The Guru of Love (25 page)

“It seems you don't want to go with me alone.”

“It's not that. We have to consider everything. We'll definitely do something.”

It took him a while to appease her, which he did by touching her, first her face, then her bosom, then her belly, until she started to squirm and clasped him tightly.

 

During dinner on the evening before the math exam, a boy who was a neighbor rapped on the door and said someone wanted to see Malati. The man wouldn't give his name, the boy said, sounding breathless, itching to get back to whatever game he'd been playing. “He's waiting in the tea shop,” the boy said and ran away. “Let me go with you,” Ramchandra said. Someone sent by Malekha Didi, he thought, and the same thought seemed to register on the other faces in the room. But Malati stopped him. “No need to disturb your dinner. I'll go by myself. Must be someone who didn't realize I'd moved here.”

She washed her hands and face and disappeared.

Malati didn't return even after they finished eating, even after they congregated in the children's room and, on Rakesh's insistence, played a game of carom. At one point, Ramchandra went to the bedroom window that afforded a partial view of the tea shop. If she was in the shop, she must have been farther inside, because he couldn't spot her. Darkness had fallen. Why was she taking so long?

“Why don't you go downstairs and check?” Goma suggested. But Rakesh, who was his partner in the game, wouldn't let him. “We haven't played in so long, and now you want to spoil it,” he cried. So Ramchandra stayed. When one round was over, he got up and said, “I'd better see what's going on,” and went downstairs. In the dark, Malati bumped into him under the arch that opened to the street. “You took so long. I was worried,” he said.

“Nothing to worry about,” she said.

“Who was he?”

“A relative. He wanted to know what I was doing.” Her voice was heavy, as if she'd been crying.

“What's wrong?”

She walked toward the door. “Old memories.”

Upstairs, she gave the same story to Goma, who exchanged a look with Ramchandra. Goma heated her food, and they sat with her while she tried to eat. But she played with the food and said she'd lost her appetite. “I'll eat it tomorrow, bhauju,” she said. Her eyelids were slightly puffy. “I don't want this food to go to waste.”

In the bedroom, Ramchandra wanted to review some material for the next day's exam, but Malati said she was exhausted, that she couldn't concentrate, and that she already knew enough to pass the exam.

“But there are some areas—”

“Please, sir,” she said, then cradled Rachana and went to bed.

He woke in the middle of the night to feel her shifting beside him. He said, “What's happening with you? Are you scared about the exam?”

“Yes.”

“You'll do fine,” he said.

But her apprehension had aroused his anxiety. He imagined her in the exam room, holding her pen, paralyzed, unable to write the proper answers. The picture played over and over in his mind until he shut his eyes tightly and willed his pleasant scenes into view.

In the morning, Goma performed another puja in front of Ganesh, and although Ramchandra offered to accompany Malati to the exam center for moral support, she declined the offer. “It's probably better for me to go alone,” she said, “so that I can clear my head.”

“At least let me walk you to the bus stop,” he said.

She seemed reluctant even about this, but he insisted.

She walked quickly, although there was plenty of time for her to get there. Ramchandra reminded her of this, and she slowed down. He noticed that she kept looking back, as if she thought someone was following her. He teased her about her nervousness, saying she was anxious but was too embarrassed to show it, and she smiled at him sheepishly. At the bus stop, he squeezed her hand before she boarded.

He walked home slowly, enjoying the crisp morning air, the way it cleared his nostrils. On New Road, he listened to the crowd gathered under the peepul tree. The government had arrested the top leaders of certain political parties: one communist, one Congressi, and a well-known chairwoman of United Left Front. In Janakpur, a southern city bordering India, a pro-government rally was disrupted by young men waving black flags and chanting for the death of the Panchayat system. Ramchandra lingered by the crowd, listening to the opinions and analyses. This is real, he thought, and a tremor of anticipation ran through him. A police van went by slowly, the cops scanning the crowd. The voices died down, and the people dispersed.

