SEVENTEEN
Aruna had been depressed all week. The spark had gone out of her. She felt like a ryot, a tenant farmer, who sees locusts swarming on his ready-to-be-harvested field—watching his crop disappearing and knowing that his difficulties are just beginning. Aruna hadn’t told anyone about Ramanujam’s proposal—not even her sister. She went about her days like an automaton.
On Monday, Vani said to her, “Come to Jagadamba Junction at nine in the morning tomorrow.”
Aruna said, “Why? I have to be in the office by then.”
“Akka, you’ve been miserable all week. It will do you good to do something different,” said Vani.
“I am not miserable,” said Aruna.
“Yes, you are. Amma’s noticed it too. We think you are working too hard. Just come there tomorrow. I will guarantee that once you tell him what you saw, your boss won’t mind that you came late to the office,” said Vani.
“What? How do you know what Mr. Ali will say, anyway? You haven’t even met him,” said Aruna.
“Don’t argue, akka. Just do it for me, please . . .” said Vani.
Aruna sighed. “All right. I’ll come, just to prove that I am not depressed.”
“Good!” said Vani.
 
 
The next day, Aruna left home a bit earlier than normal to go to Jagadamba Junction.When she reached there, she was surprised to see police everywhere. She stood in the shade of a shop and watched. The eponymous Jagadamba cinema was opposite her. A large poster at the cinema showed a blond girl screaming in terror at some unseen horror. It was the only cinema in town that regularly showed Hollywood movies. All the others showed Hindi or Telugu movies.
Aruna waited for a while, looking at her watch in irritation. It was almost nine-twenty and nothing was happening.The place looked more crowded than normal, but Jagadamba Junction was always busy, so she couldn’t really tell. Two roads led out of the northern end of the junction on either side of a small old Christian graveyard: one leading uphill to the University and the other to the newer part of town. The road to the south led to the old part of town, and the road to the east led to the collector office and to King George Hospital. Ramanujam came to her mind with KGH, and she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
She must have looked miserable, because somebody said, “Why are you feeling so bad, lady?You are young and you look healthy. I am sure everything will turn out for the best.”
Aruna snapped out of her reverie and looked at the old toothless woman in front of her. She had never seen the woman before in her life. Aruna shook her head and said, “It’s nothing, baamma. I am all right.”
The old woman nodded and walked away. Aruna looked around. It was definitely more crowded now. And the people were not walking. They were all standing there, as if waiting, like her, for something to happen. After five minutes or so, she heard a noise coming down the University road. It was getting louder and louder, and soon everybody craned their necks in the direction of the noise.The police were talking on their radios and had lined up along the road. Suddenly, there was no traffic.
A noisy procession of students came walking along the road. The procession went on and on; there must have been over a thousand students marching. Some of them had drums and trumpets. Many of them were carrying banners: JUSTICE FOR FARMERS; RESPECT ROYYAPALEM RYOTS RIGHTS; VILLAGERS REQUIRE DOCTORS, NOT MULTINATIONALS; LISTEN TO PEOPLE’S TEARS, NOT TO STOCKS AND SHARES; DOWN WITH WTO.
Aruna wondered how the World Trade Organization had gotten entangled in this protest. Was it a leftover banner from an earlier protest?
A student at the front was walking backward, facing the rest of the procession. He had a megaphone in his hand, and said in an amplified voice, “Justice for . . .”
“Farmers,” the students thundered in reply.
The drums boomed and the trumpets blew.
The megaphone-wielding student shouted, “Doctors, not . . .”
“Multinationals,” came the loud roar.
The procession walked slowly past Aruna. She tried to look for Vani, but her sister could not be seen in the crowd.
“Government,” shouted the voice from the front.
“Down! Down!”
The drums went boom! boom!
The trumpets blew loud and clear.
It took more than five minutes for the procession to clear the junction. She heard someone say that the students were marching to the district collector’s office, where they would present a letter with ten thousand signatures protesting against the Royyapalem land seizures. Aruna waited until the crowd dissipated and took a bus to Mr. Ali’s house.
 
 
The next week, Aruna’s fugue did not dissipate. She thought it must be the weather. After the first shower, the rains had been delayed and a hot spell had taken hold. It was over 104 degrees every day and was very humid as well.
