes, don’t you?’ I testified by nodding my head.
--Dada doesn’t listen to anybody except you. He needs somebody like you to control him.
I didn’t know if he really meant what he said and what Diya thought of it. . But as it was quite suggestive, it made me feel uncomfortable. I frowned at him. He didn’t pay much attention to me. I had no idea as to what he would do next, had he noticed the spell of somberness in my face. He didn’t have the maturity to fathom the seriousness of what he said, nor could he foresee its consequences. Perhaps, he was not apprehensive of the consequences I was so much afraid of. Perhaps, it appeared to him to be a desirable consequence, if Diya would take the hint and act accordingly.

I looked at Diya, who being flushed with shame, cast down her eyes. I could understand what was going on in her mind. She loved me, I knew without her ever expressing her feelings to me. Perhaps, she didn’t know why despite considering her to be a good friend, I had always maintained a safe distance. Whenever needed, I invited her, discussed things with her, some of which were very personal in nature; but whenever the question of our relationship’s nature emerge, I always changed the topic, sometimes tactfully and sometimes in a manner which appeared to be indecent to a civilized person. Before, she raised the issue on suitable occasions. But of late, she never mentioned it. Whenever any opportunity arose, she would decently avoid the issue by starting a new topic, or by simply leaving. ‘Do you think there is any dearth of caregivers to your Dada?’ Though her question was directed towards Ishan, yet I it was actually meant to prick at my weak-point. I knew this side of her well; she was generally docile, but she fret and fume when hurt. But Ishan was not easily appeased. He restarted with renewed enthusiasm, ‘Yes I agree that Dada has many caregivers, but no one like you.’ I knew then that he was in no mood to stop. If he was in the mood for playing pranks, then nothing on earth could stop him. He couldn’t care less what others think of him, or how others would take his pranks. On an earlier occasion, he almost spoiled my relationship with Avijit, and now it was Diya’s turn.

I was fed up with his frivolity, which at times really become strenuous. I smirked at the irony of the whole affair and wondered if he was aware of my feelings for him, would he still play these pranks? Perhaps, he would. Nothing was unexpected of him. Words were just toys for him to play with. Nothing could touch his heart too seriously.

I tried to channel the topic in a different direction, ‘When you are here, whom else do I need?’ ‘But I don’t always stay with you!’ he promptly replied. ‘Do you think Diya always stays with me?’ I admonished. That also proved to be unsuccessful in deterring him, ‘Why don’t you do something to make her stay with you always?’ In my utter exasperation I threw off my dish and immediately left the place, as he had crossed all limits.

After washing my hands, I returned to my bedroom, followed by Diya, who tried to pacify me, ‘Sumanda, please don’t behave like a kid. Don’t you know how immature he is? I never take him seriously! Words are just words for him, devoid of any special significance and you know very well that if he is in the mood for playing pranks, then God forbid!’
--He is not as immature as not to be cautious before saying something. When he can take independent decision about his life, why shouldn’t he consider what people would think before saying something?
--You seem to be too annoyed with him. If you are only concerned about what I am feeling after hearing what he said, then please don’t bother. I never take him seriously.
--You don’t know how intrepid and desperate he is growing day by day! He doesn’t have any concern for anybody else, their feelings, their sentiments, even their reputation.
--Sumanda, if you don’t mind, I will tell you one thing. Just ask yourself whether you took offense to what he said just now, or whether there is something else that worries you. I don’t expect an answer. But you should at least make things clear to yourself. People can deceive everybody, but it is very difficult, if not impossible, to deceive one’s self.

I didn’t mind hearing these words from Diya. If anybody else said those words, it would extremely irritate me. I found the concern of a friend in her words, and also a plea to be honest to myself. Perhaps, when people were angry, most often than not, they were angry because they fail to accept some of their own attitudes, beliefs, or emotions. I had no idea if she already guessed my real feelings for Ishan. But I was sure that she at least came very close to discovering it. I was not ready to come up with the truth for her though. Any further discussion on this topic would have initiated a debate. So, rather than entering into it, maintaining silence appeared to be a more prudent decision to me.

