The Guru of Love (26 page)

Later, after she changed into her sleepwear and slipped into the bed, he felt a strange dislike for her. Why had she lied to him? Why couldn't she come right out and tell him—and Goma—where she'd been and whom she'd been with? And this resentment prompted him to say what he'd held back until now. “You really didn't go to your friend's place, did you?”

“What makes you say that? Why would I lie to you?”

“Somehow I know. But I don't understand why you haven't been honest.”

“The exams are on my mind; that's all.” Her science exam was the next morning.

“If you're worried about your exams, why haven't you been home studying?”

She was about to turn off the lights but stopped. “What's happened to you? Why are you speaking to me in that voice?”

“I don't understand why you're not focusing on your exams. Why the need to go all over the city?”

“I wasn't all over the city. I was at a friend's house, drinking tea, discussing the exams.”

“Yes, yes.”

“Where do you think I was?”

“Do I have to tell you?”

So far their voices had been quiet, murmurs, but now hers took on a hard edge. “Can't I have a moment of peace in this house? Do I have to be watched all the time? By everyone?''

The strident tone surprised him; then it angered him. “You ungrateful woman,” he said. “Even our Sanu has better sense than you do.”

“Of course your daughter has better sense. She's blood, after all. What relation am I to you?”

“None,” he said. “I was foolish enough to think there was something between us. There's nothing anymore.”

His words seemed to cut her; she got up from the bed and knelt on the floor and said, loudly, “God, what have I done?”

“Stop that, Malati. You'll wake everybody up.”

But she remained where she was, her back to him. In the next room, the bed creaked, and Ramchandra knew that Goma must have heard their raised voices.

“Come back here,” he said, gently now, and this time she obliged.

“I was with him,” she said.

“Who?” By now he knew what the answer would be, and he dreaded it.

“Rachana's father.”

“After all this time?”

“He's left his wife.”

“And earlier, he left you.”

“He says he thinks about our daughter all the time.”

“Do you believe him?”

She nodded. “That's why I agreed to see him again.”

He wanted to tell her that she was foolish to believe him, but he remembered how young she was.

She said he'd found out about her from Bhakta, the taxi driver who had taken them to Dakshinkali, and he claimed his heart was cut to pieces when he heard that his daughter and the mother of his daughter had been kicked out of the house and were living with strangers. That's why he wanted to see her, wanted to see his baby, who, he said, looked just like her.

“And what has he been doing all this time? Where has he been?”

He had a small trading business in Birgunj, she said, but right now the business was slow, and he'd come back to Kathmandu and was driving a taxi. He was sorry for what he'd done to Malati, and he wanted to make it up to her.

“What's his name?”

“Amrit,” she said. “I'm not going to see him anymore, but today I felt sorry for him. He wanted so badly to hold Rachana.”

“Where does he live?”

“He has a room near Ranjana Cinema Hall.”

Ramchandra lay on the bed, his hands folded across his chest, breathing slowly.

“I shouldn't have fought with you,” she said, and placed her hand on his belly.

When he didn't respond, she moved her hand farther down, and at first he ignored her, his mind on her laughter in Balaju. But her hand was persistent, and he became aroused.

In the midst of their lovemaking, he whispered, “Will you promise not to see him again?”

She promised.

 

“What was all that about?” Goma asked Ramchandra the next morning when they were alone.

He considered telling her about the taxi driver, but decided there was no need for her to know. “We had a small argument.”

“About what? Were you scolding her again for not studying?”

“No, I told her to let us know of her whereabouts so that we wouldn't worry.”

“You mean about yesterday? God, she was with her friends. Why do you have to be so strict? She's not your daughter.”

“I'm not strict with my daughter.”

Goma said her parents had invited them to dinner that evening.

“So, they've come around?”

“I don't know. I think Mother misses me and the children.”

“She doesn't miss me,” he said with a chuckle.

“So do you want to go?”

“What about Malati?”

“Malati and Rachana will go with us.”

“It'll be uncomfortable.”

“That's their problem. I'm not uncomfortable with it,” she said challengingly. “Are you?”

“I don't know, Goma. I don't know you anymore.”