Her mother asked Aruna to take some time off, but she refused. The day after that, just as Aruna was about to leave for the office, her father told her that he wanted to visit his brother at Annavaram and he needed her help.
“Did amma put you up to this?” asked Aruna.
Aruna’s father gave her a severe glance and Aruna blushed. “Sorry,” she said.
“You are looking run-down, Aruna. A few days’ break will do you good. And I really need your help. I don’t want to travel on my own,” he said.
“No, naanna. I don’t want to leave now. We are very busy in the office at the moment,” she said, stepping out of the door.
At ten in the morning, Mr. Ali went to the bank to deposit a check that a client had given. Aruna was alone in the office. The postman had just left and she was dealing with the day’s mail when the phone rang.
“Hello, Mr. Ali’s Marriage Bureau here. How may I help you?” she said.
“Hello. Is Mr. Ali there?” asked a woman’s voice, sounding vaguely familiar.
“No, madam. He is not here. Can I assist you?” she asked.
“Maybe you can,” said the voice. “We are clients of yours—my brother is Ramanujam, the doctor.”
Aruna’s heart stopped for a moment and she gripped the phone tightly. She gulped and said, “I remember you, madam.You came with your brother and mother. What can I do for you?”
She was pleased that her voice sounded steady.
Ramanujam’s sister answered, “We had a family conference yesterday and decided that we need to intensify the search. I think you should advertise again, and more widely.”
Aruna said, “Okay, madam. I will tell sir what you said when he comes in.”
“You do that. I am busy for the next couple of days, but I will drop in to your office after that.”
Aruna put the phone down slowly and stared sightlessly across the verandah. Suddenly, her composure broke and she buried her face in her hands and started sobbing.
“Is everything okay, Aruna?”
Aruna looked up and found to her horror that Mrs. Ali was standing in front of her. She nodded and turned away quickly. Mrs. Ali was silent for a moment and Aruna hoped that Mrs. Ali hadn’t noticed her crying.
“What happened, Aruna? Why the tears?” asked Mrs. Ali gently.
Aruna turned reluctantly back to Mrs. Ali and said, “I don’t know what to do, madam. I’m so confused.” Fresh tears flowed down her cheeks.
Mrs. Ali said, “Come, my dear. Let’s go inside. Anybody can walk in on us here.”
She led Aruna into the house and sat down next to her on the settee. “There, there, don’t cry, my dear. Everything will be fine. Tell me, what’s the problem?”
Aruna was silent for a moment, her natural reticence warring with her need to tell somebody. Mrs. Ali just sat quietly next to her.
Finally, Aruna said, “Do you know Ramanujam, madam? One of our clients.”
Mrs. Ali thought for a moment and said, “Yes, I remember. He is a doctor, isn’t he?”
“That’s right, madam.”
Aruna didn’t say anything else, and after a couple of seconds, Mrs. Ali prompted her. “What about him?”
Aruna said, “He proposed to me, madam.”
Mrs. Ali laughed and said, “What is there to cry about, my dear? You should take it as a compliment.”
“I said no, madam. I refused.” Aruna started to cry again.
“Have you talked to anybody about this?” Mrs. Ali asked.
Aruna shook her head through her tears. Mrs. Ali put her arm around the young woman’s shoulders and said, “You shouldn’t bottle these matters up. Talk to me. Tell me, do you like him?”
Aruna nodded. “God forgive me. Yes, I do. I like him. After I said no, I thought the pain was only temporary. I thought that I would be all right again in a few days. But, no! The pain has only gotten worse. It’s just consuming me and I don’t know what to do.”
Mrs. Ali stayed silent and hugged her while Aruna cried herself out. After a little while, Aruna stopped crying, wiped her eyes on her dupatta, and looked up, embarrassed.
“Sorry, madam,” she said.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.You needed a good cry. So, tell me, if you like him so much, why did you refuse him?”
“Think about it, madam. You know what kind of girl his family is looking for for him. I’m not suitable at all.They are looking for a beautiful girl from a big family. I’m not beautiful. We are a very ordinary family—not millionaires like them.”