The huge accumulation of suspicion, both in the mind of Diya and I, needed immediate dispersion. In a desperate attempt to make the ambiance lighter, I asked, ‘Would you like to have your beauty-sleep now?’ She frowned, ‘I don’t sleep during the day.’ She tried to make herself as serious as she could. But her eyes were secretly telling me that she was not at all vexed at my pulling her legs. On several occasions, I noticed that whenever I played pranks at her, she silently enjoyed them. Perhaps they led her to feel that I considered her to be more than just a friend, as such pranks are played only to very near and dear ones. Well, it was in a sense correct. She was indeed very close to me, not just a friend. But perhaps, she expected something more than just close friendship to happen between us. Given my mental condition, I couldn’t even think about any such thing to happen. I neither had the strength, nor the courage to make my life, which I had already made a hell out of, further complicated.

Diya picked up from my desk the latest edition of the literary journal that I subscribe to and comfortably sat with two pillows behind her back. I knew that in no time she would get engross in it and I would get only monosyllabic answers, if I dared to ask her anything. As my conscience prompted me not to disturb her, I decided to leave her alone and went to the living room where Ishan was playing with his cell phone, perhaps sending SMSs. The diary was still there, lying on the floor under the dining table. When I went off to the washing basin during lunch, the diary must have dropped from my lap.

The sight of the diary reminded me of the poetry. Ishan was busy with his mobile and was hardly attentive to my movements. I picked up the diary silently. Apparently, he was vexed at my behavior and was not ready to talk. I was looking for the opportune moment to present the poem to him. But he was in no mood to listen to such serious things, all the more so from the person who annoyed him to the extreme. I tried to appease him as part of my endeavor to break the sickening stalemate between us, ‘What are we going to have tonight?’ No answer. With his head bent down, he still operated his cell phone. I knew he heard me. Still he showed no efforts of responding to me. ‘Hey, can you hear me? I’m asking you something,’ I yelled.
--You know what you are gonna have. How can I tell?
--And you?
--Don’t know.
‘What do you mean?
--Nothing.
--Nothing? Are you going to have nothing for dinner, or have you got nothing to say in this regard?
--I’ll have dinner at my hostel.
--Are you going to return then?
Again there was no reply. ‘How can you be so ruthless Ishan?’ The words slipped out of my mouth. My doctor specifically asked me to avoid any tension, at least for the moment. But the events that were taking place around me constantly put me under stress. Despite all my efforts, I failed to cope with them. Suddenly, another fit of vertigo struck me and the next was complete blackout.

When I regained consciousness, I was lying on the couch with my head resting on Ishan’s lap and Diya sitting on a chair beside me. A small bowl of water was kept on the floor beside her feet. She must have brought it to sprinkle water on my face while I was unconscious. What astonished me was that I couldn’t feel the water against my face. I touched it; completely dry. It might be that I was unconscious for quite some time, during which the water had dried up. Looking through the open window I tried to guess the time. The sky of that late September was still partly covered with monsoon clouds receding at a very slow pace. It might be 4 or 5 in the afternoon. Looking at Diya, I asked, ‘What’s the time now?’ She looked at her wristwatch and replied, ‘Quarter to five.’ Then I must have been fallen asleep after regaining consciousness. ‘Did I wake up in between?’ I asked Diya.
--Not really. You were semi-conscious for some time. The doctor came and administered two injections, one of which, he said, was a sedative. He knew that you were suffering from insomnia. He particularly advised that you should avoid any tension. You need more sleep.’ As I turned my gaze from Diya to Ishan’s face, which was just hanging above my head, he quickly removed his eyes from me.
--Perhaps, you are getting late. You were telling that you needed to return to your hostel.
--You don’t have to bother. I can manage that. I can’t leave you alone today. Would you mind if I stay with you tonight?
His last words caused me to fume and rage within; I preferred not to express any sign of anger though, as the doctor had advised me not lose my temper at any cost. I can cite many evidence of his ruthlessness towards me, but this time I lodged an attack on him with the assumption that at this moment at least, when I was ill, he wouldn’t deal a counter-blow. But I was utterly mistaken; he was not ready to let the attacker go without paying him back in his own terms.

