Eight

On Friday, at four in the afternoon, Mr Ali was eating peanuts, steamed in their shells, while sitting on the verandah. Aruna, who had declined the snack, was looking through an album to identify the photograph of a man who had written to tell them that his marriage had been fixed elsewhere.

“What shall I do with this photo, sir?” she asked, once she had found the picture of a thick-haired man with a bushy moustache, and removed it from its plastic sleeve. The photo was clearly taken in a studio – the painting of the snow-covered mountain range in the background was a dead giveaway.

“Keep it under the pen box,” said Mr Ali. “If he doesn’t ask for the photo in a couple of months, we’ll get rid of it.”

Aruna nodded and slid the photograph under the shoebox that held the pens, staplers, clips and other small items. She scrunched up the letter and threw it in the bin.

The front gate of the house opened and Mr Ali went into the living room, taking the bowl of peanuts with him. The clients came in before Mr Ali, sans food, returned to the office.

Aruna recognised Mr Hasan from the large map of India spot on his face. She thought of him now as Mr India, the hero from the eponymous Bollywood movie who fought against terrorists and idol-snatchers with the help of an invisibility bracelet invented by his late father.

“Hello, Mr In – Hasan,” she said, catching herself before she committed a serious faux pas.

“Good afternoon, beti,” he said heartily. “I hope you don’t mind if I refer to you as a daughter.”

Aruna shook her head and smiled. He turned and exchanged greetings with Mr Ali.

His clan – wife, brother, uncle, sister, wife’s uncle and son – took up all the available room. Aruna noticed that the bride, Sania, had not come with them.

Aruna took out their file and gave it to Mr Ali. He turned to Mr Hasan and said, “The last time you came, you said you liked several matches and were looking for their photographs.”

“That’s right,” said Mr Hasan. “But unfortunately, we didn’t like any of them.”

“What?” said Mr Ali. He opened the file and took out a piece of paper. “Sheikh Hussain, software engineer. He earns a very good salary.”

“I said no to that,” said Khalida, Mr Hasan’s wife. “I’ve heard that computer people go off to foreign countries and I don’t want my daughter to leave us and go away to a far-off land.”

“Fair enough,” said Mr Ali. “What’s wrong with Mohammed Rizwan, sales executive in Nestle?”

Mr Hasan’s brother spoke up. “What does sales executive mean? He’s probably just going around selling coffee and milk-powder up and down the country. It’ll be no fun for our Sania if her husband is going on tours all the time.”

Mr Ali shot a glance at Aruna. She shook her head imperceptibly. “What about Mirza Beg, the officer in central government?”

“We were very interested in that match,” said Mr Hasan. “However, when we checked, I found out that even though he is well educated and has a good job, his father was just a peon in a private office. So I said no.”

“Surely it is even more to the young man’s credit that he was able to overcome the limitations of his family circumstances and do well in life. I think you should reconsider.”

“No, no,” said Mr Hasan. “It is very important what kind of background my son-in-law comes from. Who knows what kind of culture a poor family like that has? And my daughter? She will have to be family members with all these people. It is unthinkable.”

Aruna’s eyes flashed. Even though she was now married into a rich family, she came from a poor one. Her parents and sister still lived in a small, one-room house with few comforts. “Sir,” she said, “You should not automatically assume that just because somebody is poor, they are boorish and uncultured.”

“Beti, you look as if you are from a wealthy family. You don’t know how poor people live. They might be drunkards or beat their women or – ”

A hot response came to Aruna’s lips, but before she could say anything, Mr Ali held up a hand. Aruna subsided and dropped her gaze to her feet. She knew she looked sulky but she couldn’t help it. The man’s prejudice was just unbelievable.

“I think you are wrong, sir,” said Mr Ali. “But I can appreciate your feelings. Let’s move on. What about the assistant professor, Nizam? He lives locally and I’ve met him. He’s a super boy. A total gentleman – and they are Syeds, very cultured.”

“Sania didn’t like the idea of marrying a professor. She thinks he will be too serious.”

“What about the others? There were at least six others,” said Mr Ali.

“None of them was suitable. My brother thought two of them were not very good,” Mr Hasan said. He pointed to the lady sitting opposite and said, “My sister here thought that three of the families were asking for too much dowry. We need to see more matches.”

