Seducer or Seduced

Before making as pass be sure you want her

Saras was sweeping the bedroom and Mr. Richard, her master sat cross legged on the cot bending over the morning newspaper spread out on the bed. That is how he read the morning sheet. However, this morning the imposing valley of Saras as she bent down to her task rather than the happenings in the world was holding his attention.

Mr. Richard in his own humble way was a connoisseur of the female form. Thanks to the exacting requirements of his wife servant maids came and went in a steady stream, which kept Mr. Richard as busy as judges at a beauty contests. Of course servant maids in the city of Chennai are not clones of Helen of Troy, but Mr. Richard had his benchmarks set to suit ground conditions. He liked the nose sharp and for some bizarre reason preferred a just noticeable protrusion of the teeth. Breasts must be ample, no compromise on that point, and hips wide. He had no taste for the lean, or the obese; he wanted them just 'cushiony'. He often questioned himself, so far unsuccessfully, on his preference for women with slightly protruding teeth. Man's taste in women is not something that psychologists can reduce to a formula. One Inspector General of Police in one of the Southern states of India was particular of cooly women; not just cooly women but women smelling of sweat and dust. When on tours his hosts had a problem. Getting a woman from road gangs was easy enough, but preventing her from having a wash before she went into the bedroom of the I.G was a task so difficult that a policewoman had to be on duty to deny water (other than to quench the thirst) of the chosen one till show time.

Saras' age was round the mid thirties. She was a widow having lost her husband, (like so many servant maids in Chennai) to arrack, a potent local brew. Her primary physical features were as near perfection as Mr. Richard could wish. He had some secondary requirements too, but those are best left unsaid.

Mr. Richard was not a womaniser; far from it. He was the Walter Mitty of sex. In his favourite fantasy a group of very pretty scantily clad girls are surrounding and mobbing him. The scene invariably ends in a gangbang where his unending capacity for action stuns his subjects. In real life he never ventured beyond heavy flirting. In his days as deputy secretary to government the objects of his attention were his stenos, but after retirement he had to rely on servant maids employed by his wife, a very busy obstetrician.

Saras was a new recruit, the previous incumbent lost her job owing to late attendance two days in a row. Saras was sweeping under the cot and as Mr. Richard was craning his neck in order to get a glimpse of her deeper charms she darted a glance up and caught her master red handed. She made a gesture of annoyance, arranged her pallav and tucked it in to her waist thereby totally blocking his view.

"Instead of staring at me," she said, "why don't you find out from your paper if the rumours we hear that the municipal corporation is to pump water all days the week is true or not." Mr. Richard was only too happy to be of help. He had read that news item earlier that morning, but trying to relocate a particular paragraph in the columns of a newspaper that one has read minutes ago can be a frustrating task as anyone who had been through that exercise would readily testify. Mr. Richard was at it when Saras swept the room and made good her escape. Mr. Richard had to admit that his housemaid had won round one.

Mr. Richard got his next chance three days later. He was waiting for Saras to appear with the broom. He sat as usual cross-legged on his bed in front of the newspaper spread in front. He was not bending over it. Saras came; they made eye contact; he smiled, she snorted. She took the loose end of the pallav and arranging it properly to cover her breast and tucked it tight to her waist. She gave her chin a defiant tilt and proceeded to sweep.

She swept diligently working into every crevice and corner. Mr. Richard's eyeballs reverted repeatedly from the paper to the bosom of his maid hoping to see the pallav loosening. It did not happen. Sweeping over, she left. Mr. Richard knew it was the day for swabbing. He waited. Presently she was back with a bucket and mop.

"Ayya (respectful way of addressing men in Tamil)," said Saras, "why are you sad?" Mr. Richard turned his head, and looked steadily into her eyes.

"If you have nothing to keep you happy what is there to do but be sad?" There was enough spin in Mr. Richard's statement to keep philosophers busy for a while but Saras being necessarily of a practical bent did what was in her power to do to let in some happiness into his life: She released the pallav from the waist.

