over all the keys of the house to
tai
Eesree. Her mother-in-law became so fond of her that she gave away all her gold ornaments to
tai
Eesree.
About other stout women in general one may be justified in wondering how they cope with the problems of their youth, but no one had any doubts about
tai
Eesree. One was sure that even on the day she was born, she must have raised her hand to bless her own mother and spoken to her in her sweet compassionate voice — ‘You have had to suffer much for my sake; here’s a four
anna
bit for you!’
It was probably her temperament which made her relationship with her husband so peaceful. As far as their relatives were concerned, Uncle Bodh Raj was a good-fornothing
bon-viveur
drunkard and fornicator. What if he had made good in his iron business! He had no right to ruin the life of
tai
Eesree the way he had. But
tai
Eesree herself had no regret whatsoever at having wasted her life; from the way she spoke and behaved it did not seem as if she were even aware of the fact that someone had ruined her life. She was always chatting merrily, laughing, joining people in their fun; always sharing people’s joys and sorrows, always ready to lend a hand. It was inevitable that if there was a celebration in the neighbourhood,
tai
Eesree would be there. And if someone was bereaved,
tai
Eesree was there too, to share their grief.
Tai
Eesree’s husband had money, but not
tai
Eesree. The 75 rupees she received every month she invariably spent on other people. In those days money went a long way. The 75 rupees helped a lot of people in distress. But it wasn’t
tai
Eesree’s generosity that drew people to her. There were times when
tai
Eesree did not have a
pice
in her pocket and yet people flocked to her. On the contrary one often heard it said that merely to touch
tai
Eesree’s feet, gave one peace of mind.
Uncle Bodh Raj was as satanic a man as
tai
Eesree was saintly. For thirty years he left
tai
Eesree to live with his parents in the village. When they died and the other members of the family had grown up, married and set up homes of their own, the house in the village was empty. Bodh Raj had no choice but to take
tai
Eesree to Jullundur. But
tai
Eesree was not able to stay there for more than a few days, because Bodh Raj attempted a liaison with the daughter of a respectable Pathan family from Pacca Bagh. The Pathans told
tai
Eesree that it was out of regard for her that they had spared the life of Bodh Raj and it would be best if she took her husband elsewhere. A few days later
tai
Eesree accompanied her husband to Lahore and rented a small house in Mohalla Varyaran. As luck would have it, even in Lahore Uncle Bodh Raj’s business flourished. And at the same time he began to visit a prostitute Lachmi, who carried on her trade in Shahi Mohalla. The affair developed and finally Uncle Bodh Raj began to live with the whore, and seldom set foot in Mohalla Varyaran. But there was no trace of resentment in
tai
Eesree’s face.
It was at the time when there was much talk of Uncle Bodh Raj’s affair with the prostitute, when my elder brother’s marriage took place. Bodh Raj did not come to the wedding but
tai
Eesree spent all her days and nights looking after the comforts of the guests. Her amiable ways smoothed the most uneven of tempers; scowls on people’s faces turned to smiles.
I never heard
tai
Eesree criticise anyone, complain against fate, or seem out of her depth. Only once did I see in her a temporary disquiet.
This was during the wedding festivities. My elder brother was occupied all night with the wedding ceremonies. Early morning after the ceremony was over, the bride’s people spread out the dowry for display. Those were old times when people gave coloured
peerhies
rather than the now fashionable sofa-sets; and beds with gaudily painted legs. Those were times when drawing rooms were known by their native names as
baithaks
or
diwan khanas.
But my elder brother’s father-in-law was
tai
Eesree. Her mother-in-law became so fond of her that she gave away all her gold ornaments to
tai
Eesree.
About other stout women in general one may be justified in wondering how they cope with the problems of their youth, but no one had any doubts about
tai
Eesree. One was sure that even on the day she was born, she must have raised her hand to bless her own mother and spoken to her in her sweet compassionate voice — ‘You have had to suffer much for my sake; here’s a four
anna
bit for you!’
It was probably her temperament which made her relationship with her husband so peaceful. As far as their relatives were concerned, Uncle Bodh Raj was a good-fornothing
bon-viveur
drunkard and fornicator. What if he had made good in his iron business! He had no right to ruin the life of
tai
Eesree the way he had. But
tai
Eesree herself had no regret whatsoever at having wasted her life; from the way she spoke and behaved it did not seem as if she were even aware of the fact that someone had ruined her life. She was always chatting merrily, laughing, joining people in their fun; always sharing people’s joys and sorrows, always ready to lend a hand. It was inevitable that if there was a celebration in the neighbourhood,
tai
Eesree would be there. And if someone was bereaved,
tai
Eesree was there too, to share their grief.
Tai
Eesree’s husband had money, but not
tai
Eesree. The 75 rupees she received every month she invariably spent on other people. In those days money went a long way. The 75 rupees helped a lot of people in distress. But it wasn’t
tai
Eesree’s generosity that drew people to her. There were times when
tai
Eesree did not have a
pice
in her pocket and yet people flocked to her. On the contrary one often heard it said that merely to touch
tai
Eesree’s feet, gave one peace of mind.
Uncle Bodh Raj was as satanic a man as
tai
Eesree was saintly. For thirty years he left
tai
Eesree to live with his parents in the village. When they died and the other members of the family had grown up, married and set up homes of their own, the house in the village was empty. Bodh Raj had no choice but to take
tai
Eesree to Jullundur. But
tai
Eesree was not able to stay there for more than a few days, because Bodh Raj attempted a liaison with the daughter of a respectable Pathan family from Pacca Bagh. The Pathans told
tai
Eesree that it was out of regard for her that they had spared the life of Bodh Raj and it would be best if she took her husband elsewhere. A few days later
tai
Eesree accompanied her husband to Lahore and rented a small house in Mohalla Varyaran. As luck would have it, even in Lahore Uncle Bodh Raj’s business flourished. And at the same time he began to visit a prostitute Lachmi, who carried on her trade in Shahi Mohalla. The affair developed and finally Uncle Bodh Raj began to live with the whore, and seldom set foot in Mohalla Varyaran. But there was no trace of resentment in
tai
Eesree’s face.
It was at the time when there was much talk of Uncle Bodh Raj’s affair with the prostitute, when my elder brother’s marriage took place. Bodh Raj did not come to the wedding but
tai
Eesree spent all her days and nights looking after the comforts of the guests. Her amiable ways smoothed the most uneven of tempers; scowls on people’s faces turned to smiles.
I never heard
tai
Eesree criticise anyone, complain against fate, or seem out of her depth. Only once did I see in her a temporary disquiet.
This was during the wedding festivities. My elder brother was occupied all night with the wedding ceremonies. Early morning after the ceremony was over, the bride’s people spread out the dowry for display. Those were old times when people gave coloured
peerhies
rather than the now fashionable sofa-sets; and beds with gaudily painted legs. Those were times when drawing rooms were known by their native names as
baithaks
or
diwan khanas.
But my elder brother’s father-in-law was
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