He hardened himself with all kinds of arguments and re-entered the kitchen. His aunt had her back to him, arranging some vessels on a rack. He stood at the door and let out a slight cough in order to draw her attention. She turned round from the vessels. ‘Why are you coughing? Take care of yourself. Don’t drink cold water ...’
‘That’s all right. I am perfectly well. Well, if you don’t know it already, I am marrying a girl - you saw her the other day here.’
Aunt dropped the vessel, as if she had lost her hold on things. She came up to him, ’That girl! What is her caste? Who is she?’
‘Who is she? It is immaterial. She is going to be my wife, that’s all that need be known.’
‘Isn’t she a Christian or something- a name which is ...’
’Nothing more than the name of a flower, that’s all. Daisy is a flower.’ He realized that he was not sure what flower it was. ‘It’s a most lovely flower grown in America, England, and so forth. What is wrong with that name?’
‘A Christian! How can you bring in a Christian ...’
Raman didn’t have the patience to launch on the oneness of all religions, but merely said, ‘I only know that her name is Daisy. I have not thought of asking whether she is a Christian or what. Never occurred to me to ask, that’s all. I’ll ask you not to bother about it. She is a human being just like you or me, that’s all. I like her very much. I am sure you will also love her. Please be nice to us,’ his voice suddenly, unexpectedly imploring and cajoling, for which he hated himself.
But his aunt was unmoved by his appeal. She said nothing, turned round sunk deep in thought, and resumed the arrangement of the vessels. Raman waited for her to begin a discussion of the issue, and was surprised at the turn of events. He never bargained for such a conclusion to his announcement. He felt insignificant and insulted. He wanted her to agree with him or argue with him or start a big fight; but this was too unexpected. He watched the back of her head, then turned round and went back to his den to unroll the mat and sleep. He picked up a book from his collection, a small-print two-column edition of some obscure world history, opened to a page, and ran his eyes down its lines. He did not make out a word of it, but it kept his mind passive and from fretting and speculating about his aunt. He had always counted on the understanding of his aunt and had no doubt whatever that he could always bring her round to his point of view. She had never sulked or even tried to sound like an alien. This was his first experience. His eyes faithfully travelled down the lines of the two columns and then the usual drowsiness overcame him and he fell asleep without any effort.
He woke up at four o’clock, dashed cold water on his face, and went into the kitchen. His aunt was not there; she had kept a tumbler of coffee for him in the hot ashes of the mud oven. He gulped it down, and looked about. She was not to be seen - too early for her to go to the temple. No use worrying about her. Let her be where she pleases. I have done nothing to hurt. I am only trying to shape my life, and I can’t really help it if she is going to worry about irrelevant details such as Daisy’s religion and such things. She could as well bother about the little dark mole he often noticed on Daisy’s right elbow. She had probably gone to the corner shop or to talk to her friends. She had an old friend living three doors off, her constant companion whenever she started out for the temple.
But Aunt always mentioned when she was going out, even if it was only for a few minutes, warning him to mind the door. Now this meant probably that she did not wish to speak to him. Was it the end of a lifetime of association? But why did she make coffee for him if she did not like him? That was a sign of hope indeed, but it might also be nothing more than custom. Anyway he had much to do professionally - he must not lose sight of the fact that he was going to be a married man with increasing responsibilities. With a wife with her own income one had a greater responsibility to prove that one was not going to depend on her. He would have to work harder than ever to deliver signs punctually to his customers, and not give occasion for any comment that he was neglectful or running after women; he had to protect Daisy from such comments. He said to himself, I’ll be damned if I’m going to worry about other people’s moods or words. After drinking his coffee, he briskly went to his work-shed. He turned round a plank leant against the wall and measured the area to be covered. The message was to be GIRIJA VOCATIONAL INSTITUTE, a women’s co-operative institution to be inaugurated by the governor next month. The board was to be completed and dried and delivered within fifteen days. The chairman of the institution was known to him and trusted him, and he would lose his friendship if he delayed the work. Luckily for him the man trusted his taste and did not specify any style of work as others had done. They also wanted him to leave a one-line space for a brief quotation in Sanskrit extolling the virtues of industry, something to serve as the motto of their organization. He didn’t care what they had to say, as long as they left the style of lettering to him and did not crowd in too much in the available space. In such matters they should learn good behaviour from Daisy, who had trusted his judgement right from the first day he met her. It was pleasant to think of Daisy again, such a salutary change from the problems confronting him with his aunt. Why couldn’t Aunt be like Daisy-so easy to deal with! He was suffering from a momentary forgetfulness of all the travail he had faced before Daisy finally admitted his love. His hands were busy with the letters on the board, a tryout with a soft pencil.