“Don’t run yourself down, my dear. Money isn’t everything. Knowledge and character are more important, and in these matters your family is no less than any other family in this land.”
“But that’s not all, madam. My family needs me right now. My sister is in college, and my father’s pension has been cut. It will be difficult for them to manage just on that pension. I need to work and support them until my father’s pension recovers and my sister finishes her education. Ramanujam’s family doesn’t want a working woman as a wife. And even if I worked, which husband would agree to let me give my earnings to my parents? I cannot think of marriage for another three or four years, at least,” said Aruna.
Mrs. Ali said, “Aruna, sometimes in life you have to be selfish.Your family will manage somehow. Ramanujam is not going to wait three or four years to get married. His parents won’t allow that. Think about yourself, too. It is well known that it is more difficult for girls to get married as they get older. In a few years’ time, your sister will get married and go away.Your parents are old—who knows how long they will be around?You will become lonely and embittered.Your sister will start resenting you because human beings cannot remain grateful for long, you know. I have seen cases like this—and it always happens to the best girls, just like you. Ironically, girls who don’t think so much about their family and are a little bit self-centered are not only happier themselves, but also maintain good relationships with their families.”
Aruna said, “I know you are wiser than me, madam. But I’m not sure if I can do anything different. Also, he is a rich man and we are quite poor. As a son-in-law, he will come sometimes to my parents’ house and expect to be treated properly. How can my parents afford that? And if he insulted my parents because of our small house or our poverty, then I couldn’t bear it.”
Mrs. Ali said, “If he was so boorish as to do that, then he is not the man for you. But Ramanujam doesn’t look like a man who will act that way. Don’t forget that you are both from this town. It’s not as if he will ever need to stay overnight at your parents’ place. He will come for short visits, and I’m sure he will give your family the courtesy they deserve.”
Aruna said, “How do we know, madam? He has always been rich, so how does he know how to handle poor people? Anyway, this is all moot. I insulted him by refusing his hand in marriage and I doubt if he will look at me again. His sister called just now and asked to advertise once again for more matches. Men are proud, madam, and they cannot take a rejection sanguinely.”
A few minutes later, Aruna got up from the settee and said, “Please don’t tell sir about this. It is very embarrassing.”
Mrs. Ali nodded and said, “You’ve done nothing wrong to be ashamed about, my dear. But if that’s what you want, I’ll keep it to myself.”
Aruna smiled softly and said, “Thank you, madam.”
That afternoon, after lunch, she went to her father and agreed to take a week’s leave and accompany him to his brother’s place in the temple town of Annavaram.
 
 
Aruna’s absence was a shock to Mr. Ali’s system. He realized just how much help it was to have an efficient assistant. He had to curtail his walks and, quite often, his afternoon naps. Luckily, it was so hot that few clients came until after five in the evening. But all it takes to break a siesta is one client, he thought sourly.
On Wednesday, all the clients had gone and he was just about to close up when in walked an old client—Sridevi, the florist divorcée.
“Namaste,” she said, folding her hands.
Mr. Ali returned her greeting and said, “Did you get the details of Venu, the computer service engineer that we sent? Are you looking for more matches?”
“No.” Sridevi laughed. “I am getting married again, and I was in the area, so I’ve dropped in to say thanks.”
“Really . . . that’s great news. So, did you manage to get in touch with Venu?” asked Mr. Ali.
“No. I am not marrying him or anybody you gave me the details of, but I would still like to thank you,” she said.
“How come?” asked Mr. Ali, puzzled. “Please take a seat,” he added, realizing that she was still standing.
She took a seat and said, “It’s probably easier if I tell you the whole story.”
Mr. Ali nodded and put his pen down, giving her his full attention.
“As you know, after I got divorced, my family boycotted me. They wouldn’t speak to me or invite me to any family functions. It was as if I had never existed. That was hard to bear. Anyway, I kept busy with my business and that was some compensation. I finally decided to make a clean break and get married again. That’s when I contacted you. Do you remember I said that my younger uncle was coming for dinner when you called about Venu?”
“Yes, I remember,” said Mr. Ali.