I raised my head and tried to climb down from the couch, but Ishan prevented me. ‘What do you need to rise for?’ he scolded. I was enjoying lying on his lap. But somewhere my ego prompted me to fake that I could take care of myself without his help. So, I replied, ‘Need to go to the toilet.’ When I returned, I sat on the couch at a distance from him. I don’t know if Diya, who was still sitting on the chair not far from me, could follow the battle going on before her eyes, or did she prefer to remain silent even after comprehending what was going on? I had no idea, nor did I have any idea as to how she would react if she would ever come to know my feelings for Ishan and Avijit. Had she already discovered that, it would be better, since in that case she would have accepted me even after coming to know about my relationship with these two guys. But it was very unlikely that she had already discovered it.

‘Diya, would you please see if there is anything ready in the fridge for dinner? I don’t need to eat anything at night, but please ask Ishan what he would like to have for dinner’ I threw a squint at Ishan, who appeared not to be very happy listening to what I said.
‘What was the need for such indirect talk? You could have asked me in a straight forward way!’ he objected.
‘Ishaaaan, can’t you let him go even at this stage,’ she rebuked. This time he remained silent. I had never heard her scolding him before. How did I fail to notice when the seed of such a beautiful relationship had germinated between them under my roof, before my eyes, when it grew up and reached out its branches to touch the hearts of these two people silently. The elder sister rebuked her younger brother, while the latter just like the most obedient child abided by her without raising a protest. My heart filled up with inexpressible joy seeing this single act play taking place surreptitiously before my eyes; I can’t assure you that I was not jealous though. I couldn’t even imagine Diya behaving in the same manner if it were Avijit.

‘I asked the maid to prepare dinner for the three of us’, Diya reported. Girls never forget such small, but important things. The Indian household ran smoothly only because of them. In your room, you would find everything in their proper place. When you return home you would find your bed properly done without a crease in the bed sheet. In the morning, before going to your office, you would have your lunch ready at the dining table and all other small things, from your necktie to your pen, would be given to you even before you ask for them. Despite spending several years abroad, Diya would never let you forget the Indian girl within herself.
--Then you are also staying back!
--Yes, I think so, if you have no objection.
--Hey, come on. Do you really need my permission to stay at my place? And it is not for the first time in your life that you are staying at my place! I’ll manage here in this couch; you and Ishan can share my bed. I can understand that you’ll have problem. But then it’s a question of just one night.
--No. I’ll sleep here in the couch. Ishan will be with you. I’ve already called my mom and told her that I‘ll be staying back here tonight as you were not feeling well. She asked if she needed to come. But I didn’t want to bother her.
--Yes, there is no point in bothering her unnecessarily. But sleeping on the couch wouldn’t be comfortable for you; better I sleep here.
--Don’t worry. I’m quite used to such things. Once, on my way from Cologne to Berlin, my flight was cancelled. All my bags and baggage being already checked in as cabin luggage, I had to spend that frigid night in the airport in a single cardigan. You are not supposed to sleep alone in this condition. Ishan will be there with you.

Why did she keep on insisting that Ishan should stay with me? Could she have guessed anything? May be I was unnecessarily thinking too much and too far. Nonetheless, I couldn’t resist the thought to hammer my brain repeatedly.

As I started feeling dizzy again, I insisted on returning to my bedroom. Diya followed me and I could hear that Ishan switched on the television to his favorite sports channel. Diya drew my attention saying, ‘Sumanda, I kept the Diary of your poems on your desk. It was lying on the sofa in the drawing-room.’ How did she know that it was the diary of my poems? Did she read it?

(To be continued…)