The Guru of Love (30 page)

 

He kept hoping he'd run into Malati in the street, but when he didn't, he wondered whether something bad had indeed happened to Rachana. Sometimes on a rainy day he'd stand by the main door of Pandey Palace, looking at the garden, hoping that the next time the phone rang, it would be Malati. He once ran into Ashok in Ratna Park, and the boy asked him about Malati. Ramchandra had nothing to say. Ashok was waiting impatiently for the exam results, and when Ramchandra told him the results might not be issued for months, maybe even a year, given the political mess, Ashok said, “I don't know what my father will do to me if I fail.” Gone were Ashok's mocking smile and small witticisms. He even had a couple of white strands in his hair. The only thing Ramchandra could do was pat him on the back and assure him that he'd pass.

The next afternoon Ramchandra went to Goma, who sat in the living room, darning one of Rakesh's sweaters. Mrs. Pandey was sitting on a sofa nearby, her head resting at an awkward angle against the back, her mouth open. Her health had deteriorated, but her paranoia had diminished. Now, unless she was moved, she sat in one place, mumbling. Her face showed signs of human expression only with Goma; with others, she remained silent, or looked at them quizzically, as if trying to figure out who they were. How quickly things change, Ramchandra thought.

He started to speak to Goma, then changed his mind. Then changed his mind again. He told her that he'd lied to her about that day when he'd gone to New Road to find Malati.

“Why did you lie?”

He couldn't answer, and she didn't press further. She resumed her darning, and after a while said, “So, did you see her?”

He told her that he'd seen Rachana get injured in the stampede.

Goma's hands became still. “How is she now?”

He said he didn't know, that he'd not gone back to find Amrit's house, that he was worried.

“I hope nothing has happened to the child. How could you not tell me?”

“I didn't want you to worry.”

“I want to know what's happened to that little girl,” Goma said.

“Why don't you go, then?”

“But I can't leave Mother,” Goma said. “Any moment something could...” She stroked her mother's cheek. “Why don't you go? You were planning to go anyway.” Mrs. Pandey tilted her head toward her daughter.

As Ramchandra got up to leave, Goma said, “If Rachana is fine, ask Malati to come for a visit. I want to see the two of them.”

She told him to take the car, but he said he'd rather walk. He still didn't feel comfortable in the Pandeys' Honda. The driver was a bit of a snob, and Ramchandra smelled Mr. Pandey inside the Honda.

On the way, he was again beset by anxiety. What would he say to her? Goma wanted to know how her daughter was doing; that's how he'd start the conversation. Then he remembered that he didn't know the exact location of Amrit's house; there were so many houses lining the alley in front of the cinema hall.

Near Tangal, Ramchandra, on impulse, took the lane that led toward Sunrise Boarding School.

At first he didn't recognize Malekha Didi's house. The yard was a mess, filled with garbage and old, cracked furniture. The chicken shed had been demolished and was lying in a heap. On the front porch, two stray dogs were keeping guard over a bone, and Ramchandra had to shoo them away to knock on the door. There was no sound, and he was about to leave. Then he heard Malekha Didi's tired voice ask who was there.

When Ramchandra identified himself, she opened the door. “What do you want, professor?”

She wore a dirty dhoti, and her hair was in filthy clumps. Even from behind the screen, he smelled rotting food. “Do you know where Malati lives?”

“That whore?” Malekha Didi said. “She left me in this state.”

Ramchandra was about to remind her that she'd thrown Malati out. Instead, he asked what happened, waving his hand to encompass the yard, the chicken shed.

Malekha Didi opened the screen door and stepped out. “Everything's gone. Some motherfucker fed poison to my chickens one night, and the next morning they were all dead.”

“Who was it?”

“Who knows? Many didn't like my prosperity. And there are lunatics in this city who only need an excuse to loot.”

“Where is Malati?”

“She's living in front of Ranjana Cinema Hall with that taxi driver.” She described the house.

When he asked whether she was going to get the chicken business going again, she asked whether he would extract some money from his ass to give to her.

