Twenty

Usha never remembered how she got back home. Thinking back about it later, she was surprised that she had hit nobody with her car. Only the sheer unpredictabihty of traffic on Indian roads, and the consequent cautious self-preserving nature of every person using them, must have saved them from her automaton-like driving.

When she reached home, she walked in and found her grandmother sitting in the front room, watching a devotional programme on television. Her parents were nowhere to be seen. She sat down stiffly next to the old lady, her back not touching the sofa. Her grandmother must have sensed something, because she turned to her and said, “What is it, my dear?”

Usha burst into tears. Her grandmother switched off the TV and hugged her. “It’s OK. Tell me what the problem is and we’ll solve it.”

It was several minutes before Usha freed herself from her grandmother’s clasp and sat back, wiping away her tears with the edge of the old lady’s soft cotton sari.

“You planned this all along, didn’t you?” Usha said.

“Planned what, dear?”

“I broke off the engagement.”

“Ahh!” said her grandmother. “Why did you break it off?”

“Why do you think?” said Usha bitterly. “You and your conditions – steady job, nice flat, car…”

“Has the young man given up, then?”

Usha shook her head. “I said I broke it off. Rehman was suppressing his heart and doing exactly as you asked him. If he had continued like that, our love would have been dust.”

“I didn’t plan it, dear. I just hoped that something like this would happen. Either your young man would give up the struggle and prove himself unworthy of you, or he would persevere and you would realise that you could not hold him in such thrall. Whatever happened, I would win.”

“Why?” cried Usha. “Why did you do it?”

“The marriage really was unsuitable, Usha. How could you think of marrying somebody outside our caste and a Muslim too? Your father was right to say that our family’s reputation would have poured down the gutter. But he was wrong in how he tried to convince you. You are a girl after my own heart and I knew that you could never be thwarted from your course by threats. I realised that the whole family would be ruined if your father continued his reckless way. But I also knew that you were a sensible girl. You would never marry a man who could not look after you. And that’s why I did what I did.”

“I thought I could trust you, naannamma. That is why I paid the boy for those marbles and sent the letter to you when I was trapped in my room. How could I have been so mistaken?” said Usha.

“It depends upon what you mean by trust, dear. I just gave you a chance not to be swept away by emotion and make a mistake, that’s all. I prefer to think that I discharged my responsibility as a family elder properly. It’s a pity because your young man is actually very good. I can see why you fell in love with him – idealistic, handsome, responsible. But I am sure that in time you will also come to look on this affair as a rainy season’s dream, sweet but short-lived and doomed from the start.”

Usha shook her head. She wanted to hate her grandmother but she couldn’t. She was honest enough to recognise the truth of the older woman’s words. “Where are amma and naanna?” she asked finally.

“They’ve gone to see a first-show movie. Your mother said that the dinner is on the dining table and asked you to eat when you came home.”

Half an hour ago, the very thought of food would have made her sick, but now her stomach rumbled like an empty cavern.

“OK, let me wash,” she said. At the door she turned to her grandmother. “You tell my parents that I’ve broken up with Rehman. And tell them not to mention it again. I don’t want to talk about it. And tell them not to go looking for another husband for me. I will never marry and I don’t want to go through those arguments again.”

“Don’t say never, Usha. That’s too melodramatic. I will give you one year to mourn your love and, after that, we’ll find somebody who’s suitable for you. Don’t worry, as long as I am alive, nobody will force you to marry against your wishes.”

Usha returned to her grandmother and hugged her, wondering how such a thin, frail frame could hold such a strong spirit. “In that case, I hope you live for a long, long time. But I am sure I’ll never find a man as good as Rehman – not in a year, not in a lifetime.”

♦

Aruna and Ramanujam ran up to the fighting men. Aruna was surprised to see Rehman so angry – he was usually so calm and even-tempered. Ramanujam pulled the waiter away. Rehman got up slowly but before he was fully standing, the waiter made a wild kick that connected to Rehman’s groin. He groaned, clutched his privates and staggered backwards, half bent. Aruna raised her hands in horror and moved towards her boss’s son. He looked at her like a wild dervish, then turned and half ran, half stumbled down the path, towards the beach.

Ramanujam almost pulled the waiter off his feet. “Who do you think that man was? How dare you hit him?”

The waiter’s anger left him and he suddenly looked small. Ramanujam let go of him in disgust and the waiter collapsed to the ground. “I am sorry,” he said. By this time, two other waiters and a cook came out and pulled their colleague to his feet again.

