ELEVEN
A few days later, Mr. Ali was at his seat working with Aruna. It was midmorning, and suddenly the light changed. The harsh, bright light mellowed and took on a more brownish hue. Mr. Ali looked up and said, “I think it is going to rain.”
He got up from the table and went to the door. He could smell the earth and knew the rain wasn’t far away. Behind him, he heard Aruna shout, “Madam, it is going to rain.”
As the first drops fell, he was shoved aside as Mrs. Ali ran past him, almost athletically, to a cotton sheet on which tamarind was drying. Aruna came out as well and helped Mrs. Ali collect the four corners of the sheet together and move it indoors.
Mrs. Ali said, “You shouldn’t have just stood there looking at the rain. If Aruna hadn’t told me, the tamarind would have got wet and spoilt.”
Mr. Ali, who had not actually noticed the tamarind, even though it had been right in front of him, did not say anything. Aruna and Mrs. Ali went inside.
He was more interested in the rain. It was not the proper monsoon season yet. This must be a pre-monsoon shower. He looked on as the fat raindrops fell on the dry earth. Azhar came running out of the rain, opened the outside gate, and rushed to stand by Mr. Ali, out of the wet.
“Why did you come in the rain?” asked Mr. Ali.
“I didn’t know it was going to rain, did I? It was perfectly sunny when I left the house,” said Azhar.
Mr. Ali said, “Do you remember the old verse:
When the Bronze-winged Jacana shrieks,
When the Black Cobra climbs trees,
When the Red Ant carries white eggs,
Then the Rain cascades. ”
“You have a good memory,” Azhar said. “I haven’t heard that for years. My grandmother used to sing it when I was a boy. Mind you, if I saw a cobra climbing a tree, rain won’t be the first thing on my mind.”
Mr. Ali laughed.
“I wonder if the monsoons will be good this year?” said Mr. Ali.
“I hope so,” said Azhar. “That’s what the meteorologists are predicting, so let’s see.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Ali reflectively. “So much of India relies on the monsoons. Not just farmers, but birds, animals, and trees, too.”
They were both silent, looking at the way the parched earth was soaking up the water and releasing its pent-up heat.
“You didn’t tell me why you came here, anyway,” said Mr. Ali.
“It is the first of the month, isn’t it? I am not like my brother-in-law who earns so much money from the marriage bureau that he doesn’t know what date it is. I am going to collect my pension,” Azhar said.
Mr. Ali laughed and then became serious. “Any news of Rehman?” he asked.
“My inspector friend said they will be charged soon, in another day or so,” said Azhar.
“What charge?” asked Mr. Ali.
“He thinks it will be breaking the peace,” said Azhar.
“That doesn’t sound too bad,” said Mr. Ali.
Azhar looked carefully around and lowered his voice, “Don’t tell aapa, but my friend says that the police in Royyapalem have been asked to find some evidence—any evidence—so they can be charged with something more serious, like criminal damage,” he said.
“I was afraid of something like that. Do you really think they’ll make up something just to get them?” he asked.
“Didn’t you read the papers today? The boys have kicked off something big. The protest has been picked up by the media, and the whole village is up in arms. The government has declared Section One Hundred and Forty-four in that whole area.”
“Section One Forty-four? That means a curfew, doesn’t it?” asked Mr. Ali.
“Not quite,” said Azhar. “At this stage, they’ve just banned any gatherings of more than five people. But I think it has gone past that. I think the whole project is in trouble.”
The rain stopped and Azhar said he had to go.
“At least come into the house and have tea,” Mr. Ali said.
Azhar said, “No, I’d better go. If it gets any later, the lines will build up in the bank. By the way, what are you doing this evening? A few of us are going to the beach. Do you want to come too?”
“In this rain?” asked Mr. Ali.
“This is just a squall. It has already stopped. By evening, it will be pretty hot again,” said Azhar.
“Who is coming?” asked Mr. Ali.
“About ten or fifteen people—Sanyasi will be there,” said Azhar, naming a common friend.
Mr. Ali thought for a moment and then said, “It’s been a while since I’ve gone out with you guys. Let’s go.”
That evening, Aruna was looking after the office on her own. Mr. Ali had gone to the beach and Mrs. Ali was busy inside the house making dinner. A young man walked in and Aruna looked up from her typing.
He said, “Hello, Aruna.”
Aruna saw the handsome doctor who had become a member a few weeks ago. “Hello, Mr. Ramanujam,” she said. She was surprised that he had remembered her name.