“I don't know myself anymore.”

He didn't know how to handle her sadness, so he said, “We can ask Malati what she wants to do.”

Malati said she didn't want to go, that she couldn't face the Pandeys' hatred, but Goma insisted. She pointed out that Malati was very much a part of the family now, and that her parents would accept her. Malati looked at Ramchandra, but he had no advice for her. Finally, she said, “I'll think about it after my exam today. I have too much on my mind right now.”

In the evening, she appeared subdued, and when Goma brought up the subject, she acquiesced, seemingly too tired to protest. When they were in the bedroom getting dressed for the dinner, he asked whether she thought she'd done badly on the exam that day. She didn't respond, and he asked again. In a quiet voice she said that Amrit had appeared at the exam center, saying he wanted to see her and his daughter.

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him I couldn't. That he was the one who'd ended it, and that was that.”

She didn't seem to trust her own voice.

 

Outside Pandey Palace, Malati was awestruck by its grandeur. “They must be very rich.” Then she became frightened. “What will I say to them? I have nothing to say.”

“You don't have to say anything. Just enjoy the food.” Goma was holding Rachana, who clung to her as if she were her mother.

They walked in through the gate, but no one came to receive them on the porch. In fact, the place was so quiet that it seemed to be abandoned. No sound came from the servants' quarters. A heavy smell of incense in the house made Ramchandra uncomfortable. Goma pushed open the door and went inside, and it was she who found Mrs. Pandey seated on a step at the top of the staircase. “Where is everybody? Why are you here like this?”

“Everyone is gone,” Mrs. Pandey said.

“Where?”

“They're all gone, Goma.”

Ramchandra and Goma exchanged glances. Later, Ramchandra recognized that this kind of understanding came from their years of living together, knowing what each other thought without having to say it. The same dread had entered their minds simultaneously. Something had happened to Goma's father.

“Father?” Goma asked.

“He's gone. He's inside.”

Goma sat down beside her mother. She let out a sob. “He's gone?”

“Gone.”

“When did this happen?”

“A few minutes ago. He lay down to sleep, and then he went.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Nothing. He just went.”

“Did you give him water?”

Wide-eyed, Mrs. Pandey looked at Goma. “Water? What for? I burned incense.”

“Are you sure he's gone? Maybe he's sleeping.” Goma looked at Ramchandra. “Will you check?”

Ramchandra hesitated. But Goma looked at him pleadingly, so he went into the Pandeys' bedroom. The old man lay on the bed, his face peaceful. Ramchandra put his fingers below the old man's nostrils and didn't feel anything. Then he put his ear to his chest, and there was no movement. The window was open, and a gust of wind blew in, ballooning the curtains. Ramchandra closed the window and looked outside. The sky was covered with gray clouds. The old man would no longer cast critical glances at him. But Ramchandra didn't feel relieved, as he'd thought he might. In the past, in moments of extreme misery, he had imagined Goma's parents dead and his feeling of satisfaction. But where was that feeling now? Ramchandra went to the landing and said, “He's gone.”

Goma began to cry, and then they all were crying, even Malati.

“We should move him downstairs,” Ramchandra said. “Where are the servants?”

Mrs. Pandey said the servants had gone to the market earlier to buy food for dinner.

“Then I'll carry him downstairs. Rakesh, you'll help me.”

Rakesh clung to his mother, afraid. “How can he help? He's a child,” Goma said. Ramchandra went back into the room and, with some difficulty, placed the old man's arm around his shoulders. Any moment he'll wake up and pat me on the shoulder, Ramchandra thought, and wanted to laugh at his own stupidity. Mr. Pandey's hand was cold. The dead man's feet dragged as Ramchandra pulled him to the landing. Goma rushed downstairs to place a mat on the floor for the body.

Once they'd placed him on the mat, the women began to cry again.

Then Mrs. Pandey noticed Malati. “What is she doing here?”

Malati backed away toward the wall.

“What's that woman, this whore, doing here?” Mrs. Pandey said to Goma.

“Mother, this is not the right time,” Goma said.

“Of course this is the right time,” Mrs. Pandey said. “My beloved husband is dead, and that filthy woman's in my house. I don't want to see her.”