Mr Ali thought for a moment, his eyes on the table. He then looked up and said to all of them, “I am glad that Sania is not here because what I am about to say might have hurt her. The way you are going about this whole exercise seems guaranteed to leave your girl unmarried.”

The entire family stirred like a muster of crows that had seen a seagull come into their feeding grounds.

Before they could say anything, Mr Ali raised his voice. “I have gained some experience in this matter while running the marriage bureau, so listen to me.”

He stared at each of them until they lowered their eyes.

“You were very lucky that you saw so many matches. It is unfortunate but true that, in this country, Muslims generally are not as educated as people of other communities. Most Muslims are self-employed – they run shops or other small businesses. This is not surprising – most Muslims in good positions went over to Pakistan when the country was partitioned. Here you saw so many educated boys in good jobs and not one of them was suitable. Why do you think that is?”

Nobody said a word.

Mr Ali continued, “If you saw another hundred matches, I can tell you that none of them will become your son-in-law. That’s because there are too many people involved in the selection. They say that a camel is a horse designed by a committee and that’s how you are trying to find a bridegroom for Sania. One of you doesn’t like a boy’s family, another doesn’t like his job and a third vetoes yet another boy because he might move far away. You cannot do this. Each of you can have an opinion – after all, this is an important matter and you are all interested in Sania’s welfare – but at the end of the day, it has to be one person’s decision. Or, at the most, one person plus Sania.”

Mr Ali looked at Mr Hasan.

“Why don’t you decide, sir? You can look for another year and not find a better match. So choose – of all the people you’ve seen in the past few weeks, who do you think is the best?”

“I don’t know…” demurred Mr Hasan, wilting under Mr Ali’s eyes.

“Choose,” said Mr Ali remorselessly.

“Umm…Rizwan, the sales executive in the multinational. He has a good job with excellent prospects. He is a very outgoing chap; easy to talk to and always cheerful. I’ve been to his parents’ house and they are good people – devout but not fanatical. He is also an only son, so Sania won’t have problems with sisters-in-law or other daughters-in-law.”

“What does your daughter think of him?”

“She hasn’t met him but she liked the look of him from the photo. I know that she will get along well with him.”

“All right, then, why not Rizwan? If he and his family are agreeable, why not settle the matter?”

“But my brother…” said Mr Hasan, pointing to the man sitting in the other chair. “He thinks Rizwan’s job involves too much travel and that he is only a glorified salesman.”

Mr Ali turned to Aruna and said, “Please take out Rizwan’s file.”

Aruna found it and handed it to Mr Ali. He opened it and revealed the form that the young man had filled in when he joined. “Rizwan earns thirty-five thousand rupees a month. Do you think he’s just a salesman? And even if he is, how does it matter? We are all salespeople of one sort or another, anyway. If he earns well and can keep Sania in comfort…”

Mr Ali shrugged.

“I am not saying that you should make the decision right here and now. It is an important matter and you should give it due thought. But one of you has to stand up and take a decision after listening to all the available information.”

“How can I be sure that I am making the right choice?” said Mr Hasan.

“Whatever you do, there are no guarantees in life. What did our Prophet, peace be upon him, tell us to do when faced with a difficult problem?” said Mr Ali.

They all looked blankly at him.

“He told us to seek Istikharah – guidance – from Allah. The Prophet said that we should consult our friends and, if there is still no resolution, say a special prayer: Allahumma innee astakheeruka…O Allah! I ask you for guidance through your knowledge…For surely you have power and I have none. You know all and I know not. O Allah! If in your knowledge this matter be good for me, then ordain it for me, and make it easy for me, and bless me therein. But if in your knowledge, this matter be bad for me, then turn it away from me…”

Mr Ali stood up and went round the table.

“It is simple, my friend. Think through what you can. Ask your friends and well-wishers for their thoughts; beyond that, put your trust in God. After all, what else can we mere mortals do?”

Mr Hasan stood up and hugged Mr Ali thrice as if he had just come back from a mosque. “You are a wise man and you have opened my eyes.”

♦

Aruna was clearing up the table that evening, ready to go home, when the gate opened. She looked out, wondering whether it was another client. After the Hasan family had left, five people had come in, four completely new and one existing member wanting to look at a new list. Three of the four had become members, which was something of a record, and Mr Ali had given her a hundred-rupee note as commission for four people, including one person who had become a member in the morning. She didn’t want to deal with any more clients.