“Is Mr. Ali here?” he asked.
“No. He had to go out,” said Aruna.
“Oh! Apparently, my sister called him yesterday and he asked her to come today because there was a new list. My sister couldn’t come, so she asked me to collect it.”
“Yes, something came up just this morning and he must have forgotten that he asked your sister to come in. Anyway, I can help you,” said Aruna.
“Thank you,” he said with a smile.
“I remember, you are Brahmins, aren’t you?” she said. Aruna knew Ramanujam was a Brahmin, but she asked anyway.
“That’s correct,” he said.
Aruna stood up and went to the cupboard that held the lists. She took out the correct list and handed it to Ramanujam.
As he took the list from her, Aruna noticed that he was wearing a golden watch that looked very expensive. His nails were neatly trimmed and he had long, tapering fingers. She was suddenly conscious that her dress was old and faded.
Ramanujam looked through the list.
“Do you want me to put it in an envelope?” asked Aruna.
“No need,” he said, smiling at her.
“Does your sister live locally?” asked Aruna.
“Yes. She is married to an industrialist in town,” Ramanujam said. He laughed. “I don’t know exactly what he does, but the steel plant is one of his big customers.”
Aruna nodded.They were obviously a rich family and his words just confirmed it.
“What about you?” asked Ramanujam. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“I have a younger sister. She is still in college,” said Aruna.
“What about you? What did you study?” he asked.
“I have a B.A. degree in Telugu and social science.”
“Oh! A scholar,” said Ramanujam.
Aruna shrugged. “I actually wanted to study for a master’s degree, but I had to leave my studies,” she said. As soon as the words left her mouth, she cringed internally. She wondered why she had said that.
“Why did you have to leave your studies?” asked Ramanujam.
“We couldn’t afford it anymore. Also, my wedding was almost fixed and I didn’t want to start something when I wasn’t sure I would be able to continue it.”
She tried to speak lightly but Aruna couldn’t keep the tremor out of her voice. She picked up a piece of paper from the desk and turned to the cupboard.
“What happened to the wedding?” he asked. He must have noticed her hesitate because he added, “You don’t have to tell me if you’d rather not.”
Aruna sighed. “It’s very simple. My father fell ill and he was in hospital for a long time. Most of our savings were exhausted.”
Ramanujam said, “If he broke off the wedding because your father was not well, then maybe he wasn’t such a good guy.You will probably find somebody even better.”
Aruna shook her head. “No,” she said. “He was—is—a good man. He married a distant cousin of mine.They are very happy. My cousin is the mother of a lovely boy,” said Aruna.
Aruna thought that her heart would break. Sushil was the first match that had been proposed to her. The match had been perfect in almost every way and Aruna had fallen in love with him at first sight. At least, she thought it was love. She wasn’t sure if what she had felt was love; she just knew that she had never felt those emotions before. She met him thrice—each time she had felt breathless when told that he and his family were coming over; each time she was almost tongue-tied when actually face to face with him. She had taken great care of her appearance—wearing her best saris, now sold for household utensils; plaiting her long tresses with a colored ribbon; wearing her gold necklace and earrings; and applying just a touch of talcum powder to her face and neck, to appear fairer than she really was.
She had been ecstatic when he had brought a string of jasmine flowers for her hair the third time he had come to visit her. He came without his mother or any other family—straight from work. Her father had been out and Aruna could see that her mother was scandalized that Sushil had turned up at their house without his family. Aruna’s mother sent Vani over to their neighbor’s house and had gone into the kitchen and left Aruna and Sushil in the living room talking to each other. Aruna and Sushil had talked for over forty-five minutes about all sorts of things. He had told her that he liked a particular South Indian film actress and she had teased him that the actress’s nose was too wide. She told him that she had never been out of their state, and he had told her that he would remedy it as soon as possible after the wedding. He had told her that he would take her to Chennai and the hill station of Ooty. He had mentioned the word “honeymoon” and she had blushed furiously and gone into the kitchen to see if her mother needed any help. Her mother didn’t need any help, of course, and so she had come back into the living room in less than five minutes and started talking again. He had apologized profusely for talking like that and she had prettily accepted his apology.
Sushil had asked her if she liked any film stars. She had shaken her head no. “Not even Chiranjeevi?” he had asked, naming the most popular Telugu film star.
“No. Anyway, boys like him more than girls, because he acts in all those action movies,” she replied.