"Happy?" she said smiling with her lips widening just enough for Mr. Richard to get the full benefit of her protruding teeth. Mr. Richard tilted his head and smiled, a faint lengthening of his lips. What he really intended to convey was 'for the present' but whether his maid was smart enough to read so much meaning into the smile is not clear.

She commenced swabbing. She had her back towards him for sometime. Her buttocks were shapely, but whether it had the firmness that he fancied he could not say unless he felt it. If he had stretched his hand he could have touched it but that never was Mr. Richard's way. He did not have the courage to make a pass at a woman. Saras was now showing her sides. Her breasts were large, but not too large, and then were hanging and swaying languidly as she swabbed. He liked them sagging. She turned her head in his direction, smiled and covered herself.

"I am feeling shy when you do that," she said. He turned away.

"You carry on with your swabbing. Don't turn in my direction."

"But I can feel your eyes on me."

"Do they harm you?"

"Well no."

"It means nothing to you but it makes my day. Why not allow it?" She must have appreciated the logic of that statement for without replying she continued. Now she was bending down swabbing under the cot. He pallav was awry and Mr. Richard peered into the valley. Her breasts were magnificent. She looked up, and hurriedly he shut his eyes. It was so funny that she laughed.

"You can hold my hand." She offered her right hand. Mr. Richard held it. "It must be rough. I am a working woman."

"But even in working women there are parts that are smooth and soft," he said. She gave her chin a coy jerk and snorted.

"Can I feel those?" he said pointing to her valley with his chin. She turned he head away. Mr. Richard took this as consent and placed his hand over the breastbone and then slid his hand under the blouse. It lasted but a second. She moved away and after a hurried swab of what remained to do she left.

Mr. Richard was panting. For the first time he had made a pass and it left him tingling all over. He was also flustered by the rapidity of the advance he was making. One inner voice said 'back out' but another teased him to go ahead and not chicken out of a chance that his subconscious has been clamouring for years. Typically he did neither.

The next two days Mr. Richard was away attending a wedding in Madhurai. The third day Saras appeared with the broom. Her hourglass figure, protruding teeth and chiselled nose set his heart fluttering, but his other self detected a proprietorial gleam in her eyes. That bothered him.

She smiled. Mr. Richard smiled back, but if his smile did not radiate overwhelming cordiality she did not either notice it, or if she had she did not think it worth a mention. She swept with her accustomed care. The pallav was no problem at all—she tucked the whole of it round her waist. With a low-necked blouse and no bra her breasts were in grand display. After sweeping she went into the bathroom to wash.

"Ayya, please open the tap for me. My hands are dirty." He went in and opened the tap. When he turned round she was blocking his way. He had no option but to hug and kiss.

"I can give you five minutes," she said in a hoarse whisper. "I have closed the door. The old one (the cook) had gone for a bath." She gently nudged him out of the bathroom. 'Get a condom,' she said. She took a shower cap and put it on. She nudged him again. He obeyed as if in hypnotic trance. She lay down. It was soon over. She collected her broom and disappeared. Mr. Richard's was vague of what happened. He remembered the hug, and yes he opened the drawer and took out a condom. He had not notion why he needed to keep one for he had long since stopped using them. He must have used it for he flushed the condom down and washed himself. He came back and sat on the bed. Lover boy's mood was not upbeat. The enormity of the act sunk in, but he was incapable of organised thinking. The whole afternoon he sat and moped. Early in the evening he went to his club and took two pegs instead of his usual one. He declined his friends' invitation to join for bridge. Given the state of his mind he could not have played.