Her face broke into a smile when she recognised the visitor – her younger sister, Vani. She was probably coming straight from college because she was carrying books in the crook of her right arm.

“Hello, akka!” she said lightly and sat down on one of the chairs, unselfconsciously extending her legs, clad in a sky-blue, cotton salwar.

When Mr Ali poked his head out of the door to see who the visitor was, Vani pulled her legs in closer to the chair.

“Namaste, Uncle,” she said.

Mr Ali smiled at her and said, “Have you decided to become a member, then?”

Vani smiled back, “Not yet, Uncle. Not yet.”

Mr Ali laughed and withdrew, leaving the sisters on the verandah.

“What have you done to your hair?” asked Aruna.

“You noticed?” said Vani, pulling it forward over her shoulder. “I got a perm and a cut. It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

“The wavy hair really suits you, but isn’t a perm supposed to damage hair?” asked Aruna.

“It should be all right to do it once in a while,” said Vani. “Do you remember Srishti, the girl from two doors down?”

“Yes, of course I remember her,” said Aruna, puzzled.

“She is doing a beautician’s course and for practice she had to find five of her own people to be models. She asked me and I agreed. It was free.”

“Oooh!” said Aruna, wincing. “A trainee beautician? I am not sure that’s such a good idea.”

Vani waved her hand dismissively. “She was supervised, so it was no problem. Besides, not all of us have Mr Money Bags for a husband.”

Aruna laughed. “What can I do for you?” she asked.

“Do?” said Vani. “Can’t I just visit my elder sister at her workplace?”

Aruna bent her head and looked unblinkingly at Vani. After a moment, her sister laughed.

“You are right. I’ve come to ask for a hundred rupees.”

“Why?” asked Aruna.

“All my classmates are going for a picnic at Yarada Park on Thursday. I want to go too and I need the money for travel and food.”

“What about your classes?” asked Aruna.

“It’s Republic Day, in case you had forgotten.”

“I did forget. I’ll have to tell sir and not come in. Your brother-in-law will have the day off as well.”

“Doing anything romantic?” asked Vani.

“Shut up, silly girl,” laughed Aruna, blushing. “Have you told amma and naanna about the picnic?”

“Not yet. I thought I’d ask you first.”

Aruna nodded and reached into her bag. She took out the crisp one-hundred-rupee note that Mr Ali had given her earlier and handed it to Vani. “Will there be other girls at the picnic?” she asked casually.

“Of course,” said Vani. “The whole class is going.”

“Tell amma that we might drop in on Thursday,” Aruna put the last file in the wardrobe and closed it. “Do you want me to drop you off?”

Vani nodded. “Just on the main road will do. You don’t need to come down the lane.”

They said goodbye to Mr and Mrs Ali and got into the car. When she saw Vani’s reaction, Aruna realised how much of a luxury having a car was. I must never become off-hand about my wonderful life and must always remember that these cars, servants, expensive clothes and multiple pairs of shoes are extravagances and not necessities, she thought.

♦

A few days later, she came home from the office and sensed that something was wrong as soon as she entered the house – her mother-in-law didn’t return her greeting and her sister-in-law, Mani, just made a sneering moue and turned away from her. Aruna sighed and walked through the hall to her room. She was sure that, whatever it was, the issue would blow over.

She opened the door to her room and went in. Strangely, the curtains were drawn and it was dark inside. When her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw a tall figure stretched out on the bed, covered by a sheet. Her heart gave a lurch as she pulled off the sheet to reveal her sleeping husband.

“What – ” she began, touching his cheek. She jerked her hand back – his body was burning with fever.

Ramanujam opened his eyes and smiled wanly.

“When did this happen?” she asked. “Why didn’t you call me?”

Ramanujam waved his hand, but the effort left him weak and he closed his eyes again.

“Oh,” said Aruna, when she realised just how frail he was. “What is wrong?”

“I think it is malaria,” he said, with his eyes still closed.

“Malaria!” she squeaked.

“I think so. I am feeling hot sometimes and then shivering with cold other times.”

Memories of her father falling ill rushed upon her. That had been a long and debilitating illness. Ramanujam was always so vital and healthy – she was appalled to see him laid low like this.

“Have you seen a doctor?” she asked.

“I am a doctor.”

