‘Mohan is a waster,’ said Chachi. ‘Only dreaming all the time, and refusing to help his father. Why should we marry our Padma to this kind of boy?’ She pulled herself up on her string bed to face Rekha.
‘Now he is working with Sham a great change has come over him. Dada Lokumal says the fault is with his father, not with Mohan,’ Rekha explained. She had spent some time with Lokumal, before Mrs Watumal had joined them. Tears filled her eyes when she thought of the goodness of the old man.
‘Without even consultation you have agreed?’ Chachi inquired through pursed lips. ‘In this house it seems the views of elders are given no respect. The Watumals are Bhaibund, we are Amil. Why should our Padma marry a Bhaibund boy? In Sukkur—’
‘Those times are gone,’ Rekha said firmly. ‘We cannot refuse Dada Lokumal’s kindness. The boy and the girl have known each other since childhood. The family is like our own family, and Padma will stay here in Sadhbela. It could not be better,’ said Rekha. ‘Besides, through his work, Sham is also now Bhaibund.’
‘Since when is a Bhaibund family like an Amil family?’ Chachi argued, and turned to the wall with a shrug. ‘If this is your decision, then what can I say if the views of elders are no longer needed?’ She wound her scarf in a blindfold about her eyes and lay down. ‘The last time also my voice was not heard,’ she muttered.
Since her views had not been sought, she could not now show she was in favour of the marriage, but she had decided to go herself, when Rekha was out, to thank Dada Lokumal. Nothing after Lakshmi’s death could ever be the same for them. Yet she sensed in herself, as she did in Rekha, an almost imperceptible shift, the first thin crack in the darkness of their present life with this incredible news.
‘It is a good match. It is God’s work,’ she muttered sleepily, and did not realize she spoke aloud. Beside her Rekha smiled sadly, for the first time in many weeks.
*
‘I left in the morning and when I got home I found Padma already engaged. The whole thing was a shock, however pleasant,’ Sham said the next day in the factory to Lata. He peered down from the office window at Mohan, speaking animatedly with a group of workers on the floor of the factory. He had been working enthusiastically, and since his engagement to Padma the night before, he seemed fired by even greater drive. Marriage would steady him; it was the best thing that could have happened. Sham still had difficulty digesting it all. Dada Lokumal’s kindness and the speed of events had left them all breathless.
‘It was so quick,’ Lata agreed. ‘I never heard of such a lightning engagement.’ She began to laugh. ‘Mohan has had his eye upon Padma for some time. I know there is an age difference, but I do not think it matters.’
‘Padma seems happy,’ Sham agreed.
‘Mummy is like a new person,’ Lata told him. ‘In twenty-four hours her life has changed. Mohan is engaged, and Sunita has had a look at the widower, and says she will accept him. So now there are two weddings to arrange. Mummy and Aunty Rekha, and Mrs Hathiramani and Mrs Bhagwandas, are rushing up and down to each other all day, to discuss one or another detail. The whole building has been stirred up. And Rani too is engaged, did you hear? Soon Sadhbela will be strung with fairy lights for a wedding on every floor.’
‘That leaves only you,’ Sham said.
‘Oh, there are widowers lined up for me too,’ Lata laughed. ‘But I’m not Sunita; I’m not worried about being an old maid. I’m happy working here. The place is going to grow, I can see it already.’
Sham sat down at his desk, picked up a pencil, and made a doodle on a message pad. Lata turned away and began stacking ledgers on a shelf. ‘If you got married and could also work here, would you change your mind?’ he asked, filling in a portion of the geometrical squiggle before him.
‘How many husbands would allow that?’ Lata shrugged.
‘I would,’ he replied and continued with the doodle, trembling at his audacity, amazed at where the words had come from. Ten minutes before no such thought had been in his head. He realized suddenly that he had carried the words deep within him since that time after Lakshmi’s death, when Lata’s quiet presence had filled his home. And now, near her constantly, he felt a strange diminishment in those hours she was absent. He forced himself to think of her withdrawal from his life, into a marriage like Sunita, with a suitable widower, and felt such a confusion of painful emotion that he thrust away the thought.
‘You?’ Lata gasped and sat down. She made no attempt at an answer. He waited for her to laugh. Instead the silence grew wider between them.
He should never have spoken. He began to black in each area of the doodle, pressing down hard with the pencil. He had nothing to offer but a houseful of broken old people, no money, not even a room of his own for the privacy of marriage. And Lata was five years older than him. It was impossible. He looked up suddenly in fear of what he had said, and saw her agitation. The easy companionship they had worked in would be finished now.
‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘Forget I asked. It was a mad idea. I don’t know where it came from. It wouldn’t work, it’s quite wrong.’ He looked down again at the message pad. A great construction of complex shapes towered up on the page before him.
‘Yes, a mad idea,’ Lata said suddenly in a hard voice. ‘Who could want an old maid like me? Don’t worry, I’ll forget you ever spoke. You’ve no need to feel sorry for me, you know.’
‘Sorry?’ He looked up in alarm. ‘The thought never entered my head. Don’t call yourself an old maid. You’re not. I was sorry for my boldness in suggesting such a thing. What can I offer? No proper home, a houseful of old people, no money. Who would ever marry me?’ He added more boxes to his tower, and blackened a further triangle. They fell silent again. He pressed his pencil to the pad industriously. He heard her stir.
‘Your family are good people. A house can always be rearranged, partitions be put up. And you are earning money now, the future need not be bad. Why should you not marry?’ she asked, her voice low and flat. Looking up again, he saw tears in her eyes.
‘I didn’t ask you out of pity,’ he repeated. ‘I meant it, but it’s a silly idea for the reasons I’ve told you. And it has upset you, I didn’t mean that.’ He looked down again, miserable.
‘You take the offer back then?’ she asked in a fierce voice.
‘It was a mad idea,’ he repeated, and bent his head lower over the pad in shameful embarrassment. There was silence again. He heard her stand up and turn to the shelf of ledgers. He raised his eyes as she spun suddenly round to face him, her face angry, and wet with tears.
‘What’s mad about the idea?’ she yelled suddenly. ‘There’s nothing mad about it at all. If you want my view, it’s a good idea.’
He dropped the pencil and stared at her. ‘Oh my God,’ he exclaimed and began to laugh, while Lata continued to cry.
‘It’s a very, very good idea,’ Lata sobbed and sat down again, and searched for a handkerchief.
‘What’s good about the idea?’ Sham inquired. He offered his handkerchief over the desk.
‘Nothing really, to those who don’t know,’ Lata replied. She took the handkerchief and blew her nose.
‘But those who know might feel it could work?’ Sham asked quietly.
‘I think so,’ said Lata, not looking at him.
‘Then perhaps it’s not such a mad idea. Perhaps I should reconsider,’ Sham announced.
‘I think you should,’ Lata smiled, lifting her face to him now.
‘Think of the things people will say,’ Sham warned.
‘Who cares what they say?’ replied Lata. ‘Already they’ve said so much, what does a little more matter?’
‘You’re right,’ Sham agreed. ‘I suppose you’re always going to be right. That’s the trouble with finding a sensible wife.’
‘They’ll say you’re hen-pecked,’ Lata laughed.
‘They’ll say you’re a cradle-snatcher,’ Sham returned.
‘Who cares?’ Sham threw the memo pad up in the air. Lata caught it neatly and put it back in its place.
‘Behave yourself,’ she said.