Raman worked on till six-thirty on the plank. Tomorrow he would put on the primary coat, and then the second coat several days later, as drying took time. He didn’t trust the quick-drying stuff, which seemed to him just a novelty, unsuited to his work. All done, the board should be ready in ten days. At six-thirty he laid away his task and shut his shop for the day. Urgency had crept into his hours now. He glanced at his watch. He was going to be late today. But Daisy would understand. He’d have to rush to the laundry and fetch his silk shirt and one or two items. As he was hurrying down to the laundry, he saw his aunt arrive - very unusual. He cried, ‘Oh, Auntie, not gone to the temple?’
‘No. Are you going out?’ she asked, implying that she was aware of his routine programme.
‘Yes, yes, I’m going to the laundry, must get my clothes before he closes,’ and he was off. When he returned a quarter of an hour later bearing his silk shirt wrapped in an old newspaper, he found his aunt sitting in a corner of the hall patiently waiting. He put away his shirt in his room and came back to the hall. She said, ‘Ramu, come here and sit down, can’t you, for a few minutes? I have to say something to you.’ With his heart palpitating, he sat down obediently on the floor, in front of her. He felt as if he had thrown off two or more decades of his existence and was back in childhood, when she used to summon him in order to teach him the alphabet. He could not really decline her summons now. He muttered under his breath: I am already late, but had not the courage to say it aloud as she might immediately retort, ‘I know where you are going, doesn’t matter if she waits.’ Aunt opened with the gambit, ‘Help me to go to Benares.’
‘When?’
‘Within a week, a party will be leaving for Benares, and I’ll go with them.’
‘Who are the party?’ he asked, already a feeling of loss coming over him.
‘Andal of the third house is one of the party. She mentioned it some days ago. I just now went up to her to ask if I could go with her.’
‘What did she say?’ asked Raman, trying to sound casual and lighthearted.
‘Yes, she will take me.’
‘What a practical traveller you have become, rather like your ancestors who walked up and down to Poona.’
‘Yes,’ she said rather brusquely, for the first time not elaborating this theme; of late, she had not repeated the Poona trek, which indicated that she was not in a happy state of mind.
‘How long will they be away?’
‘Three months - they are going to Badrinath and Hardwar first...’
‘Badrinath! Hardwar! In the Himalayas!’
‘They have made all the arrangements - it’ll cost seven hundred and fifty rupees!’ From this very sordid calculation, she continued, lost in visions of her pilgrimage. ‘A dharshanam of the God in Badrinath, and if possible to Amarnath, where the lingam is shaped in ice. I wouldn’t care what happened to me or to the world after I have seen the holy places and dipped into the Ganges from its birthplace all along its course, until I end my pilgrimage in Benares. After this I shall want nothing more in life.’
Raman brooded over the financial implications of this proposal. Seven hundred and fifty. His own bank balance was just enough for his venture into marriage, and until the outstanding bills were collected, he could manage somehow. Nothing was due from Daisy until after he had completed the village rounds, which he was postponing until after the rains in September, perhaps until they were settled as a married couple.