He said goodbye to her and walked away as she shouted, “So she left you, a professor, for a taxi driver, eh?” Her vulgar laugh rang inside his head.

Once he reached New Road, however, instead of trying to find Malati's house right away, Ramchandra walked into Ranjana Cinema Hall. He stood in the middle of the compound and turned around casually to face the row of houses across the alley. Malekha Didi had said that Malati's building housed a tailor shop on the first floor. But he didn't see such a sign. He did remember that one of the shops at the bottom was a famous samosa restaurant he'd frequented when he was young. Ramchandra saw the sign:
HERO RESTAURANT.
Yes, that was the name.

He walked out of the cinema hall and into the restaurant, where he immediately recognized the proprietor, a dark man with pockmarks. Ramchandra identified himself, and it took a while for the man to remember him, but when he did, he offered Ramchandra tea and samosas, and they chatted about some of the people they used to know. Finally, Ramchandra got around to inquiring about Malati, and the proprietor instantly knew whom he was talking about. “You've come to the right place,” he said. “She lives on the top floor of this house. The entrance is through the side door. A pretty girl, but that man of hers is not right.”

“Why?”

“I've seen him sit here and eye the girls who enter the cinema hall. Sometimes he walks in there,” the proprietor said, pointing toward the hall, “and tries to strike up a conversation. A real Romeo, that guy.”

“Are they married?”

“Yes, they got married a few days ago in a temple ceremony.”

“Are they up there now?”

“The husband leaves with his taxi early in the morning, but she may be there. Do you know her?”

Ramchandra told him that she was his student. This was a good opportunity to talk to her, but he realized, with a jolt, that it'd soon get dark—and dangerous.

As he was leaving the shop, Malati stepped out the side door, wearing a red dhoti, which connoted her recent marriage. The part in her hair was streaked with vermilion powder. Ramchandra held his breath and stopped. She didn't see him and went down the alley that led to Indrachowk. Ramchandra followed a few yards behind. In Indrachowk she bought some vegetables while Ramchandra maintained his distance. Sometimes he caught her profile, and was disappointed that he saw no trace of sadness on her face or of dissatisfaction with her husband. She was lively and bright, bargaining and chatting with the vendors. When she was finished shopping, she walked back, Ramchandra still following her. He saw that Rachana wasn't with her. Had something happened to the girl? But if it had, wouldn't Malati's grief have kept her from marrying Amrit?

A few minutes after she walked up to her apartment, he climbed the narrow staircase and knocked on the door. A woman opened it, and just as he was asking for Malati, she appeared, with Rachana straddling her hip. Rachana gave out a squeal and babbled something, and a wave of relief washed over Ramchandra.

“Sir,” Malati said softly, “did you forget your way?”

He didn't know what to say, so he remarked that Rachana had grown.

Malati wiped her daughter's nose with her hand and said, “She often gets sick these days. I think it's the pollution in the city. Too many three-wheelers and old vehicles.”

Ramchandra felt awkward, standing on the landing. “Aren't you going to invite me in?”

The woman told Malati she was leaving, and headed down. “My husband's sister,” Malati explained. “She looks after Rachana sometimes.”

The apartment had one room and a kitchen, and they sat on the bed. The place was congested but neat. Ramchandra smelled cigarette smoke.

“Tea, sir?”

He shook his head and asked her, indicating Rachana, “You married her father?”

“Yes,” she said with a laugh. “Amazing, isn't it? We had a small temple ceremony.”

“Are you happy?”

“I am very happy,” she said, meeting his eyes as if in challenge.

He asked her about Malekha Didi.

“Oh, she's come around,” Malati said. “You know, full moon, no moon. She found out where I live and she came and held Rachana in her arms. She says she misses us. But that's only because her business has collapsed.” She paused and then said, “It's hard for her now. But my husband gives her some money every month. He really cares about her.”

Ramchandra pitied Malekha Didi. Earlier, she couldn't admit that Malati was helping her.

Malati asked about his family, and he told her everyone was fine except Goma's mother. “Where's your husband?” he asked. “Ajit, is that his name?” Pretending that he didn't recall the name made him feel less vulnerable.