As Ramchandra was waiting at the curb to cross the street, a car stopped beside him, and he recognized Harish. Ramchandra did a namaste, and Harish rolled down the window and offered him a ride. Ramchandra declined. “You're probably late for an appointment,” he said. “Besides, Jaisideval is only a stone's throw away.” But Harish got out of the car. He was wearing a suit and a tie, and Ramchandra couldn't help comparing his outfit with his own frayed shirt, trousers with stains near the pockets, and discolored shoes. The two men stood there awkwardly.

“I hope things are fine at home?” Harish finally said.

Ramchandra said they were.

“How is Goma Didi?”

“She's fine. The children are fine.” This entire universe is fine, he wanted to say.

“And your...” Harish's pale face turned crimson. “And your guest?”

Ramchandra couldn't help laughing. “She's fine too. In fact, I just saw her off at the bus stop. Today is her big math exam.” And he found himself becoming garrulous. He explained to Harish how she'd first come to him, and how he'd devised all the strategies that he hoped would help her. After he finished, he was embarrassed, but he also felt good, as if he'd needed to tell someone how Malati had become part of his life. Harish, having listened attentively, said, “Remarkable. I'm sure she'll be fine.” Then he added, “As long as Goma Didi is fine.”

“Your Goma Didi is fine with this,” Ramchandra said. “Maybe too fine.”

Harish looked at him quizzically, but Ramchandra didn't elaborate. Right then a policeman came by and said Harish was illegally parked and proceeded to write him a ticket. “We were about to leave,” Harish said, and handed the man a twenty-rupee note, which he pocketed and left.

“I can go by myself, Harish babu,” Ramchandra said. “Give my regards to Nalini.”

“Let me know how I can help,'' Harish said.

 

“I think I'll pass,” Malati said. “I think I did well.”

Ramchandra looked at the question sheet. She'd done some calculations on it, and they were wrong. “Let's go over this and see what you wrote down,” he suggested.

“Do I have to? I've been through this so many times.” A hint of irritation appeared on her face.

“Did you discuss your answers with others?”

“Let it go,” Goma said to Ramchandra. “She must be tired. It's been a long haul for her.”

That night in bed she seemed preoccupied. She'd smile for no reason, then suddenly frown. A few times she looked at Rachana and stroked her lovingly. He asked her what she was thinking.

“I'll be so happy once the results are in. Then I can really start thinking about getting a job and going to college at night.”

“What kind of job are you thinking about?”

“I don't know. A secretary, maybe. I can take a typing course.”

“And what will you study in college?” He found it remarkable that he'd never asked her that before.

“What do you think I should study? Math?” She laughed softly.

“You could,” he said, “although that'll take a lot of effort.”

“I'm thinking about economics or maybe even commerce.”

“Both of those involve math.”

She laughed. “There's no way out for me.”

Later, when he tried to touch her face, she turned away, saying she was tired. She'd never done this; usually she needed only a touch to respond to him. “What's on your mind?” he asked.

“Nothing. I am tired. Can't a person be tired sometimes?”

 

When he woke the next morning, she was getting dressed. “I'm going out for a short while,” she said.

“Where?”

She was putting on a bright sari. “A friend has invited me for tea this morning.”

“What about Rachana?”

“I'm taking her with me.” Rachana was chewing the end of a pencil. Malati had dressed her in a colorful frock, put kohl around her eyes, and even pasted a red dot on her forehead. She looked adorable.

“Which friend?” He didn't like the strident tone of his voice, but she was holding something back.

“You don't know her. I met her at the exams.”

She talked to Goma in the kitchen before leaving, and later Goma said to him, “What's the matter? Why is your face like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like”—she searched her mind—“like a goat whose head is about to be chopped off.”

Ramchandra laughed. “It's nothing like that.”

“She's been acting strange the past few days,” Goma said.

“Something's on her mind. Do you know what?”

“Why would she tell me?” Goma said. “You'd be the first to know.”

“She talks to you more than she talks to me.” As he said this, he understood that he'd felt it many times.