He dreamed that night. The dream set his wandering mind back on rails. It was an early dawn dream that interpreters say comes true. His wife is showing her maid the door and the maid turns round and with hands on hips says, 'How can you send me away akka (elder sister).' Mr. Richard got up sweating. This bit of conversation revealed to him the extent of his plight. She could blackmail him. Or better she can come with a crowd of relatives and create a scene in front of the house demanding damages. He has seen this happen. In his mind he could visualise the headlines in the popular Tamil papers with all the lurid details, and photos too. A sudden doubt, was she already his mistress? He knew a couple of deputy secretaries who had mistresses, but the women were not from the slums. And when Josephine (his wife) comes to know of it what would the harvest be? He shivered. He needed help, and when one is in a predicament of this ultra confidential nature help can come only from one quarter. He got down to his knees and prayed. A churchgoer from habit rather than piety he never knelt during prayers even in church. Now he did. He went back to bed and gave himself up in thought.

Ruefully he had to admit that it was he who was seduced. He did cup her, but it was for no more than a second, but she? She practically corralled him on to the bed. She was an old hand at this game. She ordered for the condom; she put on a shower cap. Shower cap! How would a top servant woman know of shower caps unless she was a veteran seducer of men of the houses where she worked?

A deputy secretary to government is close to the seats of power and as such one would assume that when Mr. Richard directs the full force of his powerful mind to solve his problem the solution would appear soon. That however was not the case. Mr. Richard's rise from lower division clerk to deputy secretary to government was solely owing to seniority. He was a dedicated pen pusher. His duties did not involve solving the problems of state. He was unequipped to find a way out of his present predicament except through help from the Almighty. 'With God nothing is impossible,' he said to himself. He opened his bible. A verse he had heard years ago came to mind. It was in Psalms, he was sure of that. He searched and finally found it in chapter 46, verse 10. He read as follows: 'Be still and know that I am God.' It gave him hope. Being still was what he was good at. He knelt and prayed. 'I'll be still Lord trusting in your mercy. I promise I will never ever look at women again except as sisters.'

The next day he awaited the arrival of Saras with trepidation. She bustled in, smiled and gave the news that she was 'out of bounds' for three days. Mr. Richard's lips moved in silent prayer. God does answer prayers. This feeling lasted but for few minutes. He had misread the situation. There was no cause for jubilation. 'What of day four?' he asked himself. Saras was in a hurry.

"I have to go to school?"

"Why school."

"I want to shift my son from the corporation to school to a better school."

"Want a letter of recommendation?"

"No he gets in on merit but the donation the school demands is too high for me to pay."

"I can help you."

"Ayya, whatever I do for you is because I like you. I am not that type of woman."

"Please do not misunderstand me. I would have made this offer even if nothing had happened between us." She turned and made faces at him, laughed, and left. Mr. Richard sat with eyes wide open in horror. The words, 'whatever I do for you is because I like you,' hit him like hammer blows. And why should a middle-aged woman make faces at an old man unless she considers him her lover? The timbre of the laugh was ominous too. It seemed to say in so many words, 'Look here man, do not expect to get out of it with mere school donation.' Unlike Walter Mitty Mr. Richard was facing a real firing squad, and he was not doing it head held high and with no emotion showing on his face. Mr. Richard buried his head in the pillow and groaned

Little did he know that two miles away an unconnected conversation was to make a decisive impact on his problem.

2

Obstetricians were having one of their periodic conferences. There was no shortage of delegates, but as usual there were very few in the halls to listen to paper presentations. Instead the stalls and the coffee rooms were full. In a corner of one of the refreshment rooms Mrs. Josephine Richard sat with a colleague, both sipping coffee.

"I have to go Josephine," said the other lady who was about the same age as Mrs. Richard, and from her bearing must be as successful as her friend in her profession.

"To the clinic?"

"Home. To interview a servant maid."

"Why Anu, you said that you are very happy with the one you have."

"She is perfect, but you know my husband."

"You mean...?"

"Yaa, my man has started a relationship."

"You may be mistaken Anu. I don't think any man would go so assiduously after servant maids."

"My man does. All of them do if you give them the chance especially non-doctor husbands of obstetricians. This is a hazard of our profession."