“His name is Amrit. He comes home around this time, to drink tea, and then goes out again. Sometimes he drives the whole night.”

Ramchandra noticed a small scar on Rachana's left cheek. “What happened?” he asked.

“An accident,” Malati said. “You know how frisky she is.”

“Goma would like to see you,” he said.

Malati wiped Rachana's cheeks and forehead before saying, “It's probably better if I don't enter your lives again.”

He understood and he agreed.

A few minutes later, he said goodbye and went down to the street. In all the noise and the swarms of moviegoers walking toward the cinema hall, he heard someone shout, “Professor saheb! Professor saheb!” In the dusk, it took him a moment to recognize Amrit, with his curly hair and long mustache, at the other side of the alley, trying to get to him through the crowd. Ramchandra merely waved and walked on, but Amrit pushed people aside and caught up with him.

“How are you, professor?”

“I am not a professor,” Ramchandra said mildly. “I am only a schoolteacher.”

“What difference does it make? Where are you going?”

“I just finished watching the cinema.”

“Oh, we live right here,” Amrit said. “Why don't you come for tea?”

“It's getting dark.”

Amrit grabbed his arm. Ramchandra noticed the cigarette between his fingers. “Come on, professor saheb. Just for a few minutes. Malati will be very pleased. She keeps talking about you.”

What had Malati told her husband about him? Ramchandra wondered. Obviously not everything, or Amrit wouldn't have invited him to visit.

Right near them, in the famous soda shop of New Road, bottles were opened with a pop and the carbonated lemon water sizzled in glasses. The shopkeeper urged Ramchandra and Amrit to move on, because they were blocking his customers.

“How is Malati?” Ramchandra asked as they headed back toward the apartment. He hoped that Malati wouldn't let on that he'd already been there.

“She's fine. The baby is a little sick.”

They climbed the stairs, the cigarette smoke drifting down to Ramchandra as he followed Amrit.

“Look who's here, Malati,” Amrit said when they walked into the room. “Your professor.”

Ramchandra looked at Malati apologetically, and Malati said, “Sir, it's been a long time. Everything well?”

“Everything is fine,” he answered.

Smiling, Malati went to the kitchen to make tea, and Ramchandra and Amrit, who was now holding the baby and talking to her in baby talk, sat on the bed. Ramchandra asked Amrit about his driving schedule, about how much he made during a day. Amrit was friendly, talkative.

Malati brought tea, and for a while they sipped in silence. Ramchandra said to Malati, “The results will be out in a few months. Are you still planning to go to college?”

“If I pass,” Malati said. “I'm stupid in math, remember? I'm a math monkey.”

Ramchandra was embarrassed by the reference.

“Passing the S.L.C. is no good these days,” Amrit said. “Even people with college degrees are driving taxis.”

“She might find a job as a secretary.”

“Who'll take care of the baby?” Amrit said in a friendly tone. “As it is, I drive the taxi from morning to night.”

It was dark outside, but neither Malati nor Amrit got up to turn on the light.

Ramchandra said to Amrit, “You should turn on the light. It's hard to see in here.”

“No,” Amrit said. “Let it be dark. It's the blackout night; haven't you heard? At seven everyone's to turn off the lights, so we may as well wait.”

Ramchandra did remember now. The Nepali Congress and the communist parties had called for a ten-minute blackout this evening to protest government killings. Ramchandra peered at his watch. Only a few minutes more, and the entire nation would plunge into darkness.

He was close to the window and could see that some people were burning a tire near the cinema hall. Soon, a strong whiff of scorched rubber floated up. At seven o'clock, darkness enveloped the neighborhood, and whistles were heard. Someone nearby turned up the volume of a cassette player, and a popular Nepali song blared into the air. Ramchandra, feeling drowsy, wanted to He down right there on the bed, but he knew he should get going, darkness or not. He forced himself to sit up. “I'd better leave now,” he said.

“It's too dark. Why don't you wait for ten minutes? I'll turn on the lights then.”

They sat still, and in a few minutes Amrit turned on the light.

“You'll come to visit us again, sir?” Malati asked.