Aunt said, ‘I have kept in the post office four hundred and fifty, and if you can make up the rest -’
Raman assured, ‘Of course you will have it, don’t worry. Does it cover your return journey too?’
‘Perhaps it does. I have not asked them about it. If I don’t do the return journey, I think they may take less.’
‘When are they all coming back?’
‘This is Masi, by next Adi they should all be back.’
‘When do you intend to return?’
‘Well,’ she drawled, ‘that question is not so important.’
What do you mean, Aunt?’
‘It is like this, my boy. At my age, with a few years left, people do not generally want to return. A visit to Kasi is the end. I may live for ten days or ten years or twenty, it is immaterial how long one lives after this stage. It is the ambition of everyone of my generation to conclude this existence at Kasi, to be finally dissolved in the Ganges. That is the most auspicious end to one’s life.’
Raman felt dejected and responsible for the banishment of his aunt. He pleaded desperately, ‘Don’t go, Auntie, stay.’
‘This is a chance I have waited for all my life. If I miss their company ...’
‘Nothing is lost, I will make all the arrangements, don’t worry,’ he said recklessly. She wiped the tears that screened her vision. Raman was too moved to say anything. He had never known a day or an hour without her since he could remember. He appealed to her, while one part of his mind was worrying how Daisy must be waiting and wondering how he was going to explain to her why he was late. He said with desperation, ‘I won’t marry now, if that is what is driving you away.’
‘This is a good opportunity to go with these people, known to us,’ she said. ‘Andal’s company will be there, and we will be happy, I have no doubt.’
‘If you want to stay, I will ...’ He was not sure what he was going to say - whether that he would cancel his marriage or postpone it. His thoughts were in disarray. He sobbed like a child and blurted, ‘No, I can’t let you go away like this.’
She was touched and quietly cried a little herself, and finally said, ‘You must live your life, that is all, although if I had known that you were ready to marry, I had a dozen horoscopes offered.’
‘You don’t understand it, Auntie,’ he cried petulantly. ‘I am not marrying now because I want to find someone to marry. I love this girl and she will make me happy. Stay, bless our marriage, and then I will make all the arrangements for you to go to Kasi, and you may come back when you like. Even if I marry immediately I will leave her where she is and won’t bring her home. You may continue to be here.’
‘While you go and live in her house, I suppose?’ she asked with some bitterness. She was right. Unless he cut himself in twain there was no possibility of his leaving a part of himself in both spots. He knew it would be hard to be away from Daisy once he was married; even now he felt the hours spent away from her wasted hours. He remained silent. Aunt said, ‘I have been hearing all sorts of stories about that girl. Did she run away from her parents?’
Raman overcame his irritation and replied, ‘It is nobody’s business. She is a rare type of girl, devoted to the service of people, and that is all her religion. I don’t know if she cares for any other god or religion, and I haven’t asked. Her worship takes the form of service to the poor and the ignorant and helping them live a decent life. She cares not for wealth or luxury or titles. She can live with the poorest in their huts, eat their food, and sleep on the mud Hoor.’
Yes, that is what I say. Why should you be involved in all this, when officers, judges, and rich men are ready to accept you and treat you like a prince, and give you all the comfort that you may want?’
Raman sighed at tne limitations of his aunt’s understanding. There was no use explaining to her concepts which were beyond her understanding. He simply said, ‘She is a good girl.’
‘What is her caste? What is her history? She ran away from home! Don’t you know all that?’
‘What is wrong in running away? Are not you trying to go away from us now?’
‘So you see no difference between me and her? Some maya is screening your understanding.’