Goma looked at Ramchandra, who signaled to Malati to follow him outside.

“I think just for today, it's better if you leave,” he whispered to her on the porch.

“I knew I shouldn't have come,” Malati said. She set Rachana on the floor, sat down, and covered her eyes. “I can't take it anymore. I've been reduced to a whore by everyone, and I've done nothing.”

“She's like that always,” Ramchandra said, trying to calm her. “Pay her no attention.”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“You mustn't think about yourself,” he said. “We don't want to upset Mrs. Pandey more.” He sat with Malati, mollifying her by saying that the old woman was in shock and was uttering nonsense. He gave her some money for a three-wheeler, patted Rachana's head, stood up, and turned to go back inside. Malati threw the money on the porch and walked away, and didn't look back when he called.

Goma was holding her mother, who had begun to wail, rocking back and forth beside her husband's body.

M
R. PANDEY'S BODY
was cremated on the banks of the Bagmati River. As he had no sons, his closest nephew, a man Goma and Nalini barely knew, performed the rites. He lit the fire that quickly engulfed Mr. Pandey's body on the funeral pyre, made of fresh wood. Ramchandra watched the smoke drift up to the cloudy Kathmandu sky, and tried to formulate some wisdom about the nature of death, but the words became entangled with the memories of how Mr. Pandey had treated him. He looked at the windblown face of his wife, and he tried to gauge her feelings. He'd never heard Goma speak fondly of her father, although there was no question that she respected him, perhaps was even in awe of him. Did she love her father? Was it a dutiful love rather than a genuine one? But—and here Ramchandra's heart sank—did Sanu feel the same way about him? His daughter, standing near him, appeared to have grown into a woman in the past few weeks, a wise young woman with a sad understanding of how the world worked. Sanu caught his eyes and smiled faintly, and Ramchandra's doubts vanished, just as Mr. Pandey's body was turning into ashes at the bottom of the pyre.

Goma and Nalini had insisted on attending the funeral, even though women traditionally were not allowed to. “He had no sons, so we are his sons,” Goma said when Mrs. Pandey objected. “And who has the right to tell us that we can't see our father off?” In the end, Mrs. Pandey herself came to the banks of the Bagmati, drawing criticism from the relatives, who said that such behavior would displease the gods, that perhaps the old man's spirit would find no peace. Mrs. Pandey merely pointed to her daughters and said, “I tried to convince them, but this is what they want.”

Ramchandra had had to shave his head, as had the other male members of the family. At first he'd resented this intrusion on his body from a man who had not shown him one iota of respect while he lived, but within hours he got used to it and took pleasure in running his fingers over his smooth scalp. His ears caught the wind easily now, and sometimes they tickled for no reason. Mrs. Pandey had said that he had to wear white clothes, but Goma intervened and said it was not necessary for a son-in-law to be dressed completely in white; only one article of clothing had to be white. So Ramchandra wore a white cap.

The mourning period lasted for several days. The children returned to Pandey Palace with Goma. Malati was on the last leg of her exams. She seemed to have lost all interest in studying; she didn't even look at the books anymore. Often she'd be in the kitchen, cooking and singing. She had a sweet voice, Ramchandra discovered when he first heard her. He stood in the doorway, holding Rachana, listening. “Where are all these songs coming from?” he asked. Since he now went to Pandey Palace right after he'd finished teaching, and returned to the apartment only late at night, he felt that he'd lost touch with Malati. He felt awkward with her. She hadn't mentioned Amrit again, but he suspected that when he was at Pandey Palace in the evenings, she went to see him. The day Mr. Pandey died, he'd been at Pandey Palace all day, making the funeral arrangements, notifying relatives, and in the evening he'd called the shopkeeper with the telephone and asked him to fetch Malati. But the man came back shortly to say that no one had answered the knock on the door. When Ramchandra later asked her where she'd been that evening, she'd replied testily, “What does it matter where I was? I was kicked out of someone's house, wasn't I? It's my fate to be kicked out of everyone's house. Who knows when I'll get kicked out of this one.” Her face changed when she said such things, when anger made her words acidic.