“He is my father’s youngest brother. He stayed with us while he was at University and I was a child. I’m his favorite niece. He had gone to Oman just before I got married, and he was really upset that he could not attend my wedding. Anyway, he’s done well in the Gulf and has come back a very rich man. He brought lots of gifts for everyone, including me, and found out that the family had cut me off. He contacted me straightaway and came around to dinner.”
Mr. Ali nodded.
“At dinner, I couldn’t stop talking and finally started crying. He consoled me and left. I thought that was the end of it, but then, two days later, he came to my shop at the hotel and said he felt like eating Chinese food. I was surprised because it was three in the afternoon. He took me to the restaurant in the hotel itself. The restaurant was completely empty except for one man in a corner table. It was my ex-husband. I wanted to leave, but my uncle stopped me. As you can imagine, the atmosphere between my ex-husband and me was very stiff in the beginning, but slowly we relaxed. We had always gotten along together except for a few specific issues. My uncle got a phone call on his mobile phone after a while and he ducked out, leaving us alone.We started talking and I found out that he had not remarried, which surprised me because I would have expected his parents to get him married off to some poor girl as soon we were divorced. My ex-husband even knew that I owned the florist’s in the hotel. After some time, my uncle came back. He saw how we were getting along and told us that he had booked and paid for a dinner for two at another restaurant that weekend, but his friend had dropped out. He wanted us to go in their place. I suspected a rat and said that he could not possibly expect me to go out with a man who was not my husband,” said Sridevi, stopping and looking up at him.
Mr. Ali nodded and waved his hand, asking her to go on.
Sridevi continued, “My uncle laughed and said that Hinduism does not recognize divorce. So, even though the law might say that we were not husband and wife, in front of God we were still married. My ex tried to interrupt him, but my uncle had just got started. We are not Muslims, my uncle said, whose religion allows them to divorce, nor even Christians who vow till death do us part.You are Hindus and you were married with the sacred fire as witness.You went around the fire seven times as part of the wedding ceremony, and you are bound even beyond death—seven lifetimes together, in fact.”
Mr. Ali nodded in understanding. “What happened then?” he asked.
Sridevi continued, “We went out a few times and found that we actually got along quite well, and I warmed up to the idea of getting back together with him again. However, my ex wasn’t showing any signs of wanting to move forward until I mentioned to him and my uncle that I was considering the match you sent me. Once I said that, my ex was suddenly a man in a hurry. Apparently, he did not like the idea of me marrying anybody else! Suddenly, he was the one pushing for marriage and I was the one holding back. Anyway, because I was now in a position of strength, I negotiated what I wanted—we would move out of his parents’ house and set up on our own. I will continue to run my business, and any money that I earn will be mine to keep and spend as I want. I told him I planned to hire a full-time maid with the money I was earning, so there would be no more complaints about the cooking or the housekeeping. So, all’s well that ends well, and I’m getting married in a fortnight at the register office.”
“That’s fantastic news,” said Mr. Ali. “Best news I’ve heard all week.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said.
Mr. Ali said, “I’m now talking as somebody elder to you, so don’t take this amiss. Marriage is all about compromise. I always say that most people become my clients because they are not flexible enough. They want everything—a tall son-in-law in a good job who is the only son of a wealthy family, when their daughter is rather plain and they are not willing to pay a large dowry. Or they want a beautiful, well-educated daughter-in-law in an executive position when their own son is a tenth-class failed loafer.To find a partner, you need to compromise. But the need for compromise doesn’t end there. Married life is the greatest pleasure—if you compromise; otherwise, it is hell on earth. You are a very lucky woman. Due to the grace of God and your uncle’s efforts, you are being given a second chance. Don’t throw it away. Certainly, the money you earn is yours—but don’t flaunt it. Give your husband a share of your earnings every month so he can use it to run the household. Don’t make him ask for the money. Ask his advice on how to invest your money. He has agreed to separate from his parents. Go with him to visit his parents regularly—once a week or fortnight. Keep them on your side—ignore any snide remarks they make, give them little gifts now and then. Sure, you will hire a full-time maid, but give the maid an occasional day off and cook dinner for your husband. I am not saying that you should be the only one to compromise, but you are the only person you have control over.”
Sridevi nodded, and said, “Thanks for your advice, uncle. I’ll definitely keep it in mind.You are right. I am a lucky woman who has been given a second chance.”