“I'm sure you know things about her I'll never know,” Goma said, and when he looked at her, he saw a hint of something. Sadness? Loss? But she'd already turned her face away.

“Well, what shall we do today?” he asked. It was Saturday. “Let's do something.”

“Let's see what the children want to do.”

The children wanted to go on a trip. Rakesh suggested Balaju, with its garden and gushing stone spouts. Sanu wanted to go to Swayambhu and admire Buddha's eyes on the stupa that cast a kindly gaze over the city. After much wrangling, Rakesh won, and they settled on Balaju. They decided to go after the morning meal, after Malati returned.

But she didn't return. They ate and waited. Rakesh was getting impatient, so they decided to leave without her.

“Should we take a taxi?” Ramchandra asked.

“What for? It's only a few kilometers.”

They made their way through the crowded streets. They climbed the small hill of Chhauni and walked past the museum, while the sun, hot for February, bore down on them. Rakesh complained, Sanu lagged behind, and Ramchandra wondered where Malati was.

By the time they passed the Swayambhunath Temple, they were tired. “Let's just go to Swayambhu today,” Ramchandra suggested. “We can go to Balaju some other time.” But Rakesh started arguing, so they pressed on. They walked the Ring Road that circled the city. Runners passed them, in their jogging outfits, woolen caps on their heads. “Why couldn't we have at least taken the bus?” Sanu complained, and Ramchandra lay the blame on Goma, who finally agreed that perhaps walking wasn't such a great idea.

Outside the gate of the Balaju gardens, they went to a restaurant and relaxed, sipping hot tea. “The money for tea could easily have covered a taxi,” Sanu complained to her mother.

“Okay, okay, shut up now,” Goma said. “Walking is good for your health.”

They entered the gardens and headed toward the water spouts. Men in underwear soaped themselves under the streams flowing from the spouts. Women washed clothes and banged them rhythmically against the stones. They sat on a grassy area nearby and watched. Rakesh said he too wanted to take a bath, but Goma told him that he'd catch a cold in such icy water.

Ramchandra had to urinate; excusing himself, he wandered around, hoping to find a bush behind which he could perform the job. He hated doing this here, but the lack of public bathrooms in the city was a serious problem. In Balaju, the only urinals were inside the swimming pool complex, and he'd have to pay an entrance fee to get in.

About two hundred yards away, he found a bush that would hide him. He looked around and opened his zipper. As he was urinating, he heard laughter that made him suck in his breath. Then a voice drifted toward him and rang in his ears. Malati's. He peered around the bush and saw, a few yards away, a couple sitting on a mat spread on the grass under a patch of sunlight beneath the trees. Malati's back was to him, but he recognized the bright sari. Rachana was playing on the grass nearby. The man sitting in front of Malati was young, Ramchandra could tell, even though he couldn't see his face clearly. He had a mustache, and he was saying something that made Malati laugh. The man glanced up, saw Ramchandra, and stopped talking. Malati turned around, but Ramchandra hid behind the bush again. He zipped up his trousers and hastened back to Goma and the children.

They spent the day at the gardens, walking around, eating some bhujiyas Goma bought, and Ramchandra kept trying to doubt what he'd seen. By the time they were ready to go home, he had come to the conclusion that he'd been mistaken, that his anxiety about Malati that morning had blurred his vision.

The family caught a bus, which dropped them off at Shahid Gate, and they walked home.

Malati came to the landing as they climbed the stairs. “Where did you go? I've been waiting all day for you.”

“When did you get back?” Ramchandra asked.

“Around eleven. You must have left just before that.”

Goma told her about the trip to Balaju.

“You went to Balaju?” Her face turned crimson.

Ramchandra couldn't help saying, “Why? Were you there too?”

“No, no,” she said. “I told you. I was back here at eleven.”

Goma and Malati went to the kitchen to cook dinner, and Ramchandra sat down with the children to play carom.

Throughout dinner, he searched Malati's face for hints of guilt. But why did he expect her to feel guilty? After all, what relationship really bound them together?