The usual joke left her unmoved this time. “No, you cannot diagnose yourself. Which of your friends would be best for this?”

“No need. I’ve already written a prescription and naanna has taken Kaka to get the medicines.”

“I think you should see another doctor. Shall I call Ravi?”

“He is an optical doctor. Good for cataracts but not for malaria.”

“Who else? What about Bhushan?”

“He is an ENT surgeon. Just leave it, Aruna, let me rest.”

“No, I cannot let you rest…” said Aruna.

The door opened and her mother-in-law walked in. “What’s going on? Why can’t you let him rest?” she asked.

Aruna cringed – the sentence sounded very wrong when she heard it back from the older woman.

“It’s not like that,” she said. “I want another doctor to see him.”

“I don’t need another doctor. I can tell what’s wrong with me,” said Ramanujam.

“Of course you do, son. Take a rest.” Her mother-in-law crooked a finger and signalled to her to come out.

Aruna gave a last look at Ramanujam, pulled the sheet up to his shoulders and made her way slowly out of the room.

“I think he should see another doctor,” said Aruna as soon as they were in the corridor.

“Shhh!” said her mother-in-law and walked back into the hall. Aruna trailed behind her.

Mani was standing in the living room, hands on hips, and arching her back, pushing her already big stomach further out. Her face was strained and her eyes were screwed shut. She straightened up, opened her eyes and looked at them. “Oof! My back feels like an elephant has been trampling all over it,” she said. “Aruna, thanks for taking the time off from your highflying career to look in on your sick husband.”

Aruna flushed, but didn’t say anything. Even though Mani’s comment wasn’t reasonable, she couldn’t help feeling guilty. After a moment she said, “Somebody should have called me. I would have come straight away.”

“We were all too worried about my brother to call you,” said Mani.

Aruna’s mother-in-law waved a hand at her daughter, but didn’t admonish her.

Aruna said to her mother-in-law, “Let’s call another doctor to see him.”

“What, you don’t trust my brother’s medical knowledge now?” said Mani, looking outraged.

The older woman sighed and said, “Stop it, Mani. I think Aruna is saying something sensible. I am sure it’s difficult to treat yourself – like a cook checking the spices in a curry she’s cooked herself.”

Mani turned away with a small flounce.

Aruna’s mother-in-law continued, “However, Aruna, it was not a good idea to go on and on about it with Ramanujam in the room. Men become babies when they are even a little unwell. They are not strong like us in that respect. And my poor son, he really is unwell.”

Aruna said softly, “Yes, amma. I will call Ravi. I know he is an eye doctor but I am sure he’ll refer me to somebody more suitable.”

Aruna went back into the room on tiptoe and peeped in. Ramanujam was sleeping, so she stole noiselessly in and came out with Ramanujam’s mobile phone. She looked up Ravi’s number and dialled it.

A hearty voice answered. “Hi, Ramanujam! What’s going on? Any more old widows going blind?”

Before they were married, Aruna and Ramanujam had come across an old villager whose eyes had been clouded over with cataracts and Ramanujam had sent her to Ravi to be treated.

“Hello, it’s me, Aruna, his wife,” she said.

“Hi, Aruna. This is a surprise. What can I do for you?” he said, after a brief but noticeable pause.

“He is not well. He has a very high temperature and feels alternately cold and hot. He says it is malaria and doesn’t want to see another doctor. Can you refer me to somebody who can see him?”

“Oh, I am sorry to hear that. How high is his temperature?”

“I don’t know for sure but at least a hundred and two, I think, if not more.”

“How long has he had the fever?”

“He was fine this morning and even went to the hospital. He came back in the afternoon.”

“OK, no problem. Don’t worry. I will talk to somebody and send them over straight away.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“No need for thanks. We’ll have him up and running again in no time.”

She closed the phone and went in search of her mother-in-law and Mani. “Ravi said he will send a doctor round soon.”

“Amma!” shouted Mani’s son as he ran towards her.

“Don’t jump on me, baby. My back’s really hurting,” said Mani hurriedly.

“I got an aeroplane!” he said loudly, as his grandfather walked sedately in.

“Shh,” said Aruna, looking down at the young boy. “Your uncle is not well and sleeping.”

“I know,” he said, just a little less loudly as Aruna winced. “We’ve got medicines too.”

“Namaste,” said Aruna, turning to the old man.