“Let’s go,” said Aruna. “We have to inform his family.”

Ramanujam nodded. “The sooner the better. Let’s go.” They both turned and walked towards their car.

“Sir, madam. Your dinner is about to be served,” said the dishevelled waiter. When they didn’t respond, he continued in a small voice, “The bill…”

Ramanujam snorted in anger, took out a couple of hundred-rupee notes and flung them on the ground. “That’s to cover our and the other gentleman’s bill,” he said.

♦

Half an hour later, they were back at the restaurant with Pari in tow. On the way from the restaurant, Aruna had decided that she didn’t want to tell Mrs Ali what was going on. She knew that Pari lived in a room opposite the Alis’ house, so they had gone straight there. Pari had immediately left Vasu in her landlady’s care and come with them.

“Where is he?” asked Pari.

“That way,” said Aruna. The trio went down the path and on to the sand. The beach was dark and stretched for miles in both directions, the only light coming from the soft glow of the surf. The pounding of the waves was a continuous roar. Pinpoints of lights tinkled far away and the stars hung low in the moonless sky. Tiny soft-shelled crabs skittered along the sand, diving into small holes as they walked past.

“There he is,” said Ramanujam, pointing to a seated figure.

“Let me go on my own,” said Pari. “I’ll call you if I need you.”

Husband and wife nodded, and Pari walked alone towards Rehman. Crossing the sand with her shoes on was difficult, so she kicked them off, continuing barefoot, even though she felt squeamish about the crabs.

As she approached him, she saw that Rehman had taken off his shirt and was bare-chested. A wave rushed up the slope, reaching Pari’s knees and more than halfway up the seated Rehman’s chest. Pari stood still while the water swirled round her legs and then receded. She dropped to her knees next to Rehman and touched his bare shoulder.

“Let’s go home, Rehman,” she said.

He turned to her, taking his fixed stare off the horizon. “She left me,” he said, his voice hollow.

“I heard,” said Pari softly.

He laughed wildly, a dry sound. Another wave engulfed them and Pari gasped even though the water was warm. She tightened her grip on Rehman’s surprisingly muscled shoulder as the undertow tried to sweep her away.

“Do you know why she dumped me?” he asked.

Pari shook her head, trying to look puzzled. It seemed a good idea to keep him talking.

“She didn’t understand that you don’t have to take one big step. You can do it in small stages, each one not very painful…” said Rehman.

“What steps?” said Pari, genuinely mystified.

“First, you change the clothes you wear – it’s a bit uncomfortable, but doesn’t really signify anything, does it?”

He looked at her and she nodded.

He continued, “You give up your promise to an old man and abandon his grandson.”

“You didn’t abandon the boy,” said Pari. “He lives with me and you will still spend a lot of time with him.”

“He is Lalitha’s son and I gave him up like so much unused furniture that was getting in the way.” Rehman’s gaze went back to the horizon.

Pari looked at him sharply. A line from King Lear came to her mind: Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds do sorely ruffle; for many miles about there’s scarce a bush.

Rehman continued, “Once I discarded Lalitha’s son, it wasn’t any trouble at all to give up any ideas of fighting for other people and just look out for my own self.”

He stood up and walked deeper into the sea and Pari followed him, half afraid of his fey mood. Rehman stretched up to his full height and opened his arms wide to the uncaring sea. Pari glanced over to where Aruna and her husband were standing. They were almost indistinct against the trees but it looked as if they were huddled in each other’s arms.

“Free!” shouted Rehman. “I am free! Do you hear me? I renounced Lalitha, gave away her son and then abandoned her father’s cause. Compared to that, you are nothing.”

He held his pose for a few seconds more, then dropped his arms, turning away from the water. “Come on,” he said. “I have work to do.”

Pari trotted behind him, trying to keep up with his long strides. “Rehman…” she said, once they were above the water-line. The cold she felt was not entirely due to her wet clothes and the strong breeze.

He turned and stood stiff as a policeman’s lathi. “Yes?” he said.

She reached out and cupped his chin in her hands. His eyes were tiny mirrors that glittered like cold ice. “Rehman, trust me in this. I speak from experience. You don’t have to be strong – it’s OK to let go.”

“Let go?” he said.

“Yes,” she said, her hands falling to her sides. “Weep for what you have lost.”

Rehman stared at her with an unseeing gaze for a long moment, then sank to the ground as if his knees had turned to sand; his head dropped to his chest and he started crying.