Satyaprakash saw the new mother and was captivated. Children also admire beauty. A glamorous jewellery-laden idol was standing before him. He grabbed her hem with both hands and said, ‘Mother!’
What an unsavoury word it was! How shameful! How disagreeable! This charming woman who was addressed as ‘Devapriya’ could not tolerate the appellation of responsibility, sacrifice and forgiveness. In the present moment, she was in an ecstatic reverie of love and enjoyment, and was feeling pleasantly agitated by the intoxicating waves of youth. The appellation broke her reverie. Somewhat angry, she remonstrated, ‘Don’t call me mother.’
Satyaprakash looked at her with astonishment in his eyes. His infantile reverie was also broken. His eyes welled up. The grandmother said, ‘Look, the boy is disheartened. How would he know the appropriate words? How are you hurt if he called you mother?’
Devapriya said, ‘He shouldn’t call me mother.’3
Why is a stepson such an intolerable sight to a stepmother? If no psychology expert has been able to decide this, then how can we? Until Devapriya became pregnant, she would occasionally speak to Satyaprakash or tell him stories, but as soon as she was with child, her behaviour towards him turned hostile, and her hostility kept growing as the delivery drew closer. On the day she had a boy, as beautiful as the moon in her lap, Satyaprakash pranced around with joy and ran to the labour room to see the infant, who was sleeping. With great curiosity, Satyaprakash was about to pick up the infant from his stepmother’s lap, when suddenly Devapriya admonished him, ‘Beware! Don’t you dare touch him or I will pull your ears out!’
The boy retraced his steps and went to the terrace and wept. ‘What a beautiful child! What fun it would be—if only I could pick him up and put him in my lap! I wouldn’t have dropped him. Then why did she growl at me?’ How could the naive child know that a mother’s caution was not the reason for the growl but something else altogether?
The boy was named Gyanprakash. One day while the infant was asleep and Devapriya was in the bathroom, Satyaprakash came in stealthily, removed the boy’s drape and looked at him with affectionate eyes. His heart longed to put him in his lap and play with him, but out of dread he did not and just kissed the baby’s cheeks. Just then Devapriya came out. Seething with anger upon seeing Satyaprakash kissing her child, she shouted, ‘Get away from there!’
Looking at his stepmother helplessly, Satyaprakash left.
In the evening, his father questioned him, ‘Why do you make the baby cry?’
Satyaprakash replied, ‘I never make him cry. Mother doesn’t let me play with him.’
Devapriya countered him, ‘You are lying. Today you pinched the child.’
‘No! I was just kissing him.’
‘He is lying!’
‘I don’t lie.’
Devaprakash got angry and slapped the boy a few times. It was the first time Satyaprakash was punished in this manner, and that too when he was innocent! This completely altered the colour of his life.4
That day onwards a strange change became discernible in Satyaprakash’s temperament. He would come home very infrequently. If anybody called him for meals, he would enter stealthily like a thief and eat. He no longer demanded anything, nor did he say anything. Earlier, he had been quite sharp; people felt captivated by his cleanliness, orderliness and dexterity. Now he disliked studying, and would wear dirty and torn clothes. There was nobody at home to love him. He roamed about the lanes with loafers, ran for kites, and even started swearing. His body became thin and his face also lost its lustre. Every other day Devaprakash received complaints of his mischief and Satyaprakash regularly got reprimands and beatings. So much so that if he ventured into the house for some chore, everybody dismissed him immediately, ordering him to stay away.
A tutor was deputed to teach Gyanprakash. Devaprakash took his son for a stroll every day. He was a cheerful boy. Devapriya shielded him from even the shadow of Satyaprakash. How different the two boys were! One clean and tidy, wearing beautiful clothes, an embodiment of courtesy and docility, and truth; anyone who saw him spontaneously blessed him. The other was dirty, mischievous, hiding his face like a thief, loud-mouthed, swearing at every opportunity. One was a green sapling, raised with love and nurtured with affection; the other was a wilted, crooked, leafless tree, whose roots had not received nourishment for ages. The sight of one soothed the father’s heart; the other caused his body to singe.
What was amazing was that Satyaprakash was not a bit jealous of his brother. If there was any tender emotion left in his heart, it was affection for the little boy. This was the only oasis in the desert of his life. Jealousy is a signifier of community. Satyaprakash thought of his brother as much higher, much more fortunate than himself. The very sentiment of jealousy had left him.
While hate breeds hate, love gives birth to love. Gyanprakash also liked his elder brother. Occasionally he sided with his brother and picked arguments with his mother, such as ‘Brother’s shirt is torn, why don’t you get him a new one stitched?’ The mother said dismissively, ‘The same is good enough for him. It is not yet over; one day he will walk unclad!’ Gyanprakash tried very hard to save some of his own pocket money and give it to his brother, but Satyaprakash would never accept it. Whatever time he spent with his younger brother was a joyful experience. For a short duration, he would wander off into a