He nodded in reply and handed her a small brown packet of tablets.

“I’ve arranged for another doctor to come. We’ll show him the medicines before giving them to him,” said Aruna.

The adults sat around on the sofa while the boy held his plane above his head and ran round the room with it. Aruna wanted to change but didn’t want to go back into her room in case she disturbed Ramanujam. This waiting was hard – she was getting more and more tense as the minutes ticked by.

Mani turned to her and said, “Didn’t you and anna go to your parents’ house on Thursday?”

Aruna nodded in reply.

“He must have been bitten by mosquitoes there. I was wondering just how a healthy young man like him can get malaria.”

Aruna looked at her sister-in-law, shocked. Suddenly she got up and ran to the shrine in the corner. Behind her, she heard her father-in-law say, “Mosquitoes are everywhere, Mani. Who can say where he got it from?”

Aruna stood in front of the idol of Venkatesha and bowed her head. She closed her eyes and folded her hands in supplication. The lamp by the idol, which was kept always lit, cast a warm, golden, nickering glow on her face. “O Lord of the Seven Hills, Lord of the three worlds, please make my husband better.”

I was so silly, thinking that nothing could touch my happiness now. I, of all people, should have known better, she thought. When my father fell ill, there was no warning. He was ill for so long and wiped out our savings. But ultimately that led to a good end, she reminded herself. I was forced to give up my studies and take up a job. Otherwise I wouldn’t have started working with Sir and Madam, and I would never have met Ramanujam. I would not have known his love or the luxury of this wealth. This, however, was different. No good can come of Ram falling ill, she thought.

She started reciting her favourite hymn that she always turned to in times of trouble – the Gayatri Mantram. “Om Bhoor Bhuvasvaha…”

She could not complete the recitation – her mind was in too much turmoil.

“Lord, if my husband is cured, I will feed one hundred and sixteen Brahmins and poor people.”

Now that she had resolved on an action, her mind quietened and she completed the prayer. When she opened her eyes and turned back to the others, she was surprised to see that her mother-in-law had been praying too.

“He will be all right,” said her mother-in-law.

Aruna nodded. Their servant, Kaka, came in carrying a leather valise, ahead of a very dignified-looking man with thinning, grey hair and metal-framed glasses.

“Namaste,” said the man. “I am Doctor Someswar. Ravi called and told me about Ramanujam.”

Aruna’s father-in-law stepped forward. “Thank you for coming so soon, sir. We are very worried. He is normally such a healthy boy…”

“No problem at all,” said the doctor. “I retired last year but Ravi and Ramanujam are both old students of mine. Where is he?”

“In the bedroom,” said Aruna’s father-in-law and began to move towards it. The ladies fell in behind the men.

“No, all of you stay here,” said the doctor. He turned to Kaka. “You show me the way.”

They went in and closed the door. All the family members waited nervously in the hall. After some time, Kaka came out and Aruna asked him, “What’s happening?”

Kaka said, “I don’t know, chinnamma. The doctor asked me to get a flask with ice in it.”

He hurried away into the kitchen and Aruna exchanged a glance with her in-laws. They were all as puzzled as she was. A few minutes later, Kaka went back into the room with a stainless-steel thermos flask.

It was another five minutes before the doctor came out.

“What’s wrong with him, doctor uncle?” asked Aruna.

“I am not sure,” the old doctor said, frowning. “He is presenting many of the symptoms of malaria but he is not perspiring and his cold phases are not as long lasting as I would expect.”

“Do you think we should give him these medicines, doctor?” asked Aruna, showing him the anti-malarial drugs that had just been bought.

The doctor looked at them and shook his head. “These medicines can have nasty side-effects, so I wouldn’t use them just now. First, I want to find out what’s wrong with him – I’ve taken a blood sample.”

The doctor tore a sheet from his prescription pad and gave it to Ramanujam’s father.

“The sample is in the flask. Take it to a diagnostic laboratory and give them this paper. I’ve written the tests that I want carried out.”

Ramanujam’s father nodded and took the prescription. “What – fees…” he said hesitantly.

Doctor Someswar waved him away. “Your son is an old student of mine. How can I charge him anything?”

Aruna came forward and, bowing to him, said, “Thank you, Uncle.”

The older man patted her head. “God bless you, my daughter. Be brave.”