They even talked about serious topics:Why did he think the weather was getting hotter every year? What did she think about coalition governments? Should Naxalites—Maoist guerrillas—be supported when they burned down liquor shops in tribal villages?
They agreed on some subjects but not on others. Their agreements brought them closer—conspirators against the world; their disagreements added passion to their chat.
The talk had moved on to careers. He had asked her if she wanted to work after marriage, and she had replied that she would like to work somewhere if she could find a job and it was all right with him—and his family.
“I don’t mind,” he had replied. “My mother might not like it—let us see.”
She truly hadn’t minded, either way. She knew his mother would be difficult to get along with, but she was confident that in time she would win her over. She was in love with her fiancé. The sun shone in the heavens, the world was bright, anything was possible.
Vani came back from their neighbor’s place—and Aruna had never hated her sister so fiercely. Her mother brought some boorulu from the kitchen. Sushil had taken a bite into one and burnt his tongue on the hot jaggery core. He had waved his hand in pain from the hot sugar, and Aruna had rushed into the kitchen to get a glass of cool water. She had hovered over him and had asked if he was all right at least three times, until he had assured her that he was fine and it was just a momentary shock. She had looked anxiously at him and their eyes had met—almost like a scene from a movie.
Her father had returned soon after Sushil had gone. Aruna and her mother kept quiet about the visit, but Vani thoughtlessly revealed it to their father. Her father was not happy at this unchaperoned visit but he didn’t say anything. After all, the man was practically his son-in-law.
Aruna had gone to bed extremely happy. All night long, she had had vague dreams of Sushil and herself visiting a very atmospheric mountain valley with rolling fog. It was cold in the mountains and the two were walking down a mountain path wrapped in a single blanket. Delicious feelings tingled through her. She had woken up happy—hugging the memories of the previous evening tightly in her mind. She had remained in that state of mind for three more days, until the night her father had cried out from bed, unable to get up, and the dreams had slowly faded away as color was leached from her life, from her clothes, from her soul.
Aruna had never spoken about these events and feelings to anybody, not even to her mother or sister. She certainly couldn’t tell the whole story to Ramanujam. But she couldn’t hold it all inside, either. She now related some of it—just the bare facts.
Aruna and Ramanujam kept talking. He talked about his college days—he had done his Bachelor of Medicine in town at the Andhra Medical College, but his postgraduation as an M.D. in neurosurgery had been at the premier All India Institute of Medical Sciences in Delhi.
Aruna was impressed. “AIIMS? Isn’t it supposed to be difficult to get into?” she asked.
Ramanujam shrugged. “It’s a great institute. The campus is lovely and you get the best professors there. But for all that I learned at the college, I think I learned just as much staying in a hostel away from my family.”
“I’ve never stayed away from my family. The only times I stayed away from home was when I stayed at Shastry-uncle’s house for the summer holidays when I was younger,” said Aruna.
Ramanujam said, “There were girls too in AIIMS. We boys were not allowed inside their hostel but they could come and visit us. If we wanted to meet one of the girls at the hostel, we had to stay in the front lounge and wait for somebody to walk past and then ask them if they would take a message for you. Some girls were pretty nosy. They wanted to know why we wanted to meet the girl; they asked all sorts of questions and then refused to take the message.”
“It must have taught you patience,” teased Aruna.
“It was frustrating. While we stood there, the milkman would walk past, the postman would walk past, the washer man, the canteen boy, the gardeners—in fact, all sorts of guys would be walking past, but we students couldn’t cross the line in front of the lounge,” said Ramanujam.
“Like a Lakshman Rekha,” observed Aruna, referring to the line drawn by Lakshmana to keep his brother Ram’s faithful wife, Sita, safe from all danger in the Hindu epic Ramayana.
“Exactly like a Lakshman Rekha, though some of the girls in the hostel did not exactly take Sita as their role model,” laughed Ramanujam.
Aruna asked, “So how many times did you stand outside the ladies’ hostel waiting for somebody to deliver your message?”
Ramanujam replied, “Not often—just three or four times.”
Aruna laughed. “Yeah! Right!”
“No, really,” said Ramanujam. “Besides, it was more fun to meet the girls in Singh’s tea shop.”
She laughed at his naughty grin.
Mrs. Ali suddenly called out from inside the house, “Aruna, why haven’t you switched on the lights?”
Aruna realized with a jolt that it had grown quite dark. She replied to Mrs. Ali, “Sorry, madam. I am switching the lights on now.”