As he was showing Sridevi out, Ramanujam’s sister came in.
“Hello, please sit down,” he said. “Aruna told me that you called.”
She sat down on the sofa and said, “We are not getting any more matches. I think we should advertise again.”
Mr. Ali nodded, and said, “That’s probably not a bad idea. I’ve already prepared an ad. Let’s concentrate on English newspapers this time. It will cost more, however. Our fees don’t cover the cost of a second advertisement in the English papers. It will probably cost another two or three hundred rupees.”
“That’s no problem,” Ramanujam’s sister said, and took out three hundred rupees from her purse.
“Let me see if we’ve received any Brahmin matches recently,” said Mr. Ali. He went through the new joiners list and came across one almost at the end.
“This came in about ten days ago. I don’t think we’ve sent it to you,” he said. “The girl’s name is Sita—ideal for somebody called Ram!”
Ramanujam’s sister smiled, and Mr. Ali continued, “She is twenty four-years old and five feet, seven inches tall.”
She looked up at him and said, “Perfect height.”
Mr. Ali nodded and said, “Home science graduate, doesn’t want to work after marriage, fair. They own several houses in town and are willing to give a large dowry. They haven’t said how much, but they’ve told me that for the ideal match, money is not going to be a problem. She has a brother who is a doctor in America.”
Ramanujam’s sister said, “The match sounds very good. Do you have a photograph?”
He looked at the form again and said, “Yes, we do have a photograph.”
He took out the photo from the wardrobe and gave it to her. She looked at the picture intently and said, “She looks beautiful—so fair and slim.”
Mr. Ali copied the details out onto a piece of paper and gave it to her. She folded the paper and put it in her handbag. “Can I take the photograph as well?” she asked.
Mr. Ali hesitated. “Normally, we don’t allow photos of girls to be taken away.”
She replied, “I understand, but I promise to send it back.The match is so good that I don’t want to waste any time.”
Mr. Ali nodded and said, “All right, but please take care of the photo and make sure we have it back in a couple of days.”
She nodded and stood up, ready to go. Mr. Ali got up as well and saw her to the door.
She asked, “Where is your assistant? Is it her day off?”
“No, she was not feeling well, so she’s taken a week off,” said Mr. Ali, and closed the gate behind her.
 
 
The next day, Mrs. Ali was making dosas, black-gram crepes, for breakfast while Mr. Ali was shaving. As usual, he had the radio on high volume and was listening to the news.
The newscaster said, “At an early-morning briefing today, the state government has announced that land acquisition will stop at Royyapalem. The chief minister said that his government was not against farmers and that they would consult more widely on the locations for Special Economic Zones. The government will also take another look at the compensation packages that are being offered and see if at least one member of each displaced family could be guaranteed a job in the Economic Zone. The announcement follows days of widening protests across the state that have shaken the government and brought its very survival into question.”
Mrs. Ali screamed in joy and Mr. Ali jerked his head up and said, “Oww!”
He had nicked himself with the razor. Blood flowed from his chin and Mr. Ali dabbed at his wound with a towel. He washed the shaving cream off his face and came out. His chin stung.
“Did you hear that? Isn’t it great news?” asked Mrs. Ali, and peered at him more closely. “Why is there blood on your chin?”
“Because you screamed,” said Mr. Ali.
“The news is worth screaming about. I cannot help it if you cannot shave without cutting yourself even after practicing every day for the last fifty years,” said Mrs. Ali.
“It is good news,” said Mr. Ali. “But my views haven’t changed. If he didn’t come home when we asked him to, then he need not come here ever again.”
Mrs. Ali’s smile faltered. “Leave it be,” she said. “It’s not important now. Let the past go.”
“I can’t let it go,” said Mr. Ali. “I didn’t tell you this before, but I called him again after we came back to town. I told him that you were depressed and that you were not getting out of bed. He still refused to budge. I have no time for a son who does not care for his parents.”
Mrs. Ali started to say something. Mr. Ali raised his hands. “I don’t want to hear any more. My decision is final. Don’t argue.”
Mrs. Ali was not happy, but she knew her husband well. Once he made up his mind, it was difficult to change him. She sighed and went back to her cooking.