LORD CLIVE'S LOVE

Maloy Krishna Dhar

(Submitted Oct 12, 1999)

Rupert Clive lived in our neighbourhood at Uttarpara, a suburban town in Bengal on the banks of the Ganges. He traced his roots to Robert Clive, the clerk turned General, who had defeated the nawab of Bengal at the infamous mango groves of Plassey in 1757, paving the way for British domination over India. The boys, me included, mockingly called him Lord Clive.

Rupert didn't look like a blue blooded Brit. His father, a rail engine pilot was the fifteenth descendant of Bruce, a sixth cousin of the buccaneer of the Plassey mango groves. Bruce, like most Anglo-Indians, dreamt of migrating to Australia, but died in a freak track accident. His pedigreed wife Jennifer, Ruperts step-mother, took a boat for Perth and didn't forget to transfer all liquid assets to the brave new world. Ruperts mother, Bruce Clive's Indian mistress, Jayanti inherited the riverside property and a bagful of liabilities.

Mrs. Jayanti Clive didn't succumb to the adverse circumstances. She managed her property well and supplied cakes and pastries and flowers to the only half decent shop we had in our town. To augment the family income she rented out portions of the colonial bungalow and managed to send Rupert to college.  Rupert was what would be called in those days `a jolly good fellow'- an athlete and inveterate flirt. He wasn't in love with the dilapidated house. He was, in fact not in love with anything, except himself and the name Clive. He dreamt of buying tickets for distant England and pursuing graduate courses at Oxford.

For a small town boy he was quiet smart with the college girls. He dated a few and flirted with others. But wasn't serious about any one of them, not even about Sheila, the fairest girl in our course. He treated tender female hearts like expendable pieces of china and the smoke rings he  loved to blow in the air.

But love visited Rupert rather accidentally.

We usually bathed in the muddy waters of the Ganges and enjoyed surfing on the tidal waves. We enjoyed jumping on the crests of the waves and surfing with our improvised plastic boards. Rupert wasnt a swimmer and scrupulously avoided  the high tides. In fact, he was afraid of water.  It happened suddenly. Rupert saw the tidal waves rolling down menacingly and started climbing up the mud banks. He couldnt make it. His feet hit a patch of quicksand and he started sinking. We didnt quiet hear his cries, busy as we were with our surfing boards. Something again happened suddenly. Swati, the new girl in our locality and one of Jayantis tenants, jumped in and held to the sinking hands of Rupert. Her shrill cries drew our attention. We abandoned our surfing boards and dragged him out with a rope. It wasnt really a rope. Swati had tied her saree to Ruperts waist. Operation rescue over, Swati quietly wrapped herself with the wet saree and left Rupert to our care.

We talked about the daring rescue operation and endeavored to thank the brave girl. She avoided us in and outside college campus. She also avoided Rupert's chivalrous overtures and rebuked him mildly and silently through the corner of her eyes. She, however, didn't conceal her fascination for the boy she had rescued from sure death. Rupert, the inveterate flirt, suddenly became obsessed with Swati. He once accosted her near the college canteen and she stopped visiting that joint. He stalked her to the bathing spot and climbed the branches of a jackfruit tree, which overlooked into the inner courts of Swati's residence. Rupert would sit for hours on the branch and smoke away with the hope of getting a rare glimpse of the girl he thought he loved. Swati, the daughter of a police officer, had other priorities in mind. Her father had arranged a match for her and we were socially notified about the auspicious day through nicely printed invitation cards.

Rupert tried to accost Swati near the college gate.

" Are you getting married?  Why don't you marry me?"

She looked up at him and said in a slow voice.

" Cowards can't marry. Stop disturbing me. I saved your life. Why spoil mine if you don't have the courage to ask my parents?" She waked straight out. We didn't bother about the incident. Rupert was a ladies man. He liked to flirt and take them to restaurants and movies. What's the big deal if an odd girl snubbed him! Swatis marriage was a big occasion. Portions of the dilapidated Clive bungalow  were decked up with lights and flowers and we eagerly waited a sumptuous dinner, fun and frolic. Rupert, however, disappeared from early evening. We didn't bother. He was in the habit of sneaking into the cinema hall across the road.

Swati was fabulously dressed up in a red saree, gold jewelry and flower ornaments. She sat around the holy fire by the side of the groom, a middle aged clerk. The priest chanted mantras and the ladies blew the conches and made prolific sounds by beating their tongues inside the cavity of their mouths. Smoke from the holy pit and fire crackers added dreamy enchantment to the ceremony. We were transported to a fairy world.

A big thud and a loud cry suddenly broke the festive rhythm. Rupert, heavy and numb on alcohol slipped down from the jackfruit branch that hung over Swatis courtyard. He, as we understood, had perched himself on the top branch to have a clear vision of the marriage ceremony of the girl he loved, with a bottle of rum as his companion. The noise and cries broke the rhythm of the ceremony. The groom stood up in anxiety, not sure if he was really getting his dream girl. Jayanti Clive rushed in and sat on the ground with Ruperts head on her lap. Swati doubled up, leaving the marriage ceremony incomplete. She pumped Ruperts' chest with her palms and pumped air into his mouth.

Rupert gained back consciousness after about ten minutes, looked up and spoke in broken words.

" I love you Swati. Believe me."

Everyone around gasped audibly while we boys began cheering our own Lord Clive. Swatis response drew an even louder gasp.

" I love you too."

The next sentence was not the best marriage proposal I've heard, but certainly the most effective. Rupert, slurring slightly from the excess rum and the knock to his head, looked into Swati's eyes and said out aloud.

" Will you marry me and not that monkey?"

Swati didnt speak. Jayanti escorted them to the holy fire and asked the priest to repeat his mantras all over again.