"I think it is needless suspicion."

"Josephine, will any housewife get rid of a perfect servant on suspicion alone?"

"Did she complain?"

"If she had that would be no problem. Those that don't are my worry. Next you will want to know if I conduct enquiries. I do. I do the hair test."

"What's that?"

"I pick out the hair on the bed and examine it for dye. I use dye but my servant maids do not."

"But your husband cannot be so careless."

"He is not careless. He vacuums, but I search in the space between the mattress and the top of the cot. You will say that while sweeping some hair might have fallen off. Possible, but I confront the woman and only after she confesses I act."

Josephine was thoughtful on the way home. 'Was it possible? Was her man capable of such acts?' She knew enough of men to have any doubts of the answer to that last question. She searched the bed. It was free of hair. The absence of even her hair was suspicious. It indicated a clean up. The space between the top of the mattress and cot was clean as were the spaces between the sides and the mattress. She lifted the mattress up on a hunch. There was something underneath. The mattress was heavy but she managed to hold it up with one hand and pull the object out. It was her missing plastic shower cap. There was no shortage of hairs on the inner side of the cap, and there was no evidence of dye on any.

Josephine's knees became wobbly. She had to sit on the bed. For one who was famous of not batting an eyelid in crises in the labour ward and operation theatre this was a new experience. She heart was thudding and her hands were trembling. Gradually she was herself again. She knew what she had to do.

3

Mr. Richard found his wife on the drawing room sofa. He was surprised to find her sad. He had no recent recollection of having seen her sad. Testy she often was, angry when needed, and on rare occasions even calm, but never sad. She turned facing him. She was not sad; she was miserable.

"What's the matter Josephine?" For some moments she did not give any indication that she heard him. Then she slowly moved her hand to point to a small booklet on the table. Mr. Richard picked it up. It was a savings account passbook. It was an account opened that morning with Saras as the first name and Josephine as the second.

"Quite a large amount. What for?"

"Her son's education. I checked up with his school. He is a brilliant boy who deserves all the encouragement one can give."

A funny feeling was forming in the pit of Mr. Richard's stomach. Did she know, and if she did know how much? He did not have to wait long for his doubts to clear.

"I believe you have promised Saras that you will provide for her son's education." He did not reply. "I thought I would do a better job. Without any equiry you would have offered a worthlessly small sum." Mr. Richard continued his silence. "Saras has taken up another job," she continued, "she said she would never meet you again. I did not sack her, nor did I make her to promise not to see you." Mr. Richard braced himself for the explosion. It did not come, instead he heard his wife sniffing. Yes, Josephine was weeping, something he had not seen for years.

"I am sorry," he said.

"Don't feel diffident. Come and hold me. I am your wife. I will not push you away." Mr. Richard was in a daze, but he sat by her side and put out a tentative arm across and held her by her shoulder. "Do you know what Saras told me? She said that she was touched by your loneliness. She could see so much goodness in you that she could not resist doing something to make you happy. I am lonely too, but if people see any goodness in me it is a false image I have created for myself."

"What's happening to you Josephine? You do not spare yourself in your healing mission."

"I do nothing of that sort. I have no thought for the people I am supposedly helping. My focus was on the number of cases I do, the amount of money I make, and how well I am able to thwart my rivals in practice. I was so self absorbed that my servant maid had to tell me that my husband needs companionship." Mr. Richard could feel his wife gripping his hand with greater force as if she did not want him to escape. Even in that emotional moment he felt the softness of a hand that never touched anything without gloves on.

"I have decided to reduce my hospital work. I will spend time with you. If you will cooperate we can rebuild our lives." She then did something extraordinary for her: she buried her head on her husband's chest and sobbed. There was nothing tentative about Mr. Richard's response. He held her head close to his cheek. She felt very soft and fragile, the fragility of someone tasting defeat for the first time.

"We most certainly will," he said. 'With God nothing is impossible,' he added reverentially, but to himself.