Raman overcame the irritation he was beginning to feel. ‘Look here, Auntie, you are running away to fulfil your ambition of retiring from the world. She had to run away from an orthodox home where she was expected to ... no, let us not go into all that. I will tell you what she did, and you will understand. She has told me of all her life. She had to leave home because otherwise there was no way for her.’ The sweetmeat vendor’s cry and bell approached and receded among a lot of other evening sounds, and the birds were clamouring in the trees. It was very very late, past seven. He must have it out with his auntie today and resolve all the differences, even if it meant going late to Daisy. He wanted to convey all that he had gathered from Daisy about her life, all that he had heard from her in fragments from time to time. He said, ‘Auntie, listen to me patiently. Don’t interrupt me,’ he said, catching the mannerism of Daisy herself. ’This girl’s name was Laxmi, Parvathi, Gayatri, or what you will. I never cared to ask. She left when they made her life impossible.’
‘Who?’
‘Her family.’
‘She had her father and mother?’
‘Of course.’
‘A girl who finds her parents intolerable! Those who are orphaned pray for parents, while this girl -’
‘Oh, don’t interrupt me,’ he commanded again.
His aunt regained her aplomb now. She briskly got up, lit the god’s lamp in the little room, and switched on the light, leaving Raman. Evidently she did not relish the story of Daisy. He wished to explain Daisy’s biography at great length - how she left home with only the clothes she wore, hitchhiked, travelled without tickets, and reached Madras, her personal safety and womanhood endangered, imperilled, and how she survived and so forth; how she finally studied with the help of a missionary organization, refused baptism but changed her name to some non-denominational label, adopting the name Daisy, how she was trained to live with fishermen in their huts and help and educate them, and then in all sorts of slum areas, how she was thrilled at the first sight of the sea, how she passed her college with the help of a missionary, and was trained in social work and so forth; all her struggles and trials, so moving when he heard them at first hand. Somehow he could not convey it now, it sounded banal. He allowed the biography to fizzle out, and got up, realizing that he was wasting his time. He briskly changed into his evening clothes and left, while his aunt stood at the door and asked, ‘Are you coming back to dinner?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I have to see someone on business now, I will be back soon.’
She did not believe him. ‘I may go to the temple for at least an hour. If you come earlier, call me ...’
He came back, however, only next afternoon at lunchtime. All night he had discussed his aunt with Daisy, and all that she had said was, ‘Why do you want to stop her if that is what she wants to do? She has her faith, call it superstition if we must, but let her go.’
‘She wo
n’t come back,’ he said childishly and wailed like a child, ‘she wants to go there and await death.’ Raman felt deeply moved at the picture of his aunt’s remains floating away anonymously along the floods of the Ganges.
Daisy just said, ‘Tut, tut, don’t get so disturbed. What is wrong? If I were an orthodox old person, I would welcome such a life and such an end. On the other hand, she may live longer in those surroundings of peace and regularity. So, Ram, don’t make a fuss. Let her seek her life’s pattern as she likes.’ A passing doubt in Raman’s mind - was she tendering this advice in order to clear the way for herself? But he immediately suppressed this and told himself, She has given as much thought to the problems of death, perhaps, as she has given to births - rather an inchoate, woolly conclusion, but it helped him.
Next afternoon when he had had his lunch, his aunt renewed her proposition. Raman went to his room to lie down and browse through a book. Aunt followed him into his room, unusually, and sat down on the edge of his mat. He feared that she might complain of having been made to wait the previous night, but she was graceful enough not to mention it. She merely said, ‘Have you thought it over?’ She looked more composed than she had been yesterday; the prospect of pilgrimage seemed to have given her poise. ‘I spoke to those people and they said that if I was not returning with the party they could take seventy-five rupees less.’ She looked like a child promised enough chocolates for the money on hand. ‘That means you will have to find me only three hundred rupees. Please write a letter to my bank to send the money order to Benares. If I pay them twenty rupees a month, they will take care of my food and give me a corner for sleeping and resting in a common hall, and the corner will be my own. But who will want greater shelter than the temple and the River Ganga?’ She sound ecstatic at the visions of staying on in the presence of Viswanatha. ‘After I reach Benares I will write you a postcard.’
The Painter of Signs Page 14