She got up and switched on the light.The long white tube flickered a couple of times and then came on. Aruna closed her eyes, said a small prayer, and touched her forehead with the tips of her fingers.
Mrs. Ali came out and saw Ramanujam. “Sorry,” she said to Aruna. “I didn’t realize you had a client.”
She went back into the house. Aruna felt guilty. It was very unusual not to have any clients visiting them in the evening. Had anybody left without coming in because the lights were not on and the front of the house was in darkness?
She turned to her files and said to Ramanujam, “We received one match that might be of interest to you. It came yesterday by post and it hasn’t gone into the list yet.”
She copied the details of the match—the daughter of a member of the Legislative Assembly—on a piece of paper and gave it to Ramanujam. “We don’t have a photo of the girl. Her father writes in the letter that he will come by and have a chat with us when the Assembly breaks up and he comes back from Hyderabad.”
She didn’t need to say that the bride’s family was wealthy. Everyone knew that politicians were all rich. Ramanujam looked through the details. “Thanks,” he said. “I am not sure I really want to marry into a politician’s family.”
He looked at her and said, “It’s time I was leaving. Do you know what time Mr. Ali will be back?”
Aruna shook her head. “I don’t know what time sir will be back,” she said.
Ramanujam nodded and made no move to leave. “Normally, I run my private clinic at this time, but not on Tuesdays, because that’s the day I have two surgical sessions at the government hospital,” he said.
Ramanujam told Aruna about the surgery he had carried out that day. A young man had been brought in from a village with epileptic fits. The fits were so violent that he could not travel in a bus or train. The family had tied him up on a string bed and had brought him on a bullock cart. The young man had been recently married and his wife had come along, as well as the man’s parents. He told Aruna how the man’s parents were ill-treating the poor woman, blaming her for their son’s illness.
Aruna sighed in sympathy. If a man fell ill or lost his job soon after getting married, everybody blamed the poor bride for bringing bad luck into the family. Strangely, it didn’t work the other way around—it wasn’t the man’s fault if the woman fell ill after marriage. In fact, the woman was scorned for not being a healthy bride.
“How did the operation go? Is he cured?” she asked.
“Well, we took the tumor out. He still hasn’t woken up from the anesthesia. We’ll know in the next few days.”
Ramanujam looked at his watch. “I’ve got to go,” he said.
Aruna smiled at him. She said, “I hope I didn’t bore you.”
“Not at all,” replied Ramanujam. “I had a very pleasant evening. I hope I didn’t keep you from your work. Thanks for giving me the list.”
“No problem. I hope you find a proper bride in the list,” she said, smiling.
Ramanujam rolled his eyes and got up.
Aruna stood up as well. “It’s time for me to go, too,” she said.
She put the papers away and closed the cupboard doors. She had already tidied the table away while talking to Ramanujam and she was ready in a minute. She put her handbag—a new purchase—over her shoulder, peeked into the house behind the curtain, and called out to Mrs. Ali, “I’m going, madam.”
Mrs. Ali was on the phone. She covered the phone’s mouthpiece with her hand and smiled at her. “Please close the door behind you,” she said.
Aruna and Ramanujam left the house together. Aruna closed the door and closed the bolt through the iron grille. She put on her shoes and they walked out onto the road. Ramanujam’s gleaming milky white car was parked outside. Aruna didn’t know much about cars, but she could tell it was an expensive model. He clicked on the key fob and the car beeped and flashed its indicator lights twice. Ramanujam opened the door and turned to Aruna. “Do you want me to drop you off?” he asked.
“No, thanks,” replied Aruna. She was tempted, but knew that if people saw her getting out of a car driven by a stranger, they would talk.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes, it is not far and I have to pick up vegetables on the way,” she replied.
“All right, then. See you soon,” he said, and turned to sit down in the car. Aruna stepped away from the car and started to walk.
“Aruna,” he called out, and she turned.
“Yes?” she asked.
“Here’s my card. It has my mobile number on it. If any suitable Brahmin girls become members, please call me,” he said.
She looked at him quizzically.
“I want to check out the details before my sister or my mother sees them,” he said.
“Are you afraid they’ll force you to marry somebody you don’t like?” she asked, laughing.
“No, nothing like that. But it is easier if they don’t even see somebody I don’t like; I won’t have to keep refusing them,” he said.
Aruna nodded. “No problem,” she said, taking the card and putting it in her handbag.