FilmIndia (Jan-Nov 1942)

FILMINDIA July 1942 "What a beautiful voice, too" thought the Raja. In accordance with the usual custom Radha prepared pan and offered them in a silver tray to the Raja who accepted one and eager to impress the girl with his wealth, placed a hundred rupee note in the tray. Radha accepted it with a salam and respectful bow and dutifully handed it to the Ustadji. "Do you like me, sweet one?" asked the Raja, as Radha took her seat with that directness which he knew he could confidently employ in dealing with women of her class. The musicians shuffled out of the room knowing the moment for exit like actors well-versed in their parts. "Why not?" replied Radha with non-committal naivete and the modest blush which she had been trained to register when such questions were asked by wealthy clients. For the humbler fold who were not affluent enough to pay for her attention she was taught to use a more curt technique. "Will you come to live with me?" the Raja eagerly asked the next question. To this Radha was not to reply. In accordance with the rules of her trade she simply blushed, looked at the Ustadji for help and guidance and finally left the room. "Why not? Why not?" the old Ustadji said with the eagerness of a salesman who wishes to take no chance with a promising customer lest he might walk out of the shop. "It will be a great honour for her. Raja Sahib." The Raja held a brief low-voiced consultation with his secretary and then, calling out farewell to Radha. he departed leaving the secretary to settle the more practical details of the bargain. An hour later when Radha learnt that she had been "sold" to the Raja for five hundred rupees a month took the news philajophically T'. ■'• Raja was at least not so foul looking as the fat Zamindar who had been her first "purchaser". Next day the whole entourage shifted to the Raja's palace. That night there was no dancing In Radha's house. Three months later. _ In a luxuriously appointed suite which the Raja had set apart for her in the outer precincts of his huge palace Radha sat lost In thought. The sun was setting behind the low lying hills and gloom spread its wings over the landscape, depressing shadows of the twilight hour filled the room and found reflection" in the serious countenance on Radha's face. For the first time in three months Radha was thinking, taking stock of her present position, debating the vital issues of her life. Like every other girl born in her circumstances, she was before everything else, a realist and a fatalist. She had few illusions and was completely resigned to her fate. She knew the implications of her origin and had no wish to quarrel with society over them. The daughter of a prostitute even if she was the prettiest and the best dancer in the town, remained a prostitute. To be kept as the permanent mistress of a rich young handsome Zamindar who was a past master in the art of making love was certainly better than retailing herself in the open market to anyone who came along with five rupees in his pocket. But it did not in any way improve her status. She also knew very well that love, domesticity and children were luxuries which women of her class could never afford. And yet to-day her stolid realism was shaken, a wild desire for the might-have-beens of life assailed her. She wanted to be a wife, a mother, to have a niche In the established order of society. The instincts of a woman which are deeper even than the circumstances of her birth were reasserting themselves. The cause of this transformation of Radha the realist was the Rani of Jaipur. Ever since she had joined the Raja's establishment, Radha had heard of the incomparable beauty of the Rani, and wondering why the husband of such a beautiful creature should seek satisfaction elsewhere. She had wanted to see her. On more than one occasion she asked the Raja if she could be allowed to go in the Zenana but every time he had clearly evaded the question, drowning Radha's request in an orgy of passionate love-making. "We were born to love each other, my If is below my dignity to feel jealous of a woman impairing my position. A mistress and wife can